reason, however, wasn’t the texture of the items she was handling—it was him.

Darsh was leaning slightly closer than necessary, his eyes fixed on her with an expression that was both amused and knowing.

She felt her pulse quicken.

"Jao na, ho gaya kaam toh," she said hurriedly, refusing to look up.

A chuckle rumbled in his throat. "Kyun? Am I distracting you?"

Her hands stilled for a second before she quickly shook her head, her voice defensive.

"Kya? Kuch bhi! Tumhe koi aur kaam hoga," she scoffed, rolling her eyes.

"Koi kaam nahi hai… I’m free," he said with an infuriatingly relaxed shrug.

She clenched her jaw and decided to ignore him, her focus shifting back to the task at hand. With great effort, she completed her work, her fingers covered in turmeric, ghee, and oil. She finally straightened up, adjusting the thaal in her hands before heading toward the door.

Just as she was about to step out, she suddenly froze in place.

Something felt… wrong.

A sharp, panicked realization hit her—her lehenga’s dori had loosened.

Darsh noticed her sudden hesitation and frowned. "Is anything wrong?" he asked, his usual teasing lilt replaced by concern.

Divya swallowed hard and shook her head a little too quickly. "N-nahi, bas… Can you call my sisters? Ya Arushi didi, Kanak didi, Richa didi mese koi?" Her voice was barely above a whisper.

His frown deepened. "Haan, par wo toh khane gaye hain," he replied, already turning to leave.

"Ruko," she blurted out.

Darsh halted mid-step, glancing at her curiously. "Kya problem hai? You can tell me."

She bit her lip, her gaze fixed on the floor as she hesitated for a moment. Then, finally, in the softest, most hesitant voice, she admitted,

"Wo… my lehenga’s dori… aur mere haath…" She lifted them slightly, showing him the thick coating of turmeric, oil, and ghee smeared across her fingers. "I can’t touch my lehenga with these hands.”

His teasing smirk faded, replaced by something softer, more thoughtful.

"Toh mai bulata hoon kisi ko," he offered, his voice quieter this time.

"Nahi…" Divya whispered, her voice barely audible as she stood frozen in place. "I mean, sab bahot door hain… koi aa jayega, mostly workers hi aate hain iss room mein."

Darsh observed her carefully, noting the way her fingers tightened around the brass thaal, her shoulders slightly stiff as if she were bracing herself.

"You can lock the door till then," he suggested casually.

Her reaction was immediate—she bit her lower lip, hesitated, and then quickly shook her head.

"Lock nahi ho sakta…" She gestured toward the broken latch, revealing the slightly crooked lock that refused to function.

Darsh sighed dramatically, crossing his arms. "Umm… toh?" he asked, tilting his head.

His gaze lingered on her flushed face, the way her eyes darted to the floor, to the door, and then back at him, as if she had imagined a hundred different scenarios in the span of a few seconds.

His lips twitched.

"Toh… uhmm… do you have a handkerchief?" she asked hesitantly. "I can wipe my hands."

Darsh bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smirking.

Did he have a handkerchief? Of course, he did. But would he tell her that so easily?

He let out a small, nonchalant sigh. "No, I don’t. Ab?"

Divya's fingers clutched the thaal a little tighter. She looked everywhere but at him, her breath slightly uneven. It was as if she were trying to gather courage, to push out the next words.

"Wo… can… you…?" she stuttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Darsh arched an eyebrow, taking a slow step toward her. Then another.

His face was just inches from hers when he leaned down, his voice a teasing whisper.

"Gladly."

His back pressed against the door, his foot subtly keeping it shut to ensure no sudden interruptions.

Divya’s grip on the thaal tightened, her knuckles turning white as she felt the ghost of his fingertips graze her waist. It was subtle at first—just the lightest brush, a teasing contact that sent a shiver crawling up her spine.

Her breath hitched, her entire body tensing as she tried to focus on anything but the way his fingers hovered near the delicate strings of her lehenga.

His fingers moved with an almost excruciating slowness, brushing along the soft curve of her waist as if testing her patience. The touch was deliberate, lingering more than necessary, his knuckles grazing the warm skin beneath the intricate fabric.

Her heartbeat pounded against her ribs. She could feel it, the warmth of his presence pressing against her back, the heat of his breath just a whisper away.

And then—without warning, he tugged the dori gently.

