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Shivansh's POV
The city blurred outside the window.
Delhi's lights flickered like a lullaby-the kind that didn't soothe you to sleep but reminded you just how tired you were. The streets, still alive with horns and halogen glow, felt oddly peaceful tonight. Maybe because the cabin of our car was completely silent, save for the occasional sigh or shift of weight.
I looked to my right.
Isha had dozed off long ago, her head lolled gently against my shoulder. Her hand, still tangled in mine, twitched every now and then like she was dreaming of running. Even in her sleep, she looked like fire wrapped in softness. Hair falling over her face, lips parted slightly.
In the rearview mirror, I caught a glimpse of Arjun.
He was knocked out cold, slumped against the window. Ranveer was driving seat driving while looking at dhruv, Dhruv was sitting beside isha, his head tilted back and mouth wide open in a way that made me smirk. Classic Dhruv.
In the car behind us, Aviyansh shares driving with one hand while Ishika snored gently against his arm. Prisha and Arav were also out cold, leaning on each other in some confusing but comfortable knot. Ritwik besides them. And still, behind both cars, our security team tailed us discreetly-silent shadows making sure we were safe.
For a moment, I let myself breathe. No palace. No cameras. No titles. Just this.
Just her.
When we finally pulled into the penthouse driveway, the guards stepped out before us and made sure everything was secure. The lobby was quiet. The lift chimed open.
"Isha," I whispered, brushing her hair back.
She didn't even flinch.
Completely gone.
I chuckled under my breath, then slowly shifted and wrapped my arms around her. She curled into me instinctively, head buried in my chest. I stood up, carrying her like a half-asleep kitten, warm and fragile.
Behind me, Arjun groaned. "Bro... she's not the only one dead here. I'm not waking up, carry me also."
Dhruv yawned. "I'd rather carry you than listen to your complain tomorrow."
And just like that, the boys followed suit.
Arav lifted Prisha in his arms like she weighed nothing. Dhruv took arjun mumbling something about his back already aching.
Aviyansh refused to let Ishika wake up fully. "Sleep," he whispered to her. "I got you." She murmured something about brownies and didn't even open her eyes.
Ranveer and Ritwik follow behind like shadow.
We were a strange-looking group in the elevator-half-conscious, tousled, love-sick messes carrying girls who'd probably hit us in the morning for not waking them up.
But it felt... perfect.
The door to the penthouse opened, and the lights flickered on automatically.
Without a word, we all went to different rooms. No planning. No talking. No arguments over who takes which bed.
Just instinct.
I laid Isha down on the bed in our room, tucked the blanket around her, and brushed a kiss to her forehead.
"You're home," I whispered.
She smiled, still sleeping.
And I collapsed beside her, finally letting my own exhaustion catch up.
A crash echoed from the kitchen.
I blinked awake, squinting at the sun pouring in through the tall windows. Isha was sprawled across the bed, her leg over mine, her face buried in the pillow.
"Do I want to ask?" I called toward the sound.
"NOPE," Dhruv's voice shouted. "Everything's fine!"
Another crash.
I sighed.
"Okay, maybe not fine," Arjun corrected.
Isha stirred beside me and groaned. "Tell them to shut up... it's not even morning."
"It's almost noon," I said.
She blinked. "Wait-no! We missed breakfast."
"I think it became brunch."
We all slowly drifted into the living room like zombies. Hair a mess, faces sleepy, clothes wrinkled, but smiles wide.
Avi had finally given up and opened a food delivery app. "Alright, democracy time. Say your order in 5 seconds or you eat what I eat."
"Chole bhature!" Prisha shouted from across the hall.
"Pancakes, please!" Ishika added.
"You're in Delhi, not LA," Dhruv said.
"I want dosa!" Isha chimed in.
Dhruv made a face. "You're all uncultured. I want waffles."
"I want your silence," I said.
Ranveer raised his hands. "Fine, we'll order everything. Everyone happy?"
They all laughed.
The table was a war zone.
Multiple orders, some wrong, some doubled, some already half-eaten by the time we sat. Laughter filled every inch of the space.
"Why are there three boxes of idli?" Ishika asked.
"Because someone," Prisha jabbed a thumb at Arjun, "pressed the plus sign too many times."
