© 2025 Alena. All rights reserved.
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Shanaya tossed her phone aside and sank back into her bed, trying to calm her thoughts.
But they wouldn't settle.
Instead, her mind drifted—unexpectedly—to him.
The infamous troublemaker of her school.
vedant Singh Rajput
He was the kind of guy people whispered about in hallways.
The smirk.
The fights.
The teachers who gave up trying to "fix" him.
He didn't care.
He moved like someonewho knew secrets no one else did.
And yet—there was something more. Something that had always tugged at the edges of Shanaya memory.
It wasn't the attitude.
It wasn't even the stare.
It was the eyes.
Shanaya closed hers now, remembering the exact shade. Deep, stormy, with a strange flicker—like something familiar, something watching.
And suddenly, it hit her.
Her mami sa bestfriend.
The quiet one.
The lady who always stood a little apart at family gatherings, never said much, but always looked at her like she knew something.
She must've been ten or eleven the last time she saw her.
Same eyes.
Same stillness.
Same...presence.
Her chest tightened. What were the chances?
Her aunty's friend… and vedant?
Were they related? Or was it something else?
Something impossible?
Her thoughts spiraled, fast and loud—until her phone buzzed again.
prakriti this time:
party mai momos honge na?
Ishika:
didi maine suna ameero ki party me sab hota h, bag me ham thoda kuch le lenge hehe...
She stared at the screen for a long moment, her lips curled into smile then slowly typed:
Hn....sab kuch hoga you guys just come
She wanted to asked if they know anything about vedant family? but this question create nothing – but drama!
prakriti:
did you talk with parents?Is divorce final?!
She didn't answer that.
She just stared out the window. She's isn't confused about her parents but
Vedant Singh rajput
Because deep inside, something her subconscious mind said
You've seen those eyes before!
_____________________________________
The decorations were done, the food was ready, and the anniversary party was already in full swing — but her friends were nowhere to be seen.
Shanaya were looking like a judge to eliminate someone from fashion show
The room was lit too brightly, like a hospital reception area. Everyone was either talking about stocks or staring at their phones.
The playlist?
speechless
Someone even asked her if she had the monthly budget report.
"Where are they?" Shanaya muttered, scanning the door like a hawk.
And then—finally—the double doors flew open like a scene out of a slow-mo movie. Her best friends strutted in like they owned the building.
"Wow, look who decided to show up!" she called out, hands on her hips.
"We had to make a dramatic entrance," prakriti smirked. "It's not every day your uncle and aunty complete another year of tolerating each other."
"Exactly," Ishika chimed in. "They should get medals, not cake!"
The air shifted the moment they arrived.
Flanked by loyalty on one side and chaos on the other, the trio moved together, each with their own rhythm, but it was clear who led the storm
Prakriti Malhotra, Dressed in Red gown stitched rebellion, she walked like the party had waited just for her. The gown hugged her form, flared just enough with every step, and the gold embroidery glinted like it had its own spotlight. Her braid swung with precision behind her, jasmine flowers perfuming the air she claimed with each stride.
Her earrings grazed her collarbones—gold, antique, far too heavy—but she wore them like armor.
Her makeup? Soft, dewy, with kohl-rimmed eyes that held just a trace of defiance.
Hair loosely pinned, strands falling, wild like That evening was meant to be her
Ishika Malhotra‚ classic and composed, with a spark in her eyes that said don't be fooled by the calm.
A structured black gown with a high slit that showed power, not seduction. Off-shoulder, velvet and matte, with silver accents running diagonally like a blade across her waist. The neckline dipped only slightly, enough to command attention, not ask for it.
She wore a pearl choker—old, inherited, laced with stories and sharp edges.
Her heels were stilettos—black, five inches, meant for stomping not dancing.
Her makeup was sculpted. Eyes smoky. Lips painted a shade called ruin.
Hair? Tied in a sleek twist, pinned with silver sticks that looked almost like weapons.
People looked at her and whispered: Who gave her permission to look this dangerous?
Answer: No one. She took it anyway.
Shanaya Kapoor, the calm in the chaos.
The silent ripple in a stormy pond
a quiet smile playing on her lips
A soft lilac lehenga, threaded with diamonds and subtle shimmer that caught the light only when she moved. It wasn't loud. It didn't need to be. It was quietly rich, understated, but impossible to ignore.
The blouse had sheer full sleeves, floral embroidery along the edges, and a sweetheart neckline that softened her presence. Her dupatta was draped neatly across her shoulder, pinned with care.
Her jewelry was delicate—tiny pearl drops, a matching bracelet, and a silver anklet that barely made a sound.
Her makeup was minimal—just blush, a faint gloss, and mascara that framed gentle eyes.
She wasn't the fire.
But she stood near enough to it that people often mistook her stillness for weakness.
They'd be wrong.
the moment Trio stepped into the crowd, the party didn't continue—it changed.
They didn't have to look around to check who was watching—because they knew others were.
From across the hall, Megha Suryawanshi, prakriti's classmate frozed mid-sip, nearly choking on her fancy mocktail.
"Seriously? She wore that to an anniversary party?" Megha hissed to her friend, eyes scanning the bold red gown with a twist of envy curling in her chest. "She's just doing it for attention. So extra."
But her words felt empty even to herself—especially when her own reflection suddenly looked too lost, too forgettable.
"Sukrah hai Aa to gaye tumlog," Shanaya let out a sigh of relief, as if she had been carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.
prakriti dramatically Shrugged her shoulder "Aa to gaye but ab ghar kaise jayenge uska pata nahi,"
Shanaya dramatically gasped "TUM logo ko Ghar se NIKAL DIYA!"
