Chapter-6

Aryaman turned a corner and spotted Anshuman waiting with a devilish smile. Suspicious, he narrowed his eyes.

"What are you up to now?"

Ansh leaned against the wall lazily. "Just waiting for two flower delivery boys. Apparently, they’re obsessed with flowers."

Aryaman frowned. "What?"

Ansh sighed. "Fine. Two kids snuck into your room. Probably to steal money." He shrugged as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Aryaman stared at him in disbelief. "And you let them?"

Without waiting for an answer, he strode toward his room.

Ansh followed, grinning. "I finally got to fulfill my childhood dream of catching thieves red-handed. You should be proud of me."

If the situation were different, Aryaman might have thrown something at him. Instead, he shoved open the door and scanned the room. It didn’t take long to find them. After a half-hearted search, he yanked open the closet door.

Two boys tumbled out.

The first, a scrawny kid with wide eyes, looked ready to bolt. The second, as soon as he straightened up, froze in shock as Aryaman’s voice rang out.

"Mohan?"

The name startled everyone—including Mohan himself.

Ansh raised an eyebrow. "Wait, you know this little criminal?"

Aryaman’s jaw tightened. His voice was clipped. "Krishna’s brother."

Ansh blinked. "Rope Krishna?"

The boys exchanged confused glances. "Rope?" Mohan echoed.

Ansh waved them off. "Nothing, nothing. Forget it."

Aryaman’s patience wore thin. His voice was sharp. "Explain. Now."

The kids fidgeted under his gaze. Then, bowing his head, Mohan whispered, "We’re really sorry."

Aryaman’s expression remained unreadable. "Sorry won’t cut it. Do you have any idea what you’ve done?"

Mohan swallowed hard. Raghav nudged him, silently urging him to speak.

"I lost my school fees," Mohan admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t say how he lost it. He didn’t say who had taken it.

Raghav jumped in. "Mohan didn’t even want to steal! But we… we didn’t know any other way." He looked at Aryaman desperately. "Please, sir. We promise never to do anything like this again."

Aryaman’s expression darkened. "You should have thought about that before breaking into someone’s room."

Mohan suddenly fell to his knees, clutching Aryaman’s feet. "Please, sir! My Didi… she worked so hard for that money. She dreams of me becoming a doctor or an engineer. She lives through me. If she finds out about this, she’ll be… heartbroken."

That made Aryaman pause.

His mind betrayed him, flashing images of Krishna’s face—how it had lit up when she had seen Mohan outside the mansion gate, how she had glowed by the riverside.

Would he be the reason that light disappeared?

His jaw clenched. He exhaled sharply. "Get out."

The boys hesitated.

"And I won’t fire Krishna," Aryaman added, before they could beg again.

Mohan’s head snapped up, eyes filling with unexpected gratitude. "Thank you, sir!"

Before Aryaman could change his mind, the two kids bolted, disappearing from the mansion in a blur of relief and adrenaline.

Ansh, watching them go, chuckled. "Huh. Didn’t even know Krishna had a brother." He turned to Aryaman. "Didn’t know her surname either."

Aryaman didn’t reply.

But in his mind, the answer came instantly. Krishna Joshi.

The ease with which his mind supplied it unsettled him.

Did he… notice her more than necessary?

The thought sat uncomfortably in his chest. But he dismissed it before it could take root.

Without another word, he turned sharply. "I need to have a word with security. If two kids can sneak in this easily, we have a problem."

As he walked off, he smacked Ansh lightly on the back of the head. "And you—stop encouraging criminals, idiot."

Ansh rubbed his head, laughing. "Love you too, bhaiya."

But Aryaman was already gone.

********

By the time Aryaman finished grilling the security in charge, it was time for dance practice.

He and Ananya moved through the steps with effortless grace, their synchronization impeccable, as expected. The choreographers were impressed, but to them, it was just another formality—something to get through. Their energy was almost bored, teasing each other lightly as they danced.

As the song played on, Aryaman glanced around.

Ansh and Pia were rehearsing a high-energy Bollywood number under a separate set of choreographers, their enthusiasm making up for any lack of precision. On the other side of the hall, Sid was practicing a slow dance with his three-month-pregnant wife, Isha.

It was comical watching Sid’s over-cautious side emerge. Every time his hand accidentally grazed Isha’s stomach, he would freeze and anxiously ask, “Tum theek ho na?” His wife, unimpressed, would sigh, “Sid, if you keep doing this, I swear our baby will be born rolling his eyes.”

Aryaman smirked. “Wouldn’t blame him.”

Ananya chuckled. “Imagine being that in love.”

“God forbid,” Aryaman muttered.

She hummed in agreement. They liked each other just the right amount—enough for companionship, but not enough to let it interfere with their goals.

Ananya had ambitions. She wanted to build her own chain of dermatology clinics, independent of her family name. Love, in her view, was a distraction. Secretly, she wanted her business to be bigger than Leela Mehta’s jewelry empire—so she’d never be pressured to follow in her future mother-in-law’s footsteps.

Aryaman understood that.

