“Good morning,” I said as I stepped into the breakfast room, my voice a measured, default baritone. I kept it entirely level—deliberately detached to mask just how absurdly aware I was of Inayat sitting right there. She was completely wrapped in a blush-toned kurti, her hair pulled back into a simple ponytail, fiercely concentrating on a bowl of cereal as if twirling her spoon were a sacred, high-stakes ritual.

Maa raised a curious eyebrow from across the table, pouring a stream of dark, fragrant tea into a porcelain cup. “You're coming with us for the styling and jewelry appointments today, Veer? I thought you had a board meeting.”

I gave Maa a short, unbothered nod, casually pulling out my heavy oak chair right across from Inayat. “I moved the board meeting to the late afternoon. Thought it would be better if we all went together. Niyati’s been complaining for a week about picking her outfit anyway, and I didn't want her tearing the house apart.”

“Oh, please, don't use me as a shield, bhai. I am strictly tagging along for the high-stakes, front-row entertainment,” Niyati chimed in instantly. She leaned back in her chair, popping a green grape into her mouth with the kind of lazy satisfaction usually reserved for watching a dramatic reality show finale. “Personally, I love watching you two try to navigate picking matching ring colors and wedding aesthetics without making direct eye contact. It’s better than any K-drama.”

Inayat instantly choked. On what, I wasn’t entirely sure. Air, most likely, or maybe just the sheer audacity of my sister’s sharp mouth. Her cheeks instantly flushed a deep, beautiful crimson, and she began frantically taking a sip of water, her long eyelashes fluttering as she kept her gaze pinned firmly to the tablecloth.

I kept my face completely, utterly unreadable, maintaining my best boardroom poker face, though a rogue, deeply satisfied smirk tugged at the very corner of my mouth. Watching her get flustered by the mere mention of our shared future was doing something dangerous to my chest.

Breakfast unfolded in a comfortable, slow rhythm. Maa talked gently about the private boutique appointments she had lined up, Niyati ruthlessly mocked half of the high-society designers on the list for being 'tasteless and gaudy,' and Inayat pretended very, very hard not to look at me.

She was failing. Adorably so.

Every single time she thought I was looking down at my phone or focusing on pouring my filter coffee, I would catch the sudden, warm weight of her gaze darting toward me. She was observing the way the sleeves of my crisp white shirt were rolled up to my forearms, tracking the movement of my hands, trying to read the locked expression on my face. Every time I intentionally lifted my eyes to meet hers, she would instantly snap her head away, her blush deepening, her fingers nervously smoothing down the edges of her kurti.

Maa caught it, of course. Mothers possess a terrifying, radar-like intuition for these things. She didn’t say a word, but a soft, knowing smile touched her lips—the kind of look that immediately made me feel like I was twelve years old again and had just been caught sneaking sweets from the pantry before dinner.

Soon enough, the plates were cleared, and we headed out to the courtyard where the cars were waiting. I bypassed the driver and slid straight into the driver’s seat of the SUV myself.

Niyati and Maa settled into the back with an immediate, unspoken coordination that felt like a pre-planned seating arrangement from the gods. And Inayat? Of course, she was left with no option but the front passenger seat. Fate, karma, or Niyati’s shameless scheming—pick one.

As Inayat slid in beside me, a faint scent of jasmine drifted into the cabin. I turned the key, and the engine rumbled to life.

Almost instantly, my curated playlist kicked into the car's audio system. Soft, classic old Bollywood melodies began to filter through the speakers, the kind of music that lingered in a room like expensive perfume on a silk dupatta. It wasn't entirely a deliberate choice on my part, but I didn't change it either.

The mood inside the car became delicately tense, thick with an unspoken awareness.

From the backseat, Maa began softly humming along to a classic Lata Mangeshkar track drifting from the speakers. Niyati, predictably, was completely buried in a Pinterest rabbit hole on her phone, muttering things under her breath like “modern lehenga meets Mughal queen, but make it minimalist.”

“So, Inayat beta,” Maa said gently, leaning forward slightly. “Are you nervous about the engagement shopping?”