The movement was subtle yet forceful enough that she stumbled slightly, her body colliding into his chest, her balance shifting into his hold.

Her breath left her in a soft gasp.

Darsh’s fingers, still holding the delicate strings of her lehenga, didn’t move away. Instead, they traced the small of her back with a slow, feather-light touch.

She squeezed her eyes shut. The warmth of his palm against her skin sent a shudder down her spine, her body responding in ways she didn’t anticipate.

A deep, low chuckle vibrated against her temple, his breath warm and teasing against her skin.

"Tch… I’m unable to tie it properly," he murmured, his voice a rich, husky whisper that slithered through the air like silk, wrapping around her senses, "Would you mind if I pull you closer?"

His hand—warm, steady, deliberate—slid around her waist, the movement slow, unhurried, dragging knuckles against her bare skin, tracing invisible patterns that sent shivers rippling through her. But he wasn’t touching her with his palm. No, he let the back of his hand graze along the soft curve of her waist, his wrist pressing against her skin instead, teasing, coaxing, seducing.

A sharp, shuddering exhale left her lips as he applied the lightest pressure, pulling her even closer, until there was no space left between them.

"J… jaldi karo… aur door hato," she managed to say, her voice barely above a whisper, betraying the storm within her.

"It's difficult," he whispered, his breath a warm caress against her neck, making her entire body seize up.

A shiver ran down her spine as she turned her head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye, her pulse hammering so loud she wondered if he could hear it.

Her lips parted, but she said nothing.

"Dori… it's difficult to tie it." His voice was low, husky, filled with something that made her insides twist with an unfamiliar warmth.

She turned back quickly, looking down at her thaal, her fingers tightening around the metal as if grounding herself, as if willing herself to ignore the fact that his presence was affecting her far more than it should.

And then, before she could prepare for it, before she could steel herself against the fire in his touch—he moved.

Slowly, deliberately, his head dipped lower, his breath fanning against the nape of her neck, hot and teasing, sending goosebumps erupting across her skin.

Her lips parted, a shaky exhale escaping as she felt the warmth of him drawing closer, as if the air between them had thickened, pulling them together in an unspoken, undeniable force.

His eyes flickered downward, his sharp gaze catching the subtle tremor in her shoulders, the way her body stiffened at his proximity.

A slow smirk spread across his lips.

"Low BP?" His voice was a murmur, soft yet teasing, the amusement dancing in his tone as his fingers ghosted over her waist.

She swallowed hard, her throat bobbing as she shook her head, unable to form words, unable to do anything but hold on to the fragile control that was slipping through her fingers.

But then, just as she was trying to regulate her breath, trying to will herself to remain still—his touch changed.

His index finger slipped inside the waistband of her lehenga, brushing against the delicate skin beneath, the warmth of his skin colliding with hers in an electric shock that sent her gasping.

And then, his lips parted, his voice dropping to a whisper, so low, so sinful, it sent a fresh wave of shivers dancing along her spine.

"So… it’s me?"

Her eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat.

"What?" she breathed, her voice barely there, her mind too clouded by his touch, his voice, his scent—everything about him.

He smirked, his fingers giving one last teasing graze against her skin before pulling back.

"Ho gaya," he murmured, stepping away, his voice laced with amusement, with something darker, something she didn’t dare name.

Her entire body sagged, her breath finally returning to her, her grip on the thaal still tight, as if afraid to lose herself completely.

"W...we should leave," she whispered, her voice barely audible, her breath still uneven from everything that had just transpired between them.

Shashwat was roaming in hall, mind was elsewhere. His eyes, however, found Siya.

She was walking toward the other side of the hall, her arms full of small decorative boxes, her movements graceful yet careful as she maneuvered past the bustling guests. And then, his gaze shifted—narrowing instantly.

Kabir.

Shashwat’s jaw clenched.

The man was doing nothing but following her. Wherever Siya moved, Kabir was there, his eyes fixated on her, his steps aligning with hers.

A flash of irritation sparked in Shashwat’s chest, his fingers instinctively tightening around the garland.

And then—Kabir moved closer.

Siya had barely noticed, too focused on balancing the boxes, but Kabir swooped in, his hands reaching out just in time to steady her.

Her lips curved into a polite, small smile. A simple, meaningless gesture.

But to Shashwat, it was a direct punch to his gut.

