~ Aditya Singh Raizayad pov~

The zipper of my bag echoed in the silence of the penthouse suite, louder than it should have been. My heart was pounding, each beat faster than the last, as if it wanted to race ahead of time itself. Happiness surged through me, impossible to hide—my lips trembled with a smile that kept breaking free, my hands shaking as though the excitement of leaving had already begun. Tonight, I wasn’t just packing clothes; I was packing memories, anticipation, and a storm of emotions that refused to stay quiet.

“India…” I whispered, my voice fragile, almost breaking in the air. The word carried more than just travel—it carried longing, memory, and the weight of unshed emotions. My gaze grew heavy, eyes shimmering with anticipation, and I paused, staring at the half-packed bag as if it already held my future.

The thought of my younger brother’s engagement filled me with warmth. I could almost hear his laughter, see the sparkle in his eyes, and feel the embrace of family waiting for me. My chest tightened, but not with pain—with joy so pure it felt like prayer. And beneath that joy was another truth, one that only Niharkia and I shared. A secret pressed against my lips, trembling, waiting, but not yet ready to be spoken.

I laughed softly, unable to contain it. The sound was restless, eager, betraying the excitement I tried to keep inside. My steps quickened as I moved across the room, shoulders lifting with lightness, breath coming faster. Outside, my jet was already prepared, waiting to carry me across oceans. Tonight, happiness was not just a feeling; it was a storm inside me, spilling into every fragile whisper, every trembling smile, every unshed word.

My bag lay open on the bed, half-filled with clothes and memories. My heart was racing. Happiness was spilling out of me, impossible to hide. Just then, Niharkia—my childhood friend, my second family—leaned against the doorframe, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

*"Saale, apna chehra dekh," she teased, her voice playful yet affectionate. "Itni khushi ghar jaane ki ho rahi hai… lagta hai jaise tu abhi udh ke nikal jaayega."

I laughed, the sound restless, eager, betraying the excitement I tried to keep inside. My hands shook as I stuffed another shirt into the bag, my gaze heavy with anticipation. I turned to her, lips trembling with words that came out softer than I intended.

"Niharkia… main bata nahi sakat aur na he apne khushi chupa pa raha hu. Aur itni khushi srif ghar jaane ke nahi Ayaan ke Engagemant ke bhi hai .Dil itna tez dhadak raha hai, jaise abhi turant band ho jayega jaise aisa lag raha ye dil puri zindagi bhar ka ek saath dhadah liya ho woh bhi tejii se ."

She smirked, folding her arms, her lips twitching as if she wanted to laugh but held it back. “Bas, bas… thoda sambhal le apni excitement. Jet ready hai, par tu toh khud hawa mein udhne ko tayyar lag raha hai.” Her teasing carried warmth, the kind only a bond of years could hold. And in that moment, I realized—this wasn’t just excitement. It was belonging. It was the storm of happiness I couldn’t hide, spilling into every gesture, every unshed word.

I looked at her, that familiar face that had been with me since childhood. I walked over, closing the distance between us, and with a playful grin I gave her a light tapli on the head. My hand rested on her shoulder, steady and warm, anchoring the storm of emotions inside me.

*"Abe ghaadi," I said, my voice carrying both laughter and a fragile whisper of truth. "Itni khushi ghar jaane ki bhi hai, Ayaan ki shaadi ki bhi… aur tu woh ek wajah bhi jaanti hai."

Her eyes widened just a fraction, then narrowed with mischief. The corner of her lips twitched, betraying the smile she was trying to hide. She tilted her head, smirking, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm.

"Haan, mujhe sab pata hai… par tu apna chehra dekh. Lagta hai jaise khushi ke maare abhi phat jaayega. Saale, thoda sambhal le apni excitement, warna ghar wale samjhenge tu shaadi karne jaa raha hai, na ki Ayaan."

I burst out laughing, the sound restless and eager, unable to contain the storm inside me. My chest tightened with joy, my lips trembling as I tried to reply, but the words came out softer than I intended.

