The Shekhawat mansion glowed brightly corner by corner by fairy lights, but inside the main suite, the atmosphere was one of quiet, rigid control.

Advait stood before the floor-length mirror, adjusting the crease of his crisp white kurta. He looked like a political photograph—tall, poised, utterly unreadable.

His life demanded this level of perfection; every moment, every gesture, was a calculation. Tonight was just dinner with the Mehta family, important donors and long-time friends.

Control. That was his mantra. The upcoming election was looming, and every public move had to reinforce the image of the disciplined leader.

He heard a soft knock. His sister, Aditi, entered, her expression as always playful humming a sweet melody.

"You look too.... Perfect, Bhaiya. Like you're walking into a meeting, not hosting family friends," she teased followed by a chuckle.

"Because it is a meeting, Adu," he replied warm but firm, glaring at his watch. "The Mehtas are important. I need a clear head."

"Oh, and they’re bringing Anaya Di too," she smirked, clearly enjoying the reminder of that never-ending rivalry.

Advait stilled. Anaya Mehta. If Advait was a perfectly controlled clockwork mechanism, Anaya was a spontaneous, destructive wildfire. She was the one thing he could not predict, could not analyze, and certainly could not control.

"She is irrelevant," he stated flatly like it didn't bother his whole existence. "She will be polite for her parents sake. Keep her away from the election talk. She chases controversy. She is a threat to the narrative I am building."

"Good luck with that, Bhai," Aditi muttered with a sigh, "She thinks you're a prison, and you think she's a storm. It never ends well."

Advait ignored her. He was ready. Discipline was his shield. He walked out, ready to manage the evening.

Across town, Anaya was already seething.

"I don't know why I have to go, Papa," Anaya argued, fiddling with the plain silver bangles on her wrist. "I have a deadline. The Shekhawat family dinners are unbearably dull. I'm going to finish this fellowship, move abroad, and escape all this political drama."

"Anaya!" Her mother scolded gently. "They are family friends. And tonight is important. See Mahek is excited."

Anaya glanced at her younger sister, Mahek, who was busy perfecting her lipstick. Mahek, bubbly and effortlessly charming, was the social butterfly.

"Mahek is only excited because Shivansh will be there," Anaya muttered.

Mahek grinned, unashamed and confessed with a bright smile. "He’s the only one who looks like he actually smiles sometimes. And at least one person there is fun to look at, unlike their overly serious eldest son."

"Just be polite, beta," her father instructed. "Especially to Advait."

The name made Anaya's jaw clench. Advait Shekhawat. The epitome of everything she fought against: control, tradition, and the stifling demands of the elite political class.

Finally, their car pulled up to the Shekhawat mansion. The grand structure felt less like a home and more like a gilded cage.

Anaya walked through the long hallway beside her parents, chin lifted, eyes sharp as ever. Her boldness didn’t dim even under the weight of the Shekhawat name.

Advait’s mother greeted them first while he just stood behind her, tall, calm, perfectly put together.

His eyes met Anaya’s for just one second.

A second too long.

And if eyes could argue, theirs would’ve thrown knives. She saw the immediate disapproval; he saw the defiance. Both looked away at the same time.

The families exchanged hugs and laughter. As they walked toward the dining hall, Mahek instantly gravitated toward Advait's younger brother, Shivansh.

"You wore black again? Did you miss the memo that this is a dinner, not a bodyguard convention?" Mahek whispers playfully to Shiv nudging his arms with her elbow.

"N-no. I mean, yes. I like black. It's.... subtle." Shivansh replied flustered slightly, fiddling with his napkin.

They sat down to eat, parents on both sides, Veer and Aditi trying to keep the peace by joking around, and Shiv and Mahek giggling quietly together.

"Too subtle. You need less politics and more fun, Shiv. Like me," Mahek teased, stealing a piece of garlic bread from his plate without hesitation. Shiv didn’t protest—he just pushed the whole plate toward her, as if she was entitled to it.

Shiv managed a small, shy smile, entirely captivated, highlighting the sweet, easy dynamic that was completely absent between the elders.

It looked normal. Calm. Peaceful.

Except for the two sitting directly across from each other, stealing occasional glances—both looking like they’d gladly murder the other if given even thirty seconds alone.

Advait ate silently, movements methodical momentarily looking up.

Anaya tapped her spoon impatiently, her foot bouncing beneath the table, annoyed by the saccharine sweetness of the setting.

Mr. Mehta cleared his throat.

Mrs. Shekhawat smiled sweetly.

And Advait felt something strange coil in his stomach. The conversation had stalled; the air was waiting.

Oh no. Not this.