I glanced up at the rearview mirror. Maa’s voice didn’t carry a single trace of teasing—it was just filled with a mother’s careful, protective curiosity.

Inayat turned her head slightly, looking back toward the seat with a soft, vulnerable expression. “A little,” she admitted honestly, her voice small as her fingers nervously traced the leather strap of her handbag. “Everything is moving so fast... it still feels completely surreal. Like I’m stepping into a dream that belongs to someone else.”

“You’re allowed to feel all of it, Inayat beta,” Maa replied, her voice dropping into a comforting, maternal softness. “It’s an incredible amount to take in after so much time. But remember, we are with you. Every step of the way.”

“You’re allowed to feel all of it, Inayat,” Maa replied, her voice dropping into that rare, incredibly comforting maternal tone she only used when she truly wrapped someone into her heart. “It is a massive amount to take in, and nobody expects you to be perfect. But remember this—we are with you. Every single step of the way. You are not facing this world alone.”

Inayat gave a little, quiet nod, her lower lip trembling just a fraction before she bit down on it, blinking rapidly as if swallowing back a sudden, overwhelming wave of emotion. “Thank you, Aunty. That... that means more to me than you know.”

The silence that followed felt noticeably warmer, softer, taking the sharp, terrifying edge off the morning pressure. I reached out, my fingers briefly brushing against the fabric of her sleeve as I adjusted the climate control, a silent reassurance that I was right here beside her.

And then—because heaven forbid things stay emotionally serene or deeply romantic for more than two consecutive minutes—Niyati chimed in from her corner, shattering the peace. “Also, just a fair warning, Inayat: Bhai’s taste is incredibly, painfully boring. He lives in a world of black, white, and navy blue. So just be prepared for twenty hours of him standing in the boutique saying ‘this diamond is too shiny’ and ‘I don’t care about the gold metal color, Inayat, please just pick whatever makes you stop talking’.”

“I heard that, Niyati,” I muttered, keeping my eyes fixed firmly on the road ahead.

“Good,” she grinned unrepentantly, her eyes flashing in the mirror. “You were meant to hear it. Someone has to look out for my future Bhabhi’s fashion sense.”

Half an hour later, the high-end luxury mall welcomed us with a crisp, freezing blast of air conditioning and the blinding glint of massive crystal chandeliers hanging from the vaulted ceilings. We bypassed the main public concourse, taking the private elevator straight to an exclusive, reservation-only bridal boutique.

“Hello, Mr. Singhania. Welcome back to the house,” the receptionist at the front desk greeted, bowing her head with absolute reverence before immediately speaking into her sleek headset.

Within seconds, the floor manager emerged from the back curtain. Megha.

Her face was a flawless, painted canvas of heavy makeup, and her smile was entirely full of the kind of corporate pretense I had detested my entire life.

“What a truly pleasant surprise, Veer,” Megha said, her voice tilting into that syrupy, overly familiar tone she always used when she wanted to clear out our family's bank account for our seasonal wardrobe. “How did you ever find time from your impossible, billionaire schedule to grace our humble boutique with your presence today?”

Before I could even formulate a cold, polite, and completely dismissive brush-off, Niyati stepped right past me, her posture locking into a defensive, razor-sharp stance.

“Bhai is here to shop for his formal engagement,” Niyati said, her voice dropping into a tone cold enough to freeze water mid-air. “Please bring out the absolute best, unreleased bridal collections for my soon-to-be Bhabhi and Bhai. And Megha? It’s Mr. Singhania to you. Let's maintain some professional boundaries.”

My lips twitched with hidden amusement. As incredibly annoying as my little sister could be on a daily basis, I thoroughly enjoyed watching her go into full, protective, feral Singhania mode.

Megha blinked, completely thrown off balance, her practiced, plastic customer-service smile faltering hard at the corners of her mouth. She looked like she had just swallowed a lemon. “Oh. I see,” she murmured, her eyes finally shifting away from me, though they pointedly avoided looking directly at Inayat’s face, instead scanning her simple clothes with a subtle, dismissive judgment. “Who... who is the lucky girl, then?”