"Bas tu hi toh hai jo samajhti hai… aur tu hi woh ek wajah bhi jaanti hai jisne mujhe yaha bechen karke rakaha hai."

Her eyes softened, shimmering with the kind of understanding only years of friendship could bring. In that moment, it wasn’t just teasing—it was the bond of years, the kind of friendship that carried both secrets and laughter, both fragile whispers and loud banter. And tonight, she was the only one who knew why my happiness was overflowing beyond control.

*"Par sabse zyaada toh Ayaan ki shaadi ke liye main khush hoon," I said, my gaze glowing with anticipation. "Soch toh… mera chhota bhai shaadi karne jaa raha hai, mere se aur tere se pehle. Toh khush toh hunga naa. Uske liye yeh sabse badi khushi ki baat hai—jis se woh pyaar karta hai, usi se uski shaadi ho rahi hai. Aur dusri baat… woh sabse pehle bali ka bakra ban raha hai."

Niharkia burst out laughing, her eyes narrowing with mischief, her lips twitching as she tried to hold back a grin. “Haan, bilkul! Tera chhota bhai hum dono se pehle hee bali ka bakra ban raha hai, mere se or tere se phele shaadi kar raha hai

I laughed too, the sound restless, spilling out of me like a storm I couldn’t contain. My chest tightened with joy, my heart racing faster. I leaned in, my voice softer now, almost a fragile whisper: "Aur tu… tu hi woh ek wajah jaanti hai jo mujhe aur zyaada khush kar rahi hai."

Her eyes softened instantly, shimmering with the kind of understanding only years of friendship could bring. Between us, teasing and truth lived side by side—banter that made us laugh, and secrets that made our bond unbreakable.

I was still laughing, my hand resting on Niharkia’s shoulder, when she tilted her head, eyes narrowing with mischief. Her lips twitched, betraying the smile she was trying to hide. Then, with that familiar teasing tone, she spoke:

"Par ladki kaun hai? Karti kya hai? Kaise dikhti hai? Aakhir woh kaun ladki hai jiske wajah se Ayaan ko college khatam hone ka bhi wait nahi ho raha?"

Her words hung in the air, playful yet piercing, and I couldn’t help but laugh, my chest tightening with joy. As I answered, my voice softer, almost a fragile whisper:

*"Pata nahi…" I said, shaking my head

Niharika leaned forward, her brows knitting together, eyes sparkling with curiosity. “Phir bata na… kya kaha tune?”

I froze for a moment, then let out a nervous laugh. My lips curled into a sheepish smile, and I rubbed the back of my neck, embarrassed. “Mujhe nahi pata… khushi khushi mein puchna hi bhool gaya Ayaan se. Naam kya hai, kaise dikhti hai…”

My voice trailed off, softer now, almost fragile—like a whisper that carried unshed words. I steadied myself, gaze heavy but warm. “Bas itna bataya tha—ladki doctor banne wali hai. Ayaan ki tarah woh bhi apne college ke last year mein hai. Maa aur Maasi maa ne bhi kaha ki ladki achhi hai matlab pyaari hai samajdar bhi hai Badho ke izzat bhi karti hai, aur uska parivar bhi achha hai.”

I paused, my eyes flickering with trust as I remembered my mother’s words. My lips trembled into a faint smile. “Parivar wale matlab… uske papa ka chhota sa business hai. Acche log hain. Waise bhi Maa aur Maasi maa ne kaha hai toh sahi hi hoga.”

Niharika tilted her head, her eyes softened, her teasing smile turning into a knowing one. She folded her arms, nodding slowly, her voice carrying both affection and playful sarcasm: "Haa… woh bhi theek hai. Jab aunty aur Maasi Maa ne kaha hai toh ladki achhi hi hogi. Aur parivar bhi achha hoga. Toh phir tension kis baat ki?"

I narrowed my eyes at her, suspicion heavy in my gaze. My smile had faded, replaced by sharpness. “Waise… tune unhe bataya toh nahi?” I asked, my voice low, carrying the weight of warning. My hand dropped from her shoulder, my face hardening as I added, “Agar tune Maa, Maasi Maa ya ghar mein kisi ko kuch bhi bataya hoga… kasam se, Niharkia, main teri jaan le lunga.”

