The following morning, sunlight poured through the tall glass windows of Rathore Mansion. The golden rays fell over Aarohi, who sat cross-legged on the marble floor, carefully restoring a faded corner of the mural. Her hands moved delicately, as if afraid to break the fragile history captured in colors.

She had barely slept.
Every time she closed her eyes, she saw him — the way his eyes softened for a second before turning to stone again.

Why do you care, Mr. Rathore?
I don’t.

The words replayed, like a rhythm she couldn’t silence.

Across the hall, Arnav stood on the balcony, a mug of black coffee in his hand. He could see her from where he stood — focused, calm, lost in her world.

She reminded him of peace. Something he hadn’t known in years.

But peace scared him more than pain. Because it made him feel.

He sipped the coffee, eyes still fixed on her. The girl was stubborn, fierce, impossible. Yet, every brushstroke of hers made him wonder — how could someone paint with such faith when the world kept breaking her?

“Sir?”
His assistant, Rahul, interrupted. “The board meeting in thirty minutes.”

Arnav blinked, snapping back. “Right. Prepare the files.”

As Rahul left, Arnav glanced once more toward the hall. Aarohi was still there, humming softly to herself.
He exhaled and turned away — but not before his reflection in the glass smirked quietly, “You’re slipping, Arnav.”

 Midday

“Didi!”

A familiar voice echoed through the mansion. Aarohi looked up, startled — Siya, her little sister, ran toward her, grinning.

“Siya? How did you—”

“Dadi sent me! I wanted to see your big, fancy workplace!” she giggled.

Aarohi laughed and hugged her tightly. “You shouldn’t have come alone—”

“Relax, the driver brought me. Wow, this place is like a movie set!”

Before Aarohi could reply, footsteps approached. Arnav’s voice followed.

“Miss Mehta, who—”

He stopped when he saw Siya — a small girl with bright eyes and a shy smile.

“Mr. Rathore,” Aarohi began nervously, “this is my sister, Siya. She just came for a quick visit—”

“Hello, sir,” Siya said politely, folding her hands.

Arnav nodded slightly. “Hello, Siya. You’re welcome here, as long as you don’t turn the mansion into an art project like your sister.”

Siya giggled. “No promises.”

Aarohi’s eyes widened. “Siya!”

But Arnav chuckled — actually chuckled — a rare sound that made Aarohi freeze. His laughter was quiet, low, but it changed something in the air.

“She’s bold,” Arnav said, glancing at Aarohi. “Just like her sister.”

“And stubborn,” Siya added proudly.

“That’s a dangerous combination,” he murmured.

Aarohi didn’t reply, but her heart skipped at how easily he softened around her sister.

For the next hour, Siya wandered around the hall, asking a million questions. Arnav watched from a distance — the way Aarohi patiently answered each one, the way her smile filled the silence he’d built around himself.

When Siya finally left, she whispered to Aarohi before going,

“He’s not as scary as you said, Didi.”

Aarohi blinked. “I never said he’s scary!”

Siya grinned. “Then why does your face go pink every time he talks to you?”

“Go home!” Aarohi said, pushing her toward the door, but her cheeks betrayed her.

 Evening

A storm rolled in that night. Winds howled through the mansion’s open courtyard, thunder rumbling over Jaipur’s sky.

Aarohi stayed behind to protect the mural from the leaking roof. She covered it with plastic sheets and secured the edges. Her dupatta was soaked, hair clinging to her face.

She didn’t realize someone was watching her from the staircase.

“You’re going to catch a cold,” Arnav said, walking down.

She turned, shivering slightly. “I can’t let the water ruin the paint.”

“The staff can handle that.”

“They weren’t the ones who signed the deal,” she replied firmly.

Arnav’s eyes lingered on her for a moment. The lightning flashed, illuminating her determined face, rain-drenched and fearless.

Without thinking, he shrugged off his coat and placed it over her shoulders.

“At least stay dry while proving your point,” he said quietly.

Aarohi froze, her breath caught somewhere between protest and gratitude.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know,” he interrupted. “But I wanted to.”

For once, the silence between them wasn’t sharp. It was soft. Tender. Almost fragile.

“Why are you so kind sometimes,” she whispered, “and so cruel the rest of the time?”

“Because kindness costs more,” he said simply.

That answer hit her harder than any insult could have.

 Later That Night

After the storm, the mansion was eerily quiet. Aarohi packed up her brushes and turned to leave, but her eyes fell on a half-open door — the study.

Curiosity tugged at her.

She peeked in — and stopped.

On the wall hung an old, faded portrait. A couple — beautiful, smiling, holding a young Arnav as a child.

Beside the frame was a small vase of withered lilies.

Aarohi stepped closer, touched by the sorrow frozen in that moment.

“You shouldn’t be here.”

Arnav’s voice startled her. He stood in the doorway, eyes unreadable.

“I—I’m sorry, I was just—”

“Looking at ghosts?” he asked quietly.

Aarohi hesitated. “They are your parents?”

He nodded once, his gaze fixed on the portrait. “They loved lilies. They were the only flowers they ever kept alive.”

“They look… kind,” Aarohi said softly.

“They were,” he replied. “Until life taught them that kindness doesn’t protect you.”

His voice cracked slightly, the mask slipping for a heartbeat. Aarohi saw pain there — deep, buried, raw.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“Don’t be. It’s an old story. Everyone leaves eventually.”

“Not everyone,” Aarohi said, her voice trembling but firm. “Some people stay — even when it hurts.”

Their eyes met again, and this time, neither looked away.

In that quiet study, surrounded by memories and broken faith, two strangers stood close enough to feel each other’s heartbeat — yet far enough to fear it.

When Aarohi finally walked out, the night air was heavy with unspoken emotion. She didn’t understand what was happening — why her chest felt tight whenever she saw him, why his sadness felt personal.

But deep down, she knew one thing — the cracks in Arnav’s wall had begun to show.

And with every passing day, she was falling deeper through them.

As Arnav watched her disappear down the hallway, he whispered to himself,

“You’re dangerous, Miss Mehta… because you make me remember what I swore to forget.”

Outside, thunder rolled one last time — and somewhere, fate smiled again.