"Mai le chalta hun," Kabir said smoothly, offering to carry the boxes for her.

Before Siya could respond—before Kabir could take even a single step forward—Shashwat was already moving.

His eyes flickered toward the table nearby, his mind working in split seconds as his fingers curled around the cold can of soft drink.

And then—he acted.

With a perfectly timed misstep, a feigned slip, he ‘accidentally’ lost his grip on the can—sending the liquid flying.

Straight onto Kabir’s shirt.

A sharp gasp left Siya’s lips as the cold beverage splashed against Kabir’s chest, drenching the pristine fabric in sticky, carbonated fizz.

Kabir staggered back, stunned, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as he looked down at himself.

"Ohh, shit!" Shashwat exclaimed, feigning shock, his hands raised in mock horror. "Sorry, bro! Yeh floor kaafi slippery hai na!"

Siya’s brows furrowed, her concerned gaze flickering between Kabir and Shashwat. But Shashwat?

He was barely holding back a smirk.

"Yeh lo, iss se saaf kar lena," Shashwat said, handing over his crisp white handkerchief to Kabir, his tone perfectly casual.

Kabir, still trying to shake off the shock of having his shirt drenched in soda, accepted it with a grateful smile. "Thanks, bro!"

Shashwat gave him a small nod, his expression unreadable except for the glint of mischief lurking in his eyes.

"Itna toh mai kar hi sakta hoon… waise, ye boxes de do. I will help her," he added, his voice dripping with innocence as he stretched his hands toward the stack of boxes Siya was carrying.

Kabir, unaware of the hidden motives, quickly handed them over and rushed off to change, muttering under his breath about sticky shirts and bad luck.

Siya, however, was no fool.

She narrowed her eyes, her hands finding their way to her hips as she turned toward Shashwat, her gaze sharp, questioning.

"Was this actually unintentional?" she asked, her voice slow, deliberate.

Shashwat, ever the picture of feigned innocence, simply shrugged, a smirk tugging at his lips. "What do you think?" he teased.

She sighed, shaking her head, but followed him toward the room where the boxes were to be kept.

As they walked inside, placing the boxes down, the air between them shifted slightly—his smirk fading into a small pout.

Siya turned to see him standing there, arms crossed, looking every bit like a sulking child.

"You didn’t have to smile at him," he muttered, his voice carrying the slightest hint of annoyance.

Siya blinked before letting out a small chuckle. "He helped me… toh kya karun?" she asked, her tone playful.

Shashwat’s frown deepened, his brows furrowing. "Jo bhi ho… leech kahin ka! He was roaming behind you every time like a damn tail! And you didn’t even scold him. Mai hota toh tum suna deti," he huffed.

Siya raised a brow, amused by his frustration. "Arrey, aapki baat alag hai," she said nonchalantly, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.

Shashwat looked at her, eyes narrowing slightly. "Jo bhi ho… you didn’t even think about me," he accused, his voice holding an edge of dramatic disappointment.

Siya tilted her head, her brows knitting together in confusion. "Kya keh rahe hain?" she asked, watching as he exhaled heavily, shaking his head as if she had just committed the biggest betrayal.

And then, in a voice filled with exaggerated hurt, he muttered, "Haan… you even applied bindi by yourself."

For a second, Siya just stared at him, processing his words.

And then—she burst into laughter.

"So you’re angry about this?" she asked between chuckles, her shoulders shaking.

Shashwat, instead of answering, merely gave a small nod, his expression serious as if she had wounded his very soul.

Siya sighed, still laughing lightly, and stepped closer, gently flicking his forehead. "Bachhe ho kya?" she teased, watching as his lips twitched into a reluctant smile.

"Hum khud ready kahan huye the, wo toh parlour mein keh diya tha thoda karne ko," Siya said, trying to reason with him, but his face remained sulked, a stubborn pout resting on his lips.

She sighed, knowing there was only one way to bring back that smile she adored.

With a small smirk of her own, she reached up and slowly removed her bindi, stepping toward him, her fingers stretching out as she placed it on his palm.

His eyes widened slightly before a slow, victorious grin stretched across his lips. Without wasting another second, he carefully applied the bindi back on her forehead, his fingers grazing her soft skin, taking his sweet time. And then, before she could react, he leaned in, placing a lingering kiss on her forehead, letting his lips rest against her skin for a few moments longer than necessary.