Before I could say more, she brushed my hand off her shoulder and, with a mischievous grin, jabbed her knuckles into my stomach. I winced, letting out a small cry of pain, clutching my side. Her eyes flashed with a mix of irritation and loyalty as she snapped back:

"Kyun be saale? Main kyun batungi aunty ko? Yaad hai na… maine promise kiya hai tujhe. Aur waise bhi, jo baatein tu mujhe batata hai, main kisi ko nahi batati. Apne khud ke parents ko bhi nahi. Toh aunty ko kaise batungi?"

Her tone carried a defensive edge, a little anger, but beneath it was unshakable loyalty. My chest tightened, my lips trembled—not with rage now, but with relief. I looked at her, seeing not just my childhood friend, but the one person who held my secrets like sacred vows. Between us, teasing and trust lived side by side—banter that made us laugh, promises that made our bond unbreakable, and even anger that only proved how much we mattered to each other.

I held my stomach, still wincing from her playful punch, but my eyes softened as I looked at her. My suspicion melted into trust, my voice carrying both relief and quiet intensity.

"Main jaanta hoon, Niharkia… tune kisi ko kuch bhi nahi bataya hoga. Mujhe tujh pe poora bharosa hai."

I stepped closer, my lips trembling with a smile that carried both joy and secrecy. My voice lowered, almost a fragile whisper, but firm in its resolve:

"Bas… main un logon ko surprise dena chahta hoon. Main nahi chahta ki main woh muskaan miss karu jo unke chehre pe hogi jab unhe yeh sab pata chalega. Woh pal… woh khushi… main apni aankhon se dekhna chahta hoon."

I turned back toward the bed, my bag lying open, half-filled with clothes and anticipation. My hands moved quickly, folding shirts, tucking gifts carefully inside, each item carrying a piece of my excitement. The room felt alive with the rustle of fabric and the quiet storm of joy in my chest.

Niharkia, meanwhile, brushed her hair back and sat cross‑legged on the bed, watching me with that familiar mix of mischief and affection. Her eyes followed every move, sparkling as if she was silently teasing me without words. I glanced at her with a smile and shook my head.

"Tu bhi na… bas baith ke dekh rahi hai, ye nahi mere help kar de."

She smirked, leaning back on her hands, her voice dripping with playful sarcasm: "Achha itni badi company akele samal sakta hai par packing main help chaiye aalsi kahi kaha.

I laughed, the sound restless, spilling out of me like a storm I couldn’t contain. Between us, teasing and truth lived side by side—banter that made us laugh, and the quiet comfort of knowing she was always there, watching, grounding me.

I stopped folding clothes, turning to face her with seriousness in my eyes. My voice carried less teasing now, more weight, more responsibility.

"Toh tu sach mein nahi chal rahi hai, Neha? Dekh le… Ayaan sunega toh bahut , usse bura bhi lagega. Aur dekh le, Neha… sab log puchnge tere baare main

She shifted on the bed, her smirk fading into a thoughtful frown. Crossing her arms, she replied defensively: "Accha… aur agar main bhi tere saath aa gayi toh company kaun dekhega? Itni important meeting bhi toh hai. Waise bhi abhi toh sirf engagement hai, shaadi baad mein hogi."

I zipped my bag shut, locking it with a click. Turning back, I looked at Neha with a questioning gaze, my voice steady but curious:

"Accha Neha… Shivansh kahan hai? Dikh toh nahi raha."

Neha rolled her eyes, brushing her hair back, her tone carrying a mix of irritation and casual explanation: "Achha… woh bewakoof company gaya hai. Main aur tu dono nahi gaye toh woh chala gaya. Use kuch kaam tha."

I zipped my bag shut, turned toward her, and with a half‑smile, half‑seriousness in my voice, I said:

"Abe pagal… tujhse pyaar karta hai. Kam se kam thodi toh izzat kar, Neha."