As they continued dancing, Ananya smirked. “I’m not worried about the future. I mean, look at me—I’m perfect.”

Aryaman raised a brow. “Debatable.”

She narrowed her eyes. “Find someone better-looking than me, then.”

Challenge accepted.

Still moving in sync, she subtly gestured toward a female choreographer.

Aryaman glanced at her and murmured, “Round thighs… flat nose.”

Ananya, grinning wickedly, pointed to another woman.

“Hairy arms… elephant ears,” he whispered back.

Their whispered critiques continued, growing more ridiculous by the second.

Then, just as Aryaman spun her, she subtly tilted her head toward someone else. “What about her?”

As he turned, his gaze landed on Krishna.

A floor above them, she walked behind Leela, Pinkesh, and someone from the decorating team, a notebook in hand. Focused. Unaware of his lingering gaze.

His eyes traced the way she absentmindedly tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the way she scribbled something down while nodding at whatever was being discussed.

“Her body needs… improvement,” he concluded smoothly.

Ananya snorted. “That was both polite and crass at the same time.”

He shrugged.

She flipped her hair. “So, I am perfect.”

Aryaman nodded. “Obviously.” Then, with a smirk, he added, “But still less than me.”

Ananya rolled her eyes but followed his gaze, noticing the women around them stealing glances at Aryaman. She scowled.

He laughed arrogantly “ They’re practically feasting on yours truly here with their eyes.”

But then, unbidden, a thought crept into his mind—Krishna barely even looks at me.

He dismissed it immediately. She doesn’t count.

Their dance practice finally ended.

As they sat for a break, Aryaman scrolled through his phone while a choreographer approached Ananya to finalize a few details about props. Without even looking up from the papers, Ananya lazily called out, “Krishna!”

And just as she had been doing all week, Krishna appeared within seconds, like she had been summoned by an invisible thread. “Ji, Ma’am,” she said politely.

Aryaman felt her presence before he even turned his head. The light scent of jasmine surrounded him.

Ananya instructed her to coordinate between the choreographers and costume designers—her sangeet had to be flawless. Krishna nodded, kneeling to take notes, her back facing Aryaman.

His gaze absentmindedly drifted.

And then he saw it.

A faint, burned scar, barely visible below the neckline of her salwar. Hidden, but there.

His brows furrowed. Before he could think any further, she stood up, finished with her task. He exhaled, brushing the thought away. Maybe he had imagined it.

As Krishna was about to leave, she paused, watching Ansh and Pia dance. A smile tugged at her lips as she enjoyed their performance.

Ansh and Pia, noticing her, immediately started insisting that she join them.

Krishna politely declined. They insisted harder.

Just then, Aryaman’s phone rang. His secretary, Ketan.

He took the call and walked away, discussing the Delhi factory union leader’s promotion. But even as he talked, his eyes involuntarily flickered back.

Krishna finally caved, stepping onto the dance floor with hesitant movements. But within moments, hesitation melted into energy. She danced with unrestrained joy, passion, and natural grace.

Ansh whistled. “Damn, Krishna, at least pretend to struggle. You’re making Pia and me look bad.”

Pia pouted. “Speak for yourself, Ansh. I look great. You’re the one who needs help.”

Ansh placed a dramatic hand on his chest. “Betrayed by my own brother's sister-in-law.”

Krishna laughed, and something about the moment made Aryaman pause.

He forgot what he was saying.

“Sir?” Ketan’s voice echoed in his ear.

Aryaman didn’t respond. He was too caught up in the way Krishna’s laughter filled the space, the way she let go, so different from the serious, no-nonsense girl he was used to seeing.

“Sir, can you hear me?”

His grip tightened around the phone.

She was always working. Always serious. But here—like this—she was free.

“Sir… The union leader…”

Aryaman snapped out of it, jaw tightening. Shaking off the lapse in focus, he continued his conversation.

Later, as practice wound up, Krishna’s phone rang.

“Ji, Police Kaka?” she answered.

Aryaman and Ansh, both within earshot, exchanged glances.

Same thought. Did Mohan get caught stealing again?

Krishna visibly stiffened as she cut the call.

Ansh, tactless as ever, asked, “Did the police call about Mohan?”

Aryaman nearly smacked him.

Krishna’s eyes widened in shock. “Mohan? What do you mean? Why would the police call me about him?”

Ansh hesitated, looking toward Aryaman for support.

Sighing, Aryaman met Krishna’s questioning gaze and told her what had happened that afternoon.

The moment the words left his mouth, something in her shattered.

Her knees almost gave out. She staggered.

Both he and Ansh instinctively stepped forward, but she reached for the wall instead, gripping it for support.

“I…” Her voice wavered. She swallowed hard, barely keeping herself together. “Sir, can I leave early?”

Her distress was palpable.

Aryaman cleared his throat. “Go.”

She didn’t wait a second longer. She ran.

Ansh exhaled sharply, whistling under his breath. “Damn. That was intense.”

Aryaman didn’t respond.

He just kept staring in the direction she had disappeared.