Isha held up her phone. "I literally ordered paneer tikka. Where is my paneer?"
"You mean my paneer?" Aviyansh said with a full mouth.
"You monster."
Laughter again.
Prisha was trying to be graceful with a spoon of poha, but Arav kept nudging her.
"You want orange juice?"
"No."
"Lassi?"
"No!"
"What do you want, woman?"
"Peace!"
Even Isha and I couldn't stop laughing. She leaned into me, resting her head against my shoulder while chewing a piece of paratha.
"You happy?" I asked her quietly.
She looked up, her face soft, her eyes glowing. "Very."
I ran my fingers along her wrist, the only place not covered in messy hair or paratha crumbs. "You know you did this, right?"
"What?"
"Made us stay one more day. Made this chaos. This peace."
She smiled, and it wasn't just happiness-it was home.
"I guess you all just needed a little convincing."
I leaned in. "I never need convincing to stay where you are."
If brunch was chaotic, the hours that followed were a beautiful disaster.
By 1:00 p.m., we were finally fed, fully awake, and lying all over the penthouse like lazy cats in the sun.
"Alright," Prisha stretched out on the rug, "this is getting too peaceful. Someone needs to cause drama."
I raised a brow. "You volunteering?"
"I volunteer Ritwik bhai," she said, tossing a pillow at him.
"I'm literally just sitting here," Ritwik said, catching it one-handed.
"Exactly. Suspicious," said Isha, sipping juice as she leaned into my side on the couch.
"Okay okay," Arav clapped his hands. "How about we do something? Like a game? A dare? Truth or dare?"
"Oh no," Ishika groaned, flopping down next to Avi. "Last time someone dared me to call my professor 'Bae'."
"You did it," Aviyansh smirked.
"She gave me extra marks," Ishika smirked back.
"Confirmed: flirting works academically," Arjun said seriously. "Noted."
Isha rolled her eyes. "I vote for something chill. We are all half-alives."
"I second that," Ranveer added. "But also, we should do something. This might be the last day we're together in Delhi."
That hit differently.
Everyone fell silent for a beat, the kind that lingers.
Then Dhruv stood up.
"Fine. Here's the plan. Half an hour to freshen up. Then we're heading to the rooftop-there's sun, snacks, a view, and I'll carry the speaker."
"You're not the boss," Prisha pointed out.
"Until someone stops me, I am," Dhruv grinned.
Blankets were laid out. Juice bottles, chips, dry fruits, and ice cream were scattered like offerings to the sun. The rooftop was warm, with just enough breeze to keep it comfortable.
Isha and I sat under a single umbrella. She rested her back against my chest, head under my chin, fingers playing with mine.
"Do you ever get tired of being perfect?" I whispered into her ear.
She snorted. "Do you ever stop being dramatic?"
"Nope. But I could try-for you."
She smiled, resting her head on my shoulder.
Nearby, Arjun and Prisha were deep in an argument about whether ghosts wear clothes.
"They're souls, Arjun. Not fashion designers."
"Then why are they always in white sarees?" Arjun challenged.
"Because Indian cinema is lazy, that's why!"
Ishika was giggling over something on Avi's phone. He kept stealing glances at her more than the screen. That boy was in deep.
Dhruv, Ritwik, Arav, Aviyansh and Ranveer were playing Uno with alarming seriousness. Like, World War Uno levels of intensity.
"RED!" Dhruv shouted, slamming a card.
"You're so loud," Ritwik said. "Even the sun got scared."
"I win!" Ranveer cheered.
"You cheated," Dhruv accused.
"You're jealous," Ranveer winked.
By 4:00 p.m., we were all sun-kissed, laughter-drunk, and weirdly emotional.
That's when Prisha got up and announced, "Let's do something stupid."
"Like?" Aviyansh asked.
"Let's film a fake music video. Everyone picks a dramatic song and lip-syncs to it."
There was a pause.
Then chaos.
Ranveer draped a scarf over his head and lip-synced to a heartbreaking breakup song, pretending to sob dramatically in slow motion. Prisha kept tossing tissues at him mid-take.
It's not like ranveer he always prefer to say silent but here he also got color of isha and of course my jaana can change anyone if she can change me then she can do anything.
Ishika acted like she was in a Karan Johar film, running around in slow motion while Aviyansh followed, holding her scarf like it was sacred.