She froze for a second, then her eyes widened, glaring at me with mock anger. Her lips curled into a smirk, and her face carried just enough arrogance to make her look irresistibly cute. Tilting her head, she shot back:

"Abe kutte… jab main teri izzat nahi karti, toh uski kya karungi?"

Her words hit like a playful slap, sharp yet dripping with affection. I winced, clutching my chest dramatically, pretending to be wounded. She laughed, her eyes sparkling, the arrogance fading into mischief

Again her voice rose, sharp yet playful, as she continued:

"Aur waise bhi… hamesha chipka rehta hai hum dono ke saath. Saala school se hi kabab mein haddi ke tarah hai. Glue ke tarah chipka rehta hai humse."

Her words carried annoyance, but as she spoke, her face betrayed her. Just like always, a faint smile crept across her lips. That muskaan—half arrogance, half affection—lit up her face , making her irritation look almost cute. I watched her, , knowing that beneath every insult and every complaint there was love, A love only for him.

My voice carried that deliberate teasing edge, meant only to provoke her:

"Achha… lattu toh tu bhi hai uspe. Isliye kisi ladki ko uske paas aane, bhatkne bhi nahi deti. Bechara… itni mehnat ke baad jaake, aur uske baad tu uski girlfriend banne ke liye taiyar hui hai."

Neha’s eyes widened instantly, glaring at me with mock fury. Her lips pressed together, then curved into that arrogant smirk that always made her look even cuter. She leaned forward, her tone sharp, defensive, but dripping with playful fire:

"Abe … tujhse zyada irritate karne wala koi nahi hai. Main uski girlfriend? Haan, sapne mein shayad! Aur waise bhi, main kisi ladki ko uske paas aane se rokhti hoon?

I leaned closer, my grin widening as I caught the sudden change in her face. Her cheeks had turned red, glowing like embers. My voice carried playful mischief, sharp enough to tease but soft enough to sting:

"Oye… huee, koi blush kar raha hai."

Neha instantly averted her eyes, her lashes lowering as she turned her face away. Her lips pressed together, then parted with a defensive snap. Her voice carried irritation, but beneath it was shyness that betrayed her:

"Main… main koi blush nahi kar rahi thi."

Her eyes darted away, refusing to meet mine, her fingers fidgeting with the bedsheet as if to hide the truth. That arrogance she wore so easily was still there, but now softened by the warmth of her cheeks. And in that moment, I saw it—the rare side of Neha, the shy smile hidden behind her denial that only come when we talk about Shivansh.

"Achha… mujhe toh koi blush karta hua dikh raha hai."

Neha’s eyes darted away, her lashes lowering as she turned her face aside. But before I could laugh, she grabbed the pillow lying beside her and hurled it straight at me with force. It hit my chest, making me stumble back with a startled laugh. Her voice rose, defensive and sharp, but her cheeks betrayed her shyness:

"Bhosdke… main koi blush nahi kar rahi hoon!"

Her glare was fierce, her eyes wide, her lips pressed tight in mock anger. Yet beneath that arrogance, her face was still red, her blush refusing to hide. I clutched the pillow against me and laughing,Neha’s face was still red, her eyes flashing with irritation as she snapped, her voice rising with defensive fire:

"Aur main koi pyaar nahi karti hoon usse! Main usse pyaar karu? Main itni pagal nahi hoon. Aur tu zyada bola na… toh tere daant tod dungi, saala kutta!"

Her glare was fierce, her lips pressed tight, arrogance dripping from her words. Yet beneath it, her cheeks betrayed her, glowing with that same blush she tried so hard to deny. I couldn’t help it—I burst out laughing, clutching my stomach, my voice light and teasing as I replied:

"Hahaha… mat maan. Teri marzi."

The room filled with the clash of denial and laughter—her sharp words, my playful acceptance.

Neha adjusted her dupatta, her eyes narrowing with that mix of irritation and practicality. She tilted her head, voice firm but calm:

"Chal… achha ek kaam karti hoon. Main Shivansh ko seedha airport bula leti hoon."

