🌸 Rhea’s POV
Morning light doesn’t enter our house like in movies. It doesn’t glow softly. It doesn’t look poetic. It filters in through the faded curtains like it’s tired too.
I wake up before my alarm. I always do.
Not because I’m disciplined. But because responsibility has a louder sound than any ringtone.
“Rhea… chai ban gayi,” Maa’s soft voice comes from the kitchen.
I sit up slowly and look around our small two-bedroom house. The paint near the window has started peeling. I noticed it three months ago.
I haven’t told Maa.She pretends she doesn’t see it either. We’re both good at pretending.
I tie my hair into a loose bun and step out of my room.
Shreya is already sitting at the dining table.Of course she is. Her hair is in a messy ponytail, glasses sliding down her nose, highlighter in hand, NEET biology open in front of her.
“Good morning, Doctor Kapoor,” I tease.
She doesn’t even look up. “Good morning, struggling designer Kapoor.”
I gasp dramatically. “Excuse me?”
She finally looks up, grinning. “Didi, mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell. But you’re the powerhouse of this house.”
My chest softens instantly.
“Drama band kar,” I flick her forehead gently. “Kitna padha hai subah subah?”
“Only two chapters.”
“Only?” I raise an eyebrow. “Tu insaan hai ya robot?”
Maa places three cups of chai on the table. She smiles — that same controlled smile she has mastered since Papa passed away.
“Rhea, kal jo client ka call tha… hua?”
“Hmm,” I hum casually, picking up my cup. “They said they’ll confirm by next week.”
Lie.
They rejected it yesterday.
But I don’t let my voice crack.
Maa nods. “Accha hai.”
That’s it.
She doesn’t ask how much they’re paying. She doesn’t ask when. She doesn’t ask about the bank notice sitting inside her cupboard.
Because she thinks I don’t know.But I saw it.
Three days ago.
Final warning.
House loan pending.
If payment isn’t made in thirty days—
I stop my thoughts.
Shreya suddenly speaks. “Didi, NEET form ka payment ho gaya na?”
I don’t hesitate.
“Haan pagli. Kal hi kar diya.”
Her eyes light up like Diwali diyas.
“Really?!”
“Yes. Ab bas padhai kar. Rank laa. Phir main tujhe white coat mein dekh ke ro dungi.”
She laughs. “Aap pehle hi emotional ho.”
I take a sip of chai.
Maa is watching me.Not suspiciously. Just… quietly. She knows something is wrong. She just trusts me enough not to force it out.
And that trust scares me more than debt ever could.
---
Later That Morning
I leave home with my sketchbook and laptop bag. As I lock the door, I glance at the house one more time.
I whisper in my heart: I won’t let anything happen to you. Even if I have to break myself in the process.
In Metro ..🌼
The metro is crowded. Sweaty. Loud.I’m used to it. I hold the railing with one hand and scroll through emails with the other.Another rejection.
“Unfortunately, your design style doesn’t match our brand.”
My jaw tightens.
Fine.Someday they’ll beg for it.
The train stops abruptly.
Someone pushes from behind.
I lose balance—
And collide with something solid.
No.
Someone.
Strong hands catch my elbows before I fall.
I look up.
And for one second—
Everything around me goes mute.
Grey eyes.
Not light grey.
Not soft grey.
Storm grey.
Cold. Sharp. Assessing.
He’s tall. Way taller than me. Black suit. Expensive watch. Perfectly styled hair.
Corporate.
Power.
And zero expression.
He doesn’t smile. Doesn’t apologize. Doesn’t say “Are you okay?”
He just looks at me. Like he’s calculating something. His grip is firm but not inappropriate.
Just… controlled.
Then he lets go. Like I’m a file he accidentally touched.
I blink.
“Sorry,” I mutter automatically.
He gives a slight nod.
And turns away.
That’s it. No conversation. No spark. No violins. Just a man who looks like he owns half the city and a girl who refuses to be impressed.
I roll my eyes internally. Rich men and their silent attitude. But for some reason… I notice when he gets off at the next station. And for some reason…
My mind remembers those eyes. Annoying.