"Actually," Mr. Shekhawat began, placing his spoon down gently, his voice carrying the weight of generational power, "we wanted to talk about something important."

Both Advait and Anaya straightened glancing at each other, sensing the incoming bomb.

Anaya’s mother beamed. "We were thinking.… it’s time you two settle down."

Aditi dropped her fork.

Veer choked on his water.

Shiv stared wide-eyed, the half-eaten bread forgotten.

They all know what's coming next.

But the two people at the center?

They froze.

Advait’s fingers stilled mid-air. Anaya’s spoon stopped tapping.

Her voice came out first.

"Settle…. with who?"

Mrs. Mehta’s smile widened.

"With each other, beta."

Silence.

The silence that could’ve killed an entire city.

Anaya blinked—slow, disbelieving.

Advait’s breath hitched, his face paling beneath steady composure.

A part of them—hidden, buried, ignored had known this day would come.

Not suddenly.

Not unexpectedly.

But inevitably.

Because their story hadn’t begun today.

It began the day she entered the world.

The day her cry echoed through both families.

The day a toddler Advait held her, unaware he'd touched his future.

This wasn’t a proposal.

It was fate catching up.

Anaya pointed a finger at him, incredulous.

"With him?"

Advait raised a calm eyebrow, his voice dangerously low.

"I could ask the same question."

Their mothers and siblings laughed, waving away the protest as if it were a charming defiance.

Mr. Shekhawat continued, his voice heavy with finality, "You both know each other since childhood. Our families are close. And Advait has elections coming—having a wife will give him a stable image."

Anaya almost dropped her plate. "Wait—what? I’m an election accessory?"

Her father added gently, "And you…. you’re planning to go abroad. Married life will give you security, beta. And stability."

His tone was final. Traditional. Heavy.

She always knew he wouldn’t let her leave until she was married.

But to Advait Shekhawat?

That part still hit her like a slap—

even if a small, buried part of her had seen it coming.

Anaya’s heart thudded painfully.

Advait’s jaw tightened visibly.

They both stood up at the same time.

"I need air," Anaya muttered, pushing her chair back violently. Like the room was suffocating her, holding her wings tight.

"I’ll join," Advait said, already walking toward the balcony, his voice like cold steel seeking the same escape.

The families exchanged relieved smiles.

But siblings didn't.

They knew world war was about to start.

"Finally, they’re talking," Mrs. Mehta whispered happily to Mrs. Shekhawat. Mahek nudged Shiv, whispering, "Think they'll throw a plate?"

Outside on the balcony.…

Two storms faced each other.

the evening wind whipped around them like a cold, angry whip, mirroring their internal rage.

The wind swept her hair across her cheek.

He looked—longer than he should—before forcing himself to look away, annoyed that he’d noticed something so effortless.

As if the moment itself had betrayed him.

"You’re kidding, right?" she snapped.

"I’m not interested in marriage. Especially not with you."

He crossed his arms, expression unreadable.

"And you think I’m excited about ruining my life with chaos?"

She glared.

He glared back.

"Look," she said sharply, "I want to go abroad. I want a career. I want—"

He cut in quietly, the word hitting her with unexpected accuracy, "Freedom."

The word hit her harder than it should.

She looked away—because if he looked into her eyes, he would know.

Everything.

Everything he wasn’t supposed to see.

Everything she had no intention of confessing.

So she forced the attention back onto him instead.

"And you?" she demanded. "What do you want, Mr. Control?"

Advait kept his gaze fixed on the shadowed garden, refusing to meet her eyes. Not because he didn’t want to—but because he wasn’t ready for what he’d find there. His posture was rigid, burdened by responsibility.

"I want peace," he finally confessed, his eyes falling shut for a brief, stolen breath. A breath he knew she would allow him.

He knew she wouldn’t judge him for breathing—for taking a moment.

Yet the word peace sounded like a distant, impossible dream.… one only she was capable of shattering.

A dream too far out of reach.

A dream she could either grant…. or break.

Their eyes met again.

She was fire.

He was ice.

And both refused to melt—at least outwardly.

Because the truth was simple: they had already melted for each other long before either of them realised.

they had already undone each other long ago.

Anaya stepped back, as if distance could protect them from the chaos that closeness promised.

Like proximity itself was dangerous.

Like being that close would ignite something neither of them wanted—yet both desperately needed.

"I’m not marrying you, Advait Shekhawat."

His voice came just as firm, a cold promise.

“Good. Because I would sooner burn down this mansion than walk down an aisle with you.”

They stood there, sharp words falling between them like broken glass.…

yet neither noticed the truth in their eyes—something softer, almost fragile.

Not hatred.

Fear.

Or maybe… fate.

To be continued....

Thank you for reading.