The atmosphere inside Rudra Singhaniya's cabin still shimmered with an unspoken warmth — a mix of legacy, silent celebration, and echoes of a future that just started to shape itself. The grandeur of the Singhaniya mansion faded momentarily into the background, as the present stood still for two girls who had rewritten what it meant to belong, to rise, and to be seen.
Not just by the world.
But by the very men whose glances followed them like quiet prayers.
Anaya, graceful and composed, adjusted the sleeve of her blazer as she stood. The faint jingle of her bracelet caught the golden light for a fleeting second, like the final note of a melody. Her posture spoke of elegance. Her eyes? Of survival.
Janvi rose beside her, a breeze of calm excitement dancing in her chest. Her face remained collected, her tone smooth, but her heart… oh, it fluttered. The board presentation, the long nights, the buried fear of being overlooked—it had all brought them to this moment.
They had done it.
And they were being seen now—not just as interns. Not just as girls. But as creators of something that mattered.
"Before we move ahead..." Dev's voice anchored them, his tone gentle but laced with gravity, "exams come first."
A small laugh bubbled out of Janvi. "Yes, Uncle. Actually… our final exam is scheduled for next Monday. It's the last one. After that, we'll officially finish our degree."
Anaya stepped in, her voice soft and respectful, but firm. "Dad, we need to clear this one. Once it's done, we begin our three-month internship in the company. That's when the real work starts."
Aarav, ever the watcher of silent moments, raised a brow and grinned mischievously at Janvi. "Bhabhi, when exactly is this 'final' final exam?"
Janvi glanced at her phone, tapping quickly before replying, "Next Monday. We're almost there."
As laughter circled the room and the stress seemed to melt like snow under sunlight, Rudra's silence became louder. His posture remained still, but his mind wasn't. His eyes followed Anaya. Every flicker of her movement, every blink, every pause.
He never blinked.
When Dev finally said, "Good day, beta," and Ravi chimed in, "You both did well," Anaya gave a graceful nod, ready to leave.
But not all of them were ready to let her go.
Especially Rudra.
He was sitting on the armrest of the couch, that calm power radiating from him like a storm pretending to be a sea. As Anaya shifted to leave, something in his eyes flickered—a tremble in the usual coldness. A quiet ache formed in his chest, invisible to everyone but him.
She didn't look at him.
She didn't even falter in her steps.
"Dad, we need to go now," she said, purposefully avoiding the crackling tension between them. She didn't want to admit what that look in his eyes did to her. Because she felt it too.
But feelings, when unspoken, become burdens.
Aarav, watching his brother, could see it. Could feel it. The hollow between Rudra's brows, the tightness in his jaw, the slight downward twitch of his mouth.
He was screaming inside.
And when the door clicked shut behind Anaya and Janvi, Rudra's eyes didn't move.
His body was still facing the door. As if her departure was something he could rewind by sheer will.
Aarav, now quiet, stood at the same time. His eyes didn't follow the door like Rudra's did, but instead, they dropped for a moment.
He had seen it too.
The way Janvi's hair swayed as she walked away, the gentle bounce of her step, the echo of her laughter… it stayed.
And so did the longing.
Rudra remained still until the last image of Anaya — the side profile, the unreadable expression, the silent retreat — burned itself into his mind. He didn't even realize his hand was pressed against the same couch cushion where she had been sitting.
It was still warm.
He hated how much that warmth mattered.
Outside, the air was crisp with the scent of change.
As Anaya and Janvi walked down the marbled hallways, the shadows of the mansion trailing behind them like the last pages of a heavy chapter, they held their heads high.
But only one of them smiled.
Janvi, radiant, hopeful, practically skipping in her steps, chattered on about the upcoming project details and the little things she wanted to tweak before the board review.
Anaya?
Her eyes carried a different weight.
She had seen something in Rudra's face. Something raw. Something real.
And it scared her.
But not in the way he had scared her before.
Not in the anger. Not in the authority.
But in the stillness.
In the silence that asked her to stay.
She wasn't ready.
Not for the feelings she couldn't name.
As they neared the Tech-High department, a familiar voice reached their ears.
"Anaya! Janvi!"
They turned to see Pranali, standing tall at the entrance, her enthusiasm bubbling like soda.
"Everyone's talking about you two," she blurted as they approached. "Did your project get selected for the innovation showcase?!"
Janvi exchanged a glance with Anaya, and then simply nodded. "Yes. It did."
Pranali gasped like she had just won a lottery on their behalf. "Wait—are you getting a permanent post at Tech-High?! As in… permanent?!"