---
🌸 Evening — Café with Kritika
“Tu sure hai he didn’t flirt?” Kritika leans forward dramatically.
“Kriti, he barely breathed in my direction.”
She gasps. “That’s worse.”
We’re sitting in our usual café. Same corner table. Same overpriced cold coffee we pretend is worth it.
Kritika Sinha. My best friend since nursery. She knows when I lie. She knows when I’m pretending.
She narrows her eyes. “You’re thinking about him.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
I sigh. “Okay fine. He had grey eyes. Happy?”
“Grey?” She places her hand on her chest. “Yeh toh illegal attraction category mein aata hai.”
I laugh despite myself.
“Tu CA hai ya gossip channel?”
“Multitalented,” she winks.
Then her expression softens slightly.
“Everything okay at home?”
There it is. That question.
I stir my coffee slowly.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Because you’re smiling too much.”
I look at her.
She knows.
She always knows.
I shrug. “Bas thoda tight hai. But I’ll manage.”
She doesn’t push.
She never pushes.
She just squeezes my hand.
“I’m here. Always.”
And that almost makes me cry.
---
🖤 Riaan’s POV
I don’t remember faces. Not unless they matter. But I remembered hers. That irritated me.
The metro incident was insignificant. An accident.
Yet when I walked into my office later, her hazel eyes flashed in my mind.
Annoying.
“Sir, Mr. Mehta is waiting,” my assistant informs me.
“Send him in.”
(Mr. Mehta the lawyer hierd by riaan for finding loop holes in will.)
Business mode activates automatically. Meetings. Negotiations. Expansion plans. Khanna Enterprises doesn’t slow down.
And neither do I.
He doesn’t sit. He stands near the window.
“I spoke to the trustees they denied for any negotiations and ” he says calmly.
I don’t respond.
He continues, “Your grandfather’s will condition stands.”
“I’m aware.”
“You have one months.”
I turn to face him.
“I know.”
“If you don’t marry, the majority shares shift to trustees.”
“I know,” I repeat, sharper.
He studies me. “Then find someone.”
Marriage.
As if it’s a business acquisition.
I almost laugh.
“You make it sound simple.”
“It is simple,” he replies. You need to marry someone not for love but for empire.
Emotionally distant.
Efficient.
Exactly how our it operates.
After he leaves, I sit alone in my office.
Marriage. The word tastes bitter. Love is emotional distraction. Weakness. Loss of control.
If I marry .
It will be strategic.
Contractual.
Temporary.
Nothing more.
And then—
Hazel eyes flash again.
No.
Not her.
She looked like trouble.
All and I don’t choose complications.
---
🖤
Two days later.
I attend an art exhibition for networking.
Luxury hotel expansion requires cultural alignment.
That’s what I tell myself.
And then—
She walks in. The metro girl ...
Rain clinging to her hair. Loose braid. Simple kurti.
She doesn’t belong in this polished, artificial room.
Yet somehow she stands out more than anyone.
She sees me.
Recognition.
Distance.
Ah.
Now she knows who I am.
People usually soften after that realization.
She doesn’t.
She looks away first.
Walks past me.
No hesitation.
No greeting.
Interesting.
“Riaan!” someone calls my name.
She hears it.
I see it in her eyes.
Khanna.
Realization settles. And something else.
Guard.
Good.
Distance is safe.
I watch her from across the room.
She’s discussing something passionately with the curator.
Her hands move while she talks. Her eyes light up when she explains ideas.
She’s not here for glamour.
She’s here for work.
I don’t know why I notice that.
I shouldn’t.
She’s irrelevant.
Completely irrelevant.
---
✍️ Author’s POV
They didn’t speak.
Not in the metro. Not in the gallery.
Just glances. Just recognition. Just silent assessments.
In a small house across the city, Rhea calculates freelance payments late at night.
In a mansion guarded by silence, Riaan studies legal clauses about marriage.
Two different worlds. Two different storms.
Both stubborn. Both proud. Both refusing to bend.
Strangers don’t look twice.
But sometimes— They remember.
And remembering is the first crack in indifference.
--
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