Isha took the cake. She grabbed my hoodie, wore it like a dress, and danced around with a banana as a microphone, singing "Love Me Like You Do."
"You're crazy," I laughed, holding the phone and filming her.
"I'm YOUR crazy," she said, blowing me a kiss.
I was sitting on the rug, my back against the couch, and Isha came to sit beside me. Not saying anything, just letting her head rest on my shoulder.
"Do you want to go to your place?" She ssked, knowing the answer.
I shook my head. "first, it's our palace and second, Not yet. We will go by midnight then I'll go."
I nodded. "till then we are here having fun."
She smiled up at me like I'd just handed her the whole damn sky.
Arjun did a full on 'hero entry' walk with wind in his hair (courtesy of a standing fan) while Dhruv added rose petals by hand.
We were loud, stupid, messy-and so alive.
The afternoon sun filtered through the tall glass windows of the penthouse, draping everything in a soft golden hue. The living room buzzed with laughter, loud teasing, and the occasional dramatic gasp as we all sat around, watching our Paris pictures on the massive TV screen.
I lay sprawled on one of the couches, half-listening to Dhruv roast Ritwik for that hideous yellow jacket he'd insisted on wearing to the Eiffel Tower. Prisha was giggling with Ishika in a corner, and Arjun was struggling to defend himself from Avyansh's savage commentary on his "intellectual" poses in the Louvre.
And Isha? She sat close to me, sipping from her oversized mug and trying her best not to smile as Aarav showed off a slow-mo video of me falling off the paddleboat. That traitor.
"You guys are impossible," Isha muttered, clearly amused.
But just then-bam-Ranveer dropped the bomb.
"So, by the way... in one week, it's Bade Papa and Bade Maa Sa's 31th anniversary."
The room froze for a microsecond.
Then-
"WHAT?!"
Isha shot up like someone had pulled the fire alarm. The mug clinked sharply against the table, and her eyes darted between all of us, especially me.
"You didn't tell me!" she said, voice rising. "Shivansh! I can't believe you didn't tell me that your parents' anniversary is coming up!"
"I-" I began, but she was already pacing.
"No, no, no! You don't get it! I need to plan, prepare, think about a gift! I can't just show up like this! How could you not tell me?! Thirty one years! That's a big deal!"
Her freakout was... well, classic Isha. The panic. The overthinking. And still looking adorable while doing it.
"Isha," I said calmly, trying not to laugh. "Relax. They don't really celebrate it big."
"Yes," Aviyansh chimed in, "they just usually have a quiet dinner. No guests, nothing flashy."
"Exactly," Dhruv added. "We just go to mandir, wish them maybe eat together at the palace, or go to some quiet restaurant. That's it. No drama."
"But-" Isha paused, looking a little more relieved but still skeptical. "It's their 31th! That's huge!"
"True," Ranveer said, raising a brow, "and this year, it might be different..."
That's when Avyansh smirked and said what everyone was thinking.
"I mean... they might want to make it special. It's thirty one years of marriage. Plus..." he glanced at me, "...with you becoming part of the family, they might want to make it public."
Isha froze. Her eyes locked onto mine.
"What does he mean?" she asked sharply. "Public? Like... publicly public?!"
I ran a hand through my hair. I could feel my own shoulders stiffen.
"I haven't decided anything yet," I said firmly. "And no, I'm not ready to introduce you to the world like that."
But inside, I was already questioning everything. Was she ready? Was I ready?
Meanwhile, Isha looked like her soul just left her body.
"No. No, no, no. I'm not doing this without knowing every detail. We need a plan. Right now. I need to do something. We can't go in empty-handed. We have to prepare something. Please, sit down, shut up, and listen."
And just like that, the room switched gears.
Everyone circled up like it was a war council.
"What kind of gift?" Ishika asked.
"Where's the dinner happening?" Arjun added.
"What do we wear?" Prisha questioned.
"I still think they'll keep it simple," Dhruv murmured, but even he was interested now.
Isha had that spark in her eyes-the planner, the perfectionist, the storm. And we all knew we weren't leaving this room until the strategy for the anniversary was decided.
The evening drifted in slowly as our chaotic planning session finally ended.