Shanaya's eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Prakriti shook her head in disapproval, saying, "Not now, but we can't predict the future, unless we have a crystal ball, which I'm pretty sure is just a fancy paperweight."
Ishika playfully smacked Prakriti and turned to Shanaya, saying, "Mumma warned us to arrive on time, or we'd be banned from Malhotra House forever. According to kriti Di, the Agnihotris are so extra, they need a Bollywood soundtrack to drink water." She glanced at Prakriti, who was drooling over chilli potato likea zombie.
"Sprinkled water!"prakriti dramatically retorted."Exactly,"Ishika chimed in.
They burst into laughter, and she couldn't help but grin. Annoyance melted into joy as the three of them joined the party, their silly banter already making the evening ten times better.
prakriti squinted around the room. "Why does this party look like the launch of new toothpaste brand?"
"Because," shanaya whispered, "everyone's scared to laugh. It's giving... formal wear and fake smiles."
They burst into laughter, drawing icy stares from three aunties near the samosa table.
prakriti waved at them.
"Sorry, aunty! We're just... uh, celebrating anniversary!"
Not so expected thought cross over prakriti Malhotra mind as she scanned the party hall.
But then—boom—her eyes locked on someone across the room.
"Wait. No. NO. Tell me that's not who I think it is," prakriti muttered, clutching Shanaya arm like a tragic heroine.
Shanaya followed her gaze, and there he was—Mr. Serious, Mr. Perfectionist, the school's very own council president 'Aditya Agnihotri'.
Standing there with his usual"I also have a life" aura and probably a pocket-sized planner in his coat.
ADITYA AGNIHOTRI wore Tailored midnight black—custom, quiet luxury that whispered power instead of shouting it. The suit was double-breasted, silk lapels so sharp they could cut glass, and a perfect fit that showed he didn't borrow power.
He inherited it.
His shirt? Charcoal grey. Buttoned all the way up. No tie. Because he didn't need one to look dangerous.
On his wrist: a platinum watch—vintage, discreet, absurdly expensive.
Pocket square? Deep maroon. A rare splash of color. Like blood on silk.
Shoes? Italian leather. Glossed. Silent on marble.
His hair was combed back with a slight mess at the ends—like he didn't care to tame it entirely. His jaw clean, but there was a dark five o'clock shadow creeping in.
His scent wasn't floral or sweet—it was dry woods, leather, something that lingered long after he walked away.
He didn't smile all night.
But he didn't have to.
Because every time someone looked at him, they felt it:
He was the kind of man who could kill your reputation with a single glance.
And beside him?
NIHARIKA ABHISHEK AGNIHOTRI
She stood like she owned the room—without saying a word. Draped in an elegant ivory saree with a gold border so fine it shimmered under the chandelier light, she looked like she'd stepped straight out of a luxury magazine shoot.
Her hair was tied into a sleek bun, not a strand out of place. A single diamond stud in each ear. No chunky jewelry, just a slim gold bracelet and a designer clutch she held like it could summon the manager of any universe.
Her expression?
Calm, Polished!
But her eyes—those were something else. Sharp, observant, like she could size up a person's life choices in five seconds or less.
She didn't smile much, but when she did, it wasn't warm. It was... calculated. Like she was acknowledging your existence, not inviting you in.
She wasn't mingling. People came to her. Uncle after uncle, aunty after aunty, offering smiles, folded hands, and awkward chuckles. She nodded at them politely, eyes scanning the crowd like a silent queen monitoring her castle.
"Ye Iski mummy hai?" prakriti whispered.
Shanaya nodded slowly, but prakriti eyes hadn't moved an inch off Aditya. She was already shooting invisible bullets with her signature death glare.
Aditya glanced over—and There gaze met, prakriti show him middle finger and he glare at her furiously.
He completely still as his gaze locked onto her attire. The crowd faded. The lights blurred. All he saw was her—that fierce gaze, the gown that moved like it had its own will, the confidence that lit up the entire hall.
"She looks..." he whispered under his breath, unable to finish the sentence. Because no word felt enough.
He wasn't sure if he should approach or just keep watching—but one thing was clear Her entrance is not just entrance
It was a declaration.
"You gonna kill him with your eyes?" shanaya asked casually to prakriti.
"If it works, I'm charging extra amount for emotional damage," prakriti muttered.
"Oh no," Ishika whispered, "umm Shanaya where's the washroom"
Shanaya turned to Ishika "Here, let me take you there, It's you're first time in Agnihotri mansion you'll get lost like in our last picnic a—"
But before Shanaya could even finish her dramatic plea,
Ishika waved a hand like a queen dismissing a peasant. "No no no. You stay here, Enjoy party."
"are you sure?!" Shanaya hissed.
"sure!"Ishika gives a thumbs up, grabs her bag, and heads a few steps down the left hallway.
"Right side Ishi!" Shanaya wishpered, her voice barely above audible and Ishika again show thumbs up.
"Iska thumbs up, kuch hi der mai thumbs down hoyega" prakriti thought, smirking
Before Shanaya could say more, Ishika darted off like a spy on a mission, disappearing into one of the mansion's endless corridors.
"wait....do min mai gayi do minute aayi," prakriti said quickly, and rushed towards food counter.
Shanaya stood there alone now, awkwardly holding a glass of orange juice that tasted suspiciously like disappointment.
TO BE CONTINUED....