The sound of temple bells echoed faintly through the narrow lanes of Jaipur as the evening sky melted into shades of orange and pink. In a small workshop tucked between two sandstone buildings, Aarohi Mehta brushed the last streak of gold onto a clay idol. Her fingers trembled slightly — not from tiredness, but from love. Every sculpture she made felt like a conversation with God.

She leaned back, strands of hair sticking to her face, and exhaled. “Perfect,” she whispered to herself.

Behind her, a voice teased,

“Perfect? It looks like you forgot the smile on his face again.”

Aarohi turned, mock glaring at her Dadi, who stood holding a plate of cut mangoes.

“The smile is hidden, Dadi. It appears when the clay dries,” she said, grinning.

“Hmph, your clay gods smile more than you do these days,” Dadi muttered. “All this work, no rest. Even the moon must be tired of your rants by now.”

Aarohi laughed softly. “The moon listens when no one else does.”

That was Aarohi Mehta — a girl who still believed that broken things could be mended with love.

She closed the workshop late that evening, locking it carefully. Tomorrow was important — her art studio had finally been chosen for a corporate restoration project funded by Rathore Industries. It meant stability, money for Siya’s school fees, and hope for the future.

She looked up at the moon once more. “Please, don’t let tomorrow go wrong,” she murmured.

Meanwhile, across the city, a black luxury car sliced through the Jaipur traffic like a shadow. Inside sat Arnav Rathore, his expression unreadable, his phone pressed to his ear.

“No delays, Mr. Khanna,” his voice was sharp. “The project must begin by next week.”

“But sir, the artist requested one more day to finish the restoration—”

“Cancel her contract,” Arnav said flatly, hanging up.

He didn’t believe in second chances. Not in business. Not in love.

As the car stopped outside the Rathore mansion, the massive iron gates swung open automatically. Inside, chandeliers glittered above marble floors, but Arnav walked past them without a glance. His life was routine — work, meetings, solitude.

His uncle, Vikram Rathore, looked up from the grand dining table.

“Still living in your boardroom, son?”

“Someone has to,” Arnav replied, pouring himself water.

“Or maybe someone is just afraid of living,” his father said quietly.

The glass paused midway to his lips, but Arnav didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. The silence between them said everything.

Next morning, Aarohi reached her studio early — humming, hopeful. But when she saw the letter pinned to her door, her heart sank.

“Contract terminated. Project reassigned. — Rathore Industries.”

Her hands trembled as she read it again. “No… no, this can’t be,” she whispered.

All her savings, her plans — gone with one ruthless decision. Her Dadi tried to calm her, but anger had already replaced the shock.

“He can’t do this,” Aarohi said, her voice breaking. “He doesn’t even know me.”

“Who?” Dadi asked.

“Arnav Rathore.”

And that was how she decided — if destiny wouldn’t listen, she’d shout.

Two hours later, she stormed into the glass towers of Rathore Industries, her dupatta flying like a battle flag. The receptionist blinked as this furious young woman marched toward the elevators.

“Ma’am, you can’t go in without an appointment—”

“Watch me,” Aarohi said, and the doors closed behind her.

On the 21st floor, Arnav was in a meeting when the doors burst open. His team froze as Aarohi stepped in — face flushed, eyes blazing.

“Mr. Rathore?” she said sharply. “You had no right to cancel my contract without notice.”

The room went silent.
Arnav slowly turned his chair toward her, his dark eyes locking onto hers.

“Miss… Mehta, isn’t it?” His tone was calm, cold.

“Yes, and you destroyed months of my work with a single call.”

“You missed your deadline,” he said. “Business runs on time, not emotions.”

“Maybe if you had a heart, you’d know emotions matter more than time,” she shot back.

Gasps filled the room. Arnav’s jaw tightened — not from anger, but something else. Intrigue. No one dared talk to him like that.

“Leave,” he said quietly.

“Not until you listen,” Aarohi insisted. “You can cancel my project, Mr. Rathore, but you can’t cancel my voice.”

For a second, her defiance cracked his mask. The fire in her words… it reminded him of someone he’d once known — someone he’d lost.

“One week,” he said suddenly. “Finish the restoration. If it’s up to my standard, you keep the contract.”

Aarohi blinked, stunned. “And if it’s not?”

He leaned forward. “Then you’ll never work in this city again.”

The challenge hung between them like electricity. Aarohi’s lips curved into a small, fearless smile.

“Fine. I’ll take that risk.”

And just like that — two worlds that should’ve never collided, finally did.

As Aarohi walked out, her heart still racing, she didn’t see the faint smirk on Arnav’s lips — the first one in years.

Outside, the sky rumbled softly. Somewhere, the moon hid behind the clouds — as if it already knew that the thread between them had been tied.