Everyone had a task now. Isha had listed down ideas for the gift, the dress codes, and how we'd enter "gracefully." I swear she was two seconds away from assigning PowerPoint presentations.
"I'm hungry," Ritwik finally declared, collapsing on the couch again. "Let's go eat before I lose brain cells."
"I second that," said Aviyansh. "We'll go out. Celebrate our last night in Delhi before heading to Jaipur."
So, we did.
The entire gang headed to one of our rooftop restaurants in Delhi. The lights, the breeze, the music-it felt like the calm before a very royal storm.
We laughed, ate too much, clicked too many pictures again, and for once, didn't talk about Paris or the anniversary.
By the time we got back to the penthouse, it was already late. I sat down, watching everyone scatter-collecting bags, zipping suitcases, hugging pillows like they were souvenirs.
"I still can't believe we didn't tell our parents we were in Delhi," Ishika mumbled, brushing her hair.
"Classic us," Avyansh grinned. "Rebels till the end."
We had just returned from dinner. Everyone was laughing, dragging their feet in exhaustion, talking about packing. Isha was walking ahead of me-her soft laughter floating back, her hair loose, swaying with every step. She looked so damn alive tonight, so mine.
She was about to turn toward our room when I caught her wrist and gently pulled her toward my room.
"Shivansh," she whispered, surprised. "What are you doing? I have to-"
"You can breathe later," I murmured, and shut the door behind her.
Her back touched the wood-paneled wall, and I caged her in without a second thought. My hand spread against the wall just above her head-protective, not trapping. Her breath hitched. God, the way she looked at me when she was flustered... it shredded whatever little control I had left.
"You drive me insane," I said under my breath. "This entire night, your smile, that dress... I can't keep pretending I'm unaffected."
"Shivansh..." she whispered, her voice almost breaking under the tension between us.
That was it.
I leaned in and kissed her-hard.
Not soft. Not gentle. Desperate.
My mouth claimed hers with months of restraint behind it. Her hands gripped the collar of my shirt, pulling me closer instead of pushing me away. I tilted my head and deepened the kiss. My tongue slid past her lips, tasting her, exploring her, like I had been starved of this.
She gasped into my mouth, and I felt her melt against me.
I pressed her softly into the wall, careful-my palm still behind her head so she wouldn't feel any discomfort. She wasn't just any girl. She was mine. I'd ruin myself before I ever let her feel pain.
Our kiss grew messier, wilder. She responded with the same fire I'd seen in her eyes so many times. Her fingers tangled in my hair, and I groaned low against her lips.
I could feel her trembling.
She was losing herself in it-and so was I.
I kissed her like she was my air. Like if I stopped, I'd choke.
Until-
"Oye!" someone shouted from outside. "Koi hai kitchen mein? Light band kar do!" I guess dhruv.
( is there anyone in kitchen? Turn off the light.)
The sudden voice shattered our moment.
She gasped and turned her face away, breathless and flushed, eyes wide in embarrassment. I slowly pulled back, letting my forehead rest against hers.
"I hate everyone," I muttered under my breath.
She covered her face with both hands, still catching her breath. "You're-out of control."
I smirked. "Only for you."
Her cheeks turned a deeper shade of red.
And I knew-I could live a thousand lifetimes, but nothing would compare to the way she looked at me right then.
The night had finally stretched its silence over us. After the teasing, laughter, the dinner outside, and that moment I stole with Isha... everything had started winding down.
Everyone had begun leaving, one by one.
Isha hugged Prisha and Ishika goodbye, dragging her suitcase to the elevator with Arjun by her side. Ritwik gave us all a lazy salute before disappearing into the car that took him home. Even Aarav and prisha didn't't wait too long. Their homes were close, and we all needed sleep.
Only the four of us remained-me, Dhruv, Ranveer, and Aviyansh.
We stood in the middle of the penthouse, looking at the quiet space we had just turned upside down with memories and madness.
"Our ride's here," Dhruv said, glancing at his phone.
Outside, the headlights of our black SUV convoy cut through the night. Our guards stood tall, waiting, already coordinating with airport security.
We picked up our bags, and without another word, left the penthouse behind.
The drive to the airport was familiar, yet felt heavier this time. We were going home, yes-but there was something more waiting now. A storm of events. The anniversary. Our parents. And Isha.