I didn’t hesitate. I reached out, my hand naturally finding the curve of Inayat’s waist, gently guiding her forward to stand firmly at my side. I kept my arm right there, letting my touch anchor her against me in front of the entire boutique staff.

“This is her,” I said, my voice dropping into a flat, heavy, and completely unyielding tone that brooked zero argument from anyone in the room. “She’s my soon-to-be wife. I want the absolute best, most elegant pieces brought out for her. We’ll be sitting in the private lounge while you gather the options. And have our usual sent in immediately.”

Megha looked like she wanted to physically scream into a velvet throw pillow.

Megha looked like she wanted to physically scream into a velvet throw pillow, her face turning a strange shade of pale. “Of course, Mr. Singhania,” she managed to squeak out, her eyes narrowing into a microscopic slit before she forced her fake smile back into place. “Right this way to the private suite. Let’s begin.”

For the next hour and a half, Megha brought out a relentless, exhausting parade of heavy, over-the-top, heavily traditional dresses. They were covered in massive stones, loud gold borders, and blinding sequins. None of them felt right. Inayat sat stiffly on the velvet sofa next to me, her shoulders completely tense, her small hands tightly gripping each other. I could see the quiet, overwhelmed exhaustion growing in her beautiful eyes as she scanned the racks.

Maa had requested that our outfits match perfectly for the ceremony on Saturday, so I sat back patiently, rejecting dress after dress because I could see the subtle shake of Inayat's head or the tight line of her lips. Throughout the entire agonizing process, Megha kept shooting her passive-aggressive glances—little daggers of high-society judgment hidden behind fake, backhanded compliments about her simple style and frame.

Niyati noticed it too. Standing by the mirror, she muttered a fierce, quiet “Witch” under her breath, causing me to nearly choke on my drink.

But then, the changing room curtain slid open for the final time.

Inayat stepped out onto the elevated platform, and the words entirely died in my throat. My breath literally hitched, my heart hammering violently against my ribs as I completely froze in my seat.

She was wearing a floor-length, blush-beige gown. It was entirely elegant, understated, and completely devoid of unnecessary, gaudy flash. It was her. The soft, premium fabric clung beautifully to the curves of her waist, cascading down around her feet like liquid silk, accented only by delicate, hand-woven floral embroidery that caught the warm boutique lights.

As she looked at her reflection in the massive tri-fold mirror, I watched the tight, defensive tension finally leave her shoulders. Her expression relaxed into something soft and radiant. She liked it.

She looked so breathtakingly, agonizingly beautiful that it actually physical ached to look at her. In that single, fleeting moment, with the light catching the slope of her collarbone and the soft blush on her cheeks, I forgot about the boutique, forgot about Megha, forgot about the world outside. All I wanted was to pull her into my arms and never let her go.

“We’ll take this one,” I announced flatly, my voice deep and thick with an emotion I couldn't entirely hide, cutting across the room before Megha could open her mouth to pitch a louder, more expensive alternative.

Megha’s lips thinned into a straight, bitter line. “Well… that was certainly a swift selection. I hope we managed to meet your high expectations, Mr. Singhania.”

“You did,” I replied coolly, rising from my seat, my eyes still pinned entirely to Inayat’s reflection in the glass. I handed over my black card without looking. “Thank you for your assistance, Ms. Megha.”

Maa gave her a polite, dismissive nod, Niyati smirked, and we left the boutique behind.

Our next stop was the imperial jewelry house on the upper level. The store was significantly quieter, dimly lit with recessed, warm gold lighting designed to make precious gems shimmer under the glass cases.

Inayat moved slowly along the velvet-lined counters, her slim, delicate fingers lightly brushing over pieces she didn’t dare pick up or ask to try on. As we reached the center display, she paused briefly. Her gaze completely locked onto an intricate, heavy heritage set resting on a black silk bust—a magnificent, priceless choker of uncut diamonds offset by subtle, deep green emerald work that looked like a royal heirloom.