I paused, considering her words, then nodded with a faint smile. My tone carried agreement, steady and logical:

"Haan… theek hai."

With that, we both rose from the bed. I picked up my locked bag, slinging it over my shoulder, while Neha brushed her hair back and slipped her phone into her hand.

Together, we stepped out of the bungalow, the heavy wooden door closing behind us with a quiet thud.

The air outside was cool, carrying the weight of departure and anticipation. My chest tightened with excitement, knowing the journey had finally begun.

Hum dono car mein baith gaye, engine ki halki gungunahat ke saath raasta khul gaya. Sheeshe ke bahar raat ka andhera aur street lights ki roshni ek‑ek karke piche chhutne lagi. Main steering par nazar jamaye tha, Neha apne phone ko ungliyon mein ghumate hue khidki ke bahar dekh rahi thi.

Airport ke liye nikalte hue ek baat mere dil ko chubhne lagi—ghar se ek bhi call nahi aaya tha. Na Ayaan ka, na Maa ka, na Papa ka, na Maasi Maa ka. Akshu bhi nahi. Kisi ka bhi nahi.

Aur uss khamoshi ka aur unke call na karne ke ek hi sabab tha, ek hi wajah—maine unse jhooth bola tha. Maine kaha tha ke main nahi aa paunga. Aur iss baat se sab log bahut gusse mein the. Maa, Maasi Maa, Papa… infact sabhi. Khaskar Ayaan toh bahut zyada.

Yahi sochte‑sochte thodi der mein hum dono car se airport terminal tak pahunch gaye. Raat ki roshni aur announcements ke shor ke beech hum andar ghuse, jahan meri private jet pehle se hi tayyar khadi thi—engine ki halki gungunahat, crew apni jagah par, jaise bas humara intezaar kar rahi ho.

Main aur Neha car se utar kar terminal area ke andar chale. Bag mere kandhe par tha, Neha apna phone ungliyon mein ghumate hue chal rahi thi. Mere dil mein abhi bhi woh chubhan thi—ghar se kisi ka call nahi aaya tha, na Maa ka, na Papa ka, na Maasi Maa ka, na Ayaan ka, na Akshu ka. Sab gusse mein the, kyunki maine unse jhooth bola tha ke main nahi aa paunga. Khaskar Ayaan toh bahut zyada.

Aur phir, bheed ke beech ek chehra turant nazar aaya—Shivansh. Woh pehle se hi wahan tha, khada hua, aankhon mein thoda gussa aur thoda intezaar liye. Neha ne meri taraf dekha, uske chehre par ek chhoti si muskaan thi, jaise keh rahi ho: “Dekha, maine kaha tha.”

I placed my bag to the side and stood with Shivansh and Neha. Looking at them both, I spoke softly:

"Listen… there are some important meetings you both will have to attend. Until I return, take care of each other."

Neha lowered her lashes, a fragile smile touching her lips, as if unshed words stayed hidden inside. A blush spread across her face, and she turned her eyes away—shyness and arrogance blending together.

I stepped closer and embraced them both. A heavy yet tender whisper escaped my lips: "Shivansh… take care of Neha until I come back."

Shivansh’s eyes had held a trace of anger, but my words softened them into a smile. Hugging me tightly, he laughed, mischief in his tone: "Bhai… she’s my girlfriend. Of course, I’ll take care of her."

His grin was mischievous, and Neha’s blush deepened. She fidgeted with her fingers, avoiding my gaze, trying to hide her shyness. Inside me, a strange calm settled—between guilt and anticipation, it was their smiles and bond that steadied me.

And then I stepped into the jet. The pilot looked at me with a smile and said: "Good evening, sir."

I simply nodded, my eyes carrying a trace of fatigue and my heart heavy with responsibility. The pilot immediately added as I settled in my seat: "Sir, we will be airborne in a minute. Destination is Bangalore, India."

With those words, the door sealed shut. The hum of the engines grew louder, and the jet slowly began to move. My heartbeat seemed to synchronize with the roar. And then, with a sudden thrust, the plane lifted off the runway—cutting through the night sky, the journey had begun.