Siya felt a shiver run down her spine, but she masked it with a cough. "Ab jaayein?" she asked, her voice soft, almost hesitant.

Shashwat, however, shook his head with a teasing smile.

"Hatiye," she said, trying to step back, but before she could move an inch, she felt something firm yet gentle wrap around her waist.

Her breath hitched as she looked down to see the garland—the very same one he had been holding earlier—wrapped around her from behind, binding her to him. He had pulled her closer, but not with force, not in a way that would break the delicate flowers, but just enough to ensure she wouldn't move away from him.

She looked up at him, wide-eyed, her heartbeat quickening. "Jab jaana hi hai toh poocha kyun?" he whispered, his voice dipping into something deeper, something intoxicating.

"Shashwat, jaane dijiye na," she tried again, this time her voice carrying a softness, a sweetness she knew would work on him.

And it did. He smiled, but instead of letting her go, he tightened his hold on the garland just a little, ensuring she remained right where he wanted her.

"Nahi," he murmured, his voice laced with something else—something possessive.

Siya blinked. "Kyun?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Shashwat exhaled slowly, his eyes darkening as they roamed over her face, his next words coming out in a hushed, almost dangerous whisper. "Woh Kabir phir se peeche pad jayega… and I hate his presence around you."

Siya parted her lips, but no words came out.

His grip on the garland remained firm, but he wasn't touching her—not yet. It was the restraint in his actions that sent a different kind of shiver down her spine.

"I hate when he sees you smiling." His words sent a wave of warmth up her neck.

His fingers reached up, grazing her bare nape, his touch feather-light yet electrifying. Siya gasped softly, her entire body stiffening, but she didn’t pull away.

"I hate when he hears your voice," he whispered, his breath now fanning against her ear, deliberate and calculated.

She clenched her fists, her breathing uneven, as he continued, "Because your voice… is only mine to hear. Your smile is mine to see. Your presence is mine to have. Only mine."

"Papa..." Siya gasped, her voice laced with urgency, and in an instant, Shashwat jumped away from her, panic flashing in his eyes as he darted to the other side of the room.

Siya clutched her stomach, doubling over in laughter, her body shaking as she watched him stand stiffly at the corner, looking guilty as hell.

Shashwat narrowed his eyes at her, realization dawning upon him. "Siya..." he gritted out, but she only laughed harder, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

"Abhi tak aap pe trick kaam karti hai," she teased, wiping the corner of her eye as her giggles softened.

His jaw clenched, and he started stalking toward her, his movements slow, deliberate. "Siya... tum—"

But before he could get to her, she turned on her heel and bolted out of the room.

"Siya, ruko!" he called, but she was already outside, her laughter still ringing in the air.

He stepped out after her, eyes scanning the area, but then his entire focus shifted when he spotted Kabir walking in her direction. His entire body stiffened. His jaw locked. And before he even realized what he was doing, he was rushing toward her.

"Dekho, phir aa raha hai!" he hissed as he reached her, glaring at Kabir like he had committed some crime.

Siya rolled her eyes. "Shashwat, kya harkat hai ye? Ab hum kya kar sakte hain?" she asked, exasperation evident in her tone.

He clenched his jaw. "Tum kuch mat karo... mujhe roko mat," he muttered under his breath.

Before she could even register what he meant, she felt a sharp tug on her dupatta.

Her breath hitched, eyes widening as she turned around in shock. "Shashwat, aap ye—"

"Shhh!" he cut her off, his voice firm, as he wrapped the loose end of her dupatta around his wrist, securing it with a small knot.

He flexed his wrist, looking down at it with a smug smirk. "It's more beautiful than my watch," he mused, admiring the silk fabric against his skin.

Siya's mouth fell open. "Shashwat!!" she whisper-yelled, quickly yanking her dupatta free before anyone could notice. She threw him a glare and started walking toward the garden, her heart racing.

But of course, he followed.

And the moment he saw Kabir heading toward her again, he grabbed her dupatta once more.

Siya let out a sharp gasp. "Aap pagal ho gaye hain kya?? Koi dekh lega toh kya kahega?!" she whispered harshly, trying to untangle her fabric from his wrist.

His lips curled into a smirk, his eyes filled with mischief as he leaned closer, his breath fanning against her ear. "Kahega ki inka kuch toh chal raha hai," he whispered, nudging her shoulder