I watched her closely from a step behind, tracking the way her eyes widened, the way her breath caught in her throat.

She stared at the emeralds for a heavy, breathless heartbeat longer than necessary, a soft, beautiful, and deeply unreadable look passing over her features, before she suddenly shook her head, snapped herself out of the trance, and quickly turned away, trying to hide her longing.

She walked over to a significantly smaller, basic display, pointing through the glass at a tiny, minimal silver pendant. “This one is nice, Aunty. Clean lines. Not too heavy or loud. It won't get in the way.”

It wasn’t bad. But it wasn’t what she actually wanted. It was the choice of a girl trying to minimize her presence, trying not to take up space in a world she felt alienated from. And I wasn't going to let her do that.

I caught the eye of the store manager standing nearby and walked over quietly, completely out of her line of sight while Maa and Niyati distracted her with a tray of gold bangles. “Pack the uncut diamond and emerald choker heritage set,” I commanded in a low voice. “Put it on my personal account immediately, and do not bring it out to the counter while she’s in the room.”

The manager bowed instantly with a wide smile. “Right away, Mr. Singhania. An exquisite choice.”

When I returned to the display lounge, Inayat was still anxiously debating between two of the simplest, most lightweight diamond sets on the tray.

“I think this smaller one feels a bit more like me,” she said hesitantly, looking up at me with wide, searching eyes, silently begging for my approval.

“I already chose the set,” I told her calmly, slipping my hands into my pockets as I stood over her.

She blinked, her brow furrowing deeply. “But I didn’t even finalize—Veer, we haven't even looked at the price—”

“I did,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, steady, and entirely final register. I stepped a fraction closer, my shadow completely enveloping her, blocking her view of the rest of the store until it was just the two of us existing in our own tight space. “You were looking at that emerald choker for thirty seconds longer than anything else in this room, Inayat. You liked it. You loved it, actually. You just didn’t want to ask because you think you need to protect my bank account.”

“Veer, it’s far too much,” she whispered fiercely, her eyes wide with panic as she cast a worried glance toward Maa and Niyati across the room. “It looks ridiculously, impossibly expensive. I can't wear something like that.”

I leaned down slightly, my face inches from hers, my eyes locking onto her gaze with a fierce, burning intensity that made her breath hitch. “Listen to me carefully. You are worth far more than a piece of stone, Inayat. If something catches your eye, it belongs to you. Understand?”

A heavy, breathless, and incredibly romantic silence stretched between us under the warm, dim lights of the jewelry house. Her lips parted slightly, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she searched my face for any sign of hesitation, finding nothing but absolute, unwavering devotion.

“Thank you,” she whispered softly.

I didn’t reply. The soft look of gratitude in her eyes was more than enough.

By the time we stepped out of the jewelry house, it was well past one in the afternoon. A low, physical hunger had started to creep in, but as we walked back toward the elevators, I noticed a sudden, disturbing shift in Inayat's demeanor. Something was entirely, terribly off.

The soft, warm comfort we had shared in the jewelry store had vanished, replaced by a rigid, hyper-vigilant stillness. She was walking like she was on a tightrope, her fingers digging violently into the leather of her purse.

We drove a short distance away from the crowded commercial district to Daawat, a high-end, classic fine-dining estate known for its traditional heritage recipes and sprawling, ancient courtyard architecture. The moment I parked the SUV and we stepped out onto the stone pavement, Inayat hesitated, her feet completely freezing right outside the heavy, carved brass entrance doors.

She slowly tilted her head back, staring up at the grand wooden nameplate of the restaurant. Her beautiful brows furrowed into a deep, painful, and agonizing knot. Her lips parted slightly, her breathing altering its rhythm into sharp, ragged gasps.

“Are you okay?” I asked immediately, stepping closer to her side, my hand instinctively reaching out to rest against the small of her back, shielding her from the light afternoon breeze and the eyes of the arriving guests.

She gave a quick, jerky, and entirely unconvincing nod, pulling her gaze away from the sign with immense effort. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, Veer. Just... a little sudden dizziness from the intense sun, I think. I just need some water.”

