Janvi paced along the terminal corridor, heels clicking against the polished tiles. Her hold on her leather handbag was tight enough to whiten her knuckles. Moments earlier, she and Aarav had moved ahead of Anaya and me—something simple, like grabbing water and coffee, but the minutes had stretched like hours. Overhead announcements blurred by.
She glanced at her phone again: still no response from Anaya. No "I'm fine," no explanation. Her chest tightened. They were supposed to soar onto a plane plucked from a magazine—smooth, graceful, together. And now it felt like they might crash before takeoff.
Aarav hovered nearby, calm as always, leaning against a column with a bored expression. His posture was relaxed, but his eyes tracked her every movement. He finally spoke when Janvi threw down her coffee cup:
"Tum chilled ho, Janvi," he teased with effortless ease.("You need to chill out, Janvi.")
She snatched him by the arm, her voice quick and shaky:"Don't tell me you're the only senior coming on this trip. That we're going alone?"
He looked her straight in the eye, expression guarded, and replied slowly:"If I say yes, then…?"
She closed her eyes, exasperated."Then I don't know what hits me first—paperwork at some hotel or my heart from being so alone."
He stared at her, front-row calm, and then sighed deeply."Alright." He reached for her bag. "Let's just say—yes."
At that, her face deflated as if she'd been holding her breath all this while. She slid onto a nearby seat, legs folding under her.
He knelt in front of her, placing a hand on her arm."Ms. Sharma…"
Her brows shot up."I am going home. I'm done."
She began packing her phone, charger, identification into her bag—but he held her wrist gently, stopping her. She snapped her eyes up at him, anger mingling with relief.
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The airport buzzed with its usual chaos—children crying, announcements echoing overhead, the sharp scent of espresso drifting from a nearby café. But amidst it all, Janvi stood rigid at Gate E3, arms crossed, chest tight.
She'd had enough.
Aarav's smug silence beside her had only made it worse. He hadn't denied being the senior on the trip. He hadn't reassured her. He had just smiled—that infuriating half-smile that made her want to throw her boarding pass in his face and walk out.
"Don't tell me tu hi senior hai," she snapped, stepping back and glaring at him.("Don't tell me you're the only senior.")
Aarav tilted his head lazily, eyes glinting. "Aur agar hoon toh?"(And what if I am?)
Janvi scoffed and turned away, grabbing her bag and mumbling, "Main jaa rahi hoon. I