The gasp turned into a squeal as she hugged Anaya, who had just nodded, her eyes shimmering with pride. It wasn't arrogance—it was acknowledgment.
Of herself.
Of everything she had been through.
"Yes," Anaya whispered, her voice soft but her meaning strong, "If confidence stays by our side… kuch bhi mumkin hai."
Applause erupted around them as their peers — the same ones who once gossiped, doubted, and whispered behind their backs — now clapped, smiled, and joined in their joy.
But not everyone was clapping.
From a short distance, Rubi stood with her usual posse of giggling girls, arms crossed, her eyes narrowed.
"They got permanent positions?" she hissed under her breath.
One of her sidekicks confirmed, "Yeah. Today they're presenting in front of the board members. I heard every senior is impressed."
Rubi's blood boiled with jealousy. Her painted nails dug into her own palms.
How could they be chosen?
They weren't the loudest. They weren't the richest. They weren't the ones who played dirty or chased after seniors with fake smiles.
They just worked.
And that's what made them dangerous
.______..______..______..______.📑.______..______..______..______.
The morning air in Singhaniya Corporation crackled – a familiar energy of ambition and unspoken dreams. My own pulse felt a little too fast as I walked into the tech department, trying to project the calm, professional woman I'd become. Blazer smooth, hair neatly pinned, but inside? A chaotic mess of anxieties and, yes, a stubborn flicker of something I was trying desperately to ignore: Rudra.
Three months.
That's all it was: an internship. A chance to prove myself under the Singhaniya legacy. A dangerous proximity to him.
I reached my sleek, minimalist desk beside Janvi's, exhaling slowly as I powered up my laptop.
"Morning, warrior," Janvi's warm smile cut through my internal monologue.
"Morning, sunshine," I replied, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "Ready to swim in code and deadlines?"
"Absolutely. Caffeine and willpower—our trusty weapons."
The screen blinked to life, folders opening, notifications popping. Then, a single vibration on my desk made us both jump.
Private number.
My brow furrowed. A tight curl of unease gripped my chest. Rudra never used private numbers. We shared a network, a digital footprint too familiar. If he needed me, he'd reach me directly.
"Weird," I murmured, thumb hovering over the screen.
Janvi squinted. "Who even uses a private number? Secret agent vibes."
"Must be spam," I said, too quickly. "Or a wrong number."
But the curiosity wouldn't die. I picked up my phone, hesitating before unlocking it. No voicemail, just the missed call. Then – a message.
Janvi noticed my reaction. "What is it?"
I clicked on the message.
Can we meet? I have something important to talk about. Can you come to the cafe opposite Tech-High today?
— Private Number
My breath hitched. Unsigned, but my gut twisted with a sickening certainty.
Janvi, already peering over my shoulder, narrowed her eyes, fingers flying across her own phone. A silent trace. Her eyes widened.
"Anaya… it's Kunal Rajawat. Why is he texting you?"
Kunal.
Of all people…
"I don't know," I whispered, my voice barely audible.
"Don't play dumb. What's going on?"
I shook my head, covering the phone as if the message itself was contagious.
"I seriously don't know. Maybe he got my number from college records? But why now?"
Janvi arched a brow. "And the bigger question – why you?"
I had no answer. My heart hammered against my ribs. Not fear, exactly, but a rush of something unwelcome and complicated.
I looked down at the message again, as if staring hard enough could rewrite its meaning. "He wants to meet. Says it's important."
"What will you do?" Janvi's voice was low, alert.
I leaned back, crossing my arms, gaze drifting to the Tech-High tower across the road, the café visible through the window. The proximity felt like a taunt.
"I don't know," I repeated, then, in a tone too brittle, "If it were up to me, I'd tell him I'm married."
Janvi's eyes widened further. "Anaya…"
"I mean it." I turned to her, frustration bubbling beneath my carefully constructed calm. "Why does he want to meet? We haven't spoken in years. He's here with this secret identity—why now?"
My voice trailed off. The past hung heavy between us, thick like dust on a forgotten book.
I sighed, straightening. "Let's ignore it. Let's just work."
Janvi nodded slowly, her eyes lingering on my face. She wanted to warn me, I knew, but she also knew I wouldn't listen. Not now, when the storm was just beginning to touch the edges of my carefully constructed world.
Together, we put our phones aside. Screens glowed. Fingers danced across keys. Code appeared, lines formed. We sank into the rhythm of work, our little desks islands of focus in a sea of distractions.
But the undercurrent had shifted.
And I knew, with a sinking feeling, that today would be anything but normal.