We entered the restaurant. The cool, air-conditioned interiors wrapped around us, thick with the nostalgic scent of burning tandoor, fresh rosewater, and heavy traditional spices. The golden, ambient lighting cast long, romantic shadows across the private booth we were shown to. Everything about the ambiance was flawless.

Except her.

She was quiet. Far too quiet.

She sat directly beside me on the leather banquette, her hands folded tightly in her lap, barely even glancing at the leather-bound menu placed in front of her. Her skin looked pale under the dim lighting.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed against the tabletop.

She checked the screen, and I watched her entire frame lock into an absolute freeze. A dark, unmistakable shadow passed over her face, her eyes widening with a flash of sheer terror as she stared at whatever notification had just flashed across the glass.

“What is it?” I asked, leaning in close, my shoulder pressing hard against hers so Maa and Niyati wouldn't overhear the panic flaring between us.

She locked the screen with a sharp, defensive snap, sliding the phone face down against the wood. “Nothing. It’s absolutely nothing, Veer. Just... an urgent notification from the design studio about a client project.”

Liar.

I leaned even closer, my voice dropping into a firm, unyielding whisper that carried a dangerous edge of protectiveness. “Inayat. Look at me. Right now. What is wrong?”

“I’m fine,” she said quickly, her voice pitching slightly higher than normal, her eyes darting around the room, refusing to lock onto mine. Too quickly.

We placed our orders, but she didn’t utter another syllable. She sat in absolute, stony silence until the food arrived, and even then, she barely moved her fork, merely moving the food around her plate while her mind was clearly miles away, trapped in a dangerous spiral.

Ten minutes later, the suffocating lunch was over. As we stepped back outside into the grand courtyard, the intense, blinding afternoon sunlight hit us full force.

Inayat squinted heavily against the harsh glare, her face instantly contorting as she let out a sharp, audible wince of physical pain. Her left hand flew up to her temple, her fingers digging violently into her skin as if her head were splitting open.

Suddenly, her knees wobbled violently. Her entire balance fractured, and her body swayed forward, gravity pulling her down.

I reacted before my brain could even register the movement, my survival instincts taking over as my arms snapped out to catch her firmly by the waist, pulling her crashing back against my chest, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. “Inayat? Inayat, look at me!”

She turned her head slowly up toward me. Her eyes were completely wide, glazed over, and terrifyingly distant—as if she were looking right through my chest at a ghost from a past life that I couldn't see.

“I… I think I’ve been here before,” she whispered, her voice barely a faint, agonizing breath against my neck.

A heavy, terrifying beat passed.

Then another.

The color drained from her lips entirely, leaving her looking haunted, completely hollowed out from the inside.

And then—before I could say another word, before I could scream her name or ask her what memory had just shattered her mind—her eyes fluttered shut.

Her muscles went completely slack, her head dropping back heavily against my arm as her body went entirely limp, disconnecting from the agonizing reality around her.

“Inayat!”

I caught her full weight just before her knees could strike the unforgiving stone pavement, sweeping my other arm beneath her legs and lifting her fiercely up against my chest, cradling her to me like she was the only thing keeping me alive.

“Inayat, stay with me—hey—look at me! Open your eyes!” I ordered, my calm, billionaire demeanor completely shattering into pure, unadulterated, and terrifying panic. My voice broke, raw and desperate.

Her face was completely bloodless, her head falling back listlessly against my shoulder, her breathing turning terrifyingly shallow and faint against my skin. Around us, the quiet courtyard erupted into a chaotic blur of noise—bystanders turning to look in shock, hushed whispers rising from the outdoor tables, and Maa screaming at the top of her lungs for someone to call an ambulance.

But my entire world had shrunk down to a single, terrifying point. I didn't see the crowd gathering. I didn't hear my sister's panicked, crying voice echoing behind me. All I saw, all I felt, and all that mattered in this godforsaken world was her. Pale, cold, and completely unmoving in my arms.