I leaned against the window in silence, watching Delhi fade past us. Dhruv and Ranveer were talking softly in the front, but I wasn't listening. My mind was still with her.
Would she be ready for Jaipur?
Would she be ready for my world?
The jet stood ready for us on the private runway, its lights slicing through the thick night air. The crew greeted us as usual. Within ten minutes, we were seated, and the engines hummed to life.
Jaipur was only a short flight away.
We didn't talk much on the plane. The four of us had done this too many times-there was no novelty left in private jets and luxury silence. Dhruv was scrolling through his tablet. Ranveer had knocked out the moment he sat down. Avyansh was munching on something from his bag, still full of energy.
I, though... I just stared out the window, waiting.
When we landed, the clock had barely pushed past midnight.
The warm air of Jaipur greeted us like an old friend. Our convoy was already lined up on the runway. Guards opened the doors, took our bags, and without much noise, we were back on the road.
Driving through Jaipur at night was like watching a painting-still, royal, and untouched. Familiar palaces, quiet roads, and lamp-lit streets passed by in a blur.
We finally reached our estate.
The palace gates opened slowly, majestically.
Inside, the world slept.
No servants, no lights, no noise. Just the stillness of a royal home after hours.
We each went to our chambers, guards silently taking our bags up the stairs. I pushed open the door to my room, tossed my jacket on the chair, and stood there for a moment.
It was quiet.
Too quiet.
I wondered if Isha was sleeping now.
If she was thinking about what this week would mean.
If she had any idea how everything might change.
I didn't have answers.
But I knew one thing.
It had begun.
And I wasn't ready to let her go-not now.

Author's POV
The palace of Jaipur stood still beneath a velvet sky, bathed in moonlight, as if time itself held its breath.
Everything was silent.
Not the eerie kind of silence-but a warm, expectant one.
The palace slept.
Like something was about to happen.
Each breath of wind that crept through the carved jharokhas brought only the scent of old roses and a silence that felt sacred. Marble floors gleamed under the dim glow of wall lanterns, and corridors stretched long and regal, as though even the walls held their posture straight.
But in one corridor-somewhere near the east wing-there was a flicker of movement.
Soft. Unhurried. Like shadows slipping between time.
There, beneath towering arches and centuries-old chandeliers, a quiet procession made its way forward. Footsteps-barely audible-touched the cold marble like whispers. No one spoke. Not even a cough, not even a breath too loud. Yet their silence wasn't nervous. It was careful. Excited. Brimming.
The night had draped itself across the palace like a velvet blanket, but those walking knew-they were about to wake it.
Leading the line was a figure draped in soft colors, her steps fast, heart faster. Her hands held something close to her chest-not tight, but protectively, like it was something that mattered.
Behind her, four young men followed.
One of them kept his hands in his pockets, walking with that familiar lazy confidence-except tonight, his eyes were sharp, focused only on the girl in front of him.
Another nudged the third when the latter nearly tripped over an ancient carpet fold. The fourth, tall and composed, walked like a silent shadow.
And behind them-came two older figures, a man and a woman, regal even in their silence. Not far behind trailed two even older souls-an elderly man with a Royal walking stick he refused to use, and a graceful woman whose presence felt like it belonged to the palace itself.
No one asked where they were going. They all knew.
Even though none of this had been planned.
Even though, in this world of royal customs and choreographed celebrations, nothing spontaneous was ever supposed to happen.
But she had changed that.
This girl. The one leading them now.
A few hours ago, there had been no plan. No gathering. No lights. No quiet packing behind closed doors. But her idea-simple, honest, full of heart-had shaken the stillness of the household.
Because in her world, love didn't wait till morning.
She hadn't asked anyone to join.
And yet, one by one, they had.
The woman behind her adjusted the soft package she carried. The elderly man had refused to stay behind even when told she could rest. And the man walking just behind her-well, he hadn't said a word, but his eyes hadn't left her since the moment she whispered her wild plan into the air.
The corridor narrowed.
And up ahead stood the final door.
Large. Ornate. White and gold. With handles carved into blooming lotuses.
A soft pause came over them all.
They were here.
The night held its breath again.
Then-she took the final step.
Lifted her hand.
And knocked.
Not loudly.
Just twice.
Like a secret.
Like a thief.
Knock. Knock.
There was a hush, heavy and soft, like the sky before a storm.
No sound came from inside.
For a second, her's heart thudded loud enough she was sure the others could hear. Her palms were slightly damp, and her fingers curled tighter around the box she held.
Behind her, someone shifted quietly-maybe the last guy, maybe the third one. One guys hands in pocket didn't move. His presence stood close and warm, like a silent pillar behind her. She didn't have to look to know he was watching her, not the door.
And then-
Click.
A faint metallic creak sounded, and the golden doors cracked open just a little.
Someone inside had heard.
Someone had woken.
A quiet voice, laced with sleep and confusion, murmured from within, "Haan? Kaun-"
( who--?)
Before they could finish, before they could fully open the door-
Before anyone could speak-
BOOM.
They burst in.
It happened.
The moment she had orchestrated, built on a whisper and a heartbeat.
The doors swung wide.
And they moved.
All at once, the group surged forward-not loud, not chaotic-but full of something more powerful than noise: love.
Lights flickered on as if summoned by the joy itself. Someone threw a handful of flower petals in the air, and they floated down like blessings. The scent of vanilla and fresh roses filled the air-where it came from, no one quite knew, but it matched the softness of the moment.
Candles flickered to life. Lights blinked on. The cake box flipped open. Balloons flew into the room, rising like confetti.
His father looked stunned.
His mother blinked, then covered her mouth in disbelief.
"Happy anniversary!"
The words burst from their throats like laughter from the soul.
Isha was the first to step in. Her eyes sparkled with unshed tears and mischief, and her smile could've lit every dark hall of the palace.
Shivansh's parents stood at the center of their living area of chamber, both wearing identical stunned expressions-eyes wide, mouths slightly parted, wrapped in sleepwear and surprise. His mother's hands instinctively flew to her lips, and his father just blinked, completely frozen for a second.
And then-something broke.
In the most beautiful way.
His mother let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. Her shoulders shook as she pressed her hand to her chest, and her eyes glassed over-not with sorrow, but with disbelief... and wonder.
His father looked around-at the camera in Ranveer's hands, at the cake Dhruv was carefully placing on the table, at the little twinkling lights someone had hurriedly switched on. His gaze stopped on Isha.
The smile came slow-like sunrise after a long winter night. But it came.
It softened every line on his face.
Isha walked forward, holding out the simple white cake now glowing with soft candles.
She didn't speak.
She didn't need to.
Because this moment-this midnight madness, this breath of joy in a world that ran on elegance and order-was hers.
No one else in the palace would've dared.
No one else would've thought it mattered.
But she had.
And now they stood in the middle of their room-husband and wife, royalty and rulers, eyes locked on each other with a kind of love that years couldn't rust.
His mother wiped at her tears with a laugh. "Tum sab paagal ho gaye ho kya?" she said, though her voice betrayed only happiness.
( Are you guys mad?)
"Andar toh aao," his father added, chuckling. "Standing ovation mat do. Baith jao sab."
( Come inside.)
( sit down.)
They came in slowly, filling the room with the warmth of midnight celebration. Shivansh's grandmother hugged Isha first, tight and silent, whispering something into her ear that made Isha press her face into the older woman's shoulder.
Even the ever-stern grandfather let out a reluctant chuckle, shaking his head as Dhruv tried to adjust the crooked banner he had managed to stick to the wall.
Music wasn't needed.
The laughter was enough.
Aviyansh passed around little glasses of juice-there was no alcohol tonight. The occasion didn't need it. It thrived on something deeper: shared memories, spontaneous rebellion, and the sweet, rare kind of joy that only comes from being seen.
The couple stood beside the cake.
"Blow them," Isha whispered. "Please. And first make a wish and then blow."
His mother and father looked at each other.
Then, as though transported to a time long before thrones and expectations, they leaned in-and blew the candles out together.
Cheers broke out. Loud, wild, echoing through the room and possibly down the hall.
But no one cared anymore.
Tonight, something new had begun in that ancient palace.
A memory, carved not in gold or tradition-
-but in candlelight, cake crumbs, and the laughter of a girl who simply believed love should never sleep on time.
There are nights that pass quietly-calendars mark them, but hearts don't.
And then, there are nights like this.
Nights that do not need permission from time or tradition. They write themselves in the air. In the laughter that rises like song. In the way eyes shine more brightly than chandeliers. In the unexpected warmth that erupts in the middle of silence.
This was one such night.
The room had bloomed into a soft chaos of joy. A cake sat in the center, flickering with the glow of extinguished candles. Bits of ribbon clung awkwardly to a curtain, someone's hasty attempt at decoration. Streamers had fallen unevenly, and a flower petal had landed in someone's tea. It was messy. Beautifully, warmly messy.
But inside that room, it felt like everything was in its right place.
Shivansh's parents-once stunned-were now glowing with that rare kind of happiness that years of marriage sometimes dust over but never really erase. They looked at each other, cake still clinging to their fingertips, and smiled like people who remembered not just the day they got married, but every day since.
They cut the cake together, hands brushing just slightly, and when his father lovelyly lifted the first bite to her lips, she giggled like a girl in love.
"I can't believe you people did all this," she whispered, looking around, her voice laced with disbelief and a sparkle of excitement.
Then her eyes found Isha.
"You were behind this?" she asked, a grin tugging at her lips, her brows rising in that fond, motherly way.
Isha just smiled-bashful, caught, glowing.
"It's madness," his mother added, but her voice cracked gently with emotion. "Beautiful madness."
She turned back to her husband, the teasing in her eyes replaced by tenderness. Their arms slid around each other in an embrace-easy, familiar, and yet suddenly new, as if this moment had returned something long left behind.
And then, as if pulled by an invisible string of reverence, they turned to the elders.
The sons stepped forward.
Shivansh's father and mother bowed lightly, to-touched the feet of the grandparents. Blessings came like blessings should: wordless, heavy with meaning, and carrying generations within them.
The atmosphere softened further.
Then Isha, with a little nudge from Dhruv, moved toward the couple herself. She folded her hands first, a respectful gesture-but before she could bend, his mother pulled her into a tight hug. So tight that for a moment, she disappeared in the folds of her soft cotton shawl.
Shivansh's father joined in, wrapping an arm around both of them.
It was no longer a surprise party.
It was a memory being made-layer by layer.
That's when the rest followed.
The boys came forward, wishing them with half-teasing, half-sincere lines. Aviyansh said something that made his aunt laugh out loud. Dhruv mock-scolded his uncle for being "too serious even on his anniversary." Even Ranveer, who usually said little, offered a quiet, heartfelt "Happy anniversary" and a pat on his uncle's shoulder.
But what no one saw coming-what made the room pause for a second-was him.
Shivansh.
He had stepped in. Fully. Into that room.
The very room he had not entered in years.
Eyes turned to him. Breath caught.
His father looked at him, stunned. For a heartbeat, the world tilted on its axis.
And then came the most quiet, most powerful moment of the night.
Shivansh looked at his father-no anger, no pride. Just... quiet emotion.
"Happy anniversary, dad," he said softly.
No one moved.
His father blinked, something lodging deep in his throat. That voice-that face-in this room.
He said nothing back. He didn't have to.
Because when Shivansh stepped forward and hugged him, tight and wordless, the message was clear:
I'm here.
And his father's arms came around him.
You're home.
Then he moved to his mother. A small smile. Another hug. Longer. Warmer.
And everyone knew. It wasn't just about a party. It was about something healing. Something unseen cracking open-and letting in light.
The night, now saturated with emotion, didn't end there.
Music started somewhere. Aviyansh, as expected, couldn't resist. He grabbed Dhruv, and the two began a silly dance in the center, pulling Isha in. Laughter burst again-this time carefree, light, like champagne fizzing over.
Aviyansh danced with his aunt, spinning her in a lazy, sweet circle. Even Shivansh's grandmother tapped her feet, chuckling softly.
Isha stood to the side for a second, soaking it in.
This wasn't just a family. This was a miracle. An unspoken dream stitched into reality.
And all it took was a girl with a plan at midnight-and a heart big enough to believe that love deserved celebration, even in a palace that had forgotten how.
The laughter had faded into lingering smiles.
The clinking of glasses, the hum of music, and the whirlwind of warm embraces had all come to a natural hush-as if the night itself had exhaled deeply and leaned back in contentment.
It was time to call it a night.
One by one, everyone began to peel away from the group-exchanging sleepy hugs, murmured goodnights, and tired yet glowing smiles. Elders left first, hand in hand, the rhythm of decades between them. The younger ones followed in pairs, a little more reluctant to let the magic end.
But it had to. All beautiful things need rest too.
Isha stood quietly to the side, her fingers loosely entwined in front of her, watching the gentle unraveling of the evening. She saw Dhruv yawn mid-sentence, Ranveer teasing him, Avyansh dragging his own half-asleep self toward his room. Even the ever-curious Prisha, who had stayed late, finally waved a sleepy goodbye and disappeared around the corner.
And then there were two.
Shivansh and Isha.
Left behind, yet not left out.
He stood by the hallway, his usual cold elegance wrapped now in something softer-something quieter. The sharpness in his eyes had dulled, replaced with a strange calm that made him look almost... peaceful.
Without saying anything, he gestured gently with his head.
She smiled.
And together, they began to walk.
The corridor leading to Shivansh's chambers was dimly lit, gilded lanterns casting soft pools of gold light onto the marbled floor. Their footsteps echoed-slow, unhurried-like the kind of silence that feels safe, not awkward.
Isha didn't rush. Neither did he.
Their shoulders didn't brush, yet they walked close enough that the air between them felt warmer. Like shared breath.
She glanced sideways at him, and for a moment, she let herself smile quietly. She had made it in time. She had planned everything down to the last flower and candlelight, and it had worked. She had seen the way his mother had hugged his father, the way Shivansh had finally stepped into that forbidden room. She had seen his father's eyes when Shivansh whispered "Happy anniversary."
Yes, she had done something beautiful tonight.
But more than that-he had let it happen.
"Thank you," she said suddenly, softly, her voice barely above the hush of the night.
He looked at her, surprised. "For what?"
"For not running away," she said with a little chuckle, teasing but truthful. "For being part of it. For showing up."
He was quiet for a moment. Then: "I didn't do anything."
"You did everything," she replied gently. "Just by being there."
They stopped walking now, just before the entrance to his chamber. The corridor narrowed here, and the night wrapped around them like a shawl.
He looked at her in that way of his-still, unreadable, but deep. Like there was something he wanted to say but didn't know how.
And then, after a long pause, his voice came. Low. A little rough.
"I haven't been inside that room in decades."
Isha turned to him, slowly, her expression softening.
"Not since... after the fights started. After I stop talking to him. After I became this version of me."
Her eyes searched his face. She didn't interrupt. Didn't push. She let him pour.
"My father didn't talk to me for months. My mother cried, quietly, every night. They thought I was selfish. Arrogant. And maybe I was." He exhaled. "But tonight... I went in. And I didn't feel like I was trespassing."
She smiled, eyes glistening. "Because you weren't."
He looked down. "You made it feel like home again."
Silence again. But not empty-never empty with them.
He looked up, and for the first time in a very long time, his eyes held no walls. No guards. Just truth.
"Isha... I don't know what this is between us. I don't even know what it's supposed to be. But you're changing things in me I never thought could change."
She felt her heart catch in her chest.
"And I'm not scared," he whispered. "For once... I'm not scared."
Her lips parted slightly, stunned. Moved. She wanted to speak, to reply with something profound, something worthy-but sometimes, words aren't needed.
So instead, she stepped closer. Just a little.
He looked at her, and a gentle smile touched his lips.
"I'm glad you came in my life in time," he said, repeating her earlier words with deeper meaning. "I didn't know I needed you there... until I saw you."
This time, it was her who couldn't speak.
Their eyes held each other like a promise-unspoken, undefined, but very much real.
Then quietly, he turned toward the chamber door, opened it, and stood aside.
"Come on," he said, his voice softer than she'd ever heard it.
She walked in.
No more words were exchanged. They didn't need to be. He switched off the main lights, leaving only the dim warm glow of a side lamp. The room was calm. Safe. Silent.
And finally, together, they drifted to sleep-not as two strangers forced into a connection, but as two hearts resting for the first time, without resistance.
The palace stood tall outside.
But inside, in that quiet chamber, something fragile and precious was blooming.
Love-slow, careful, real.
And the night, now satisfied, finally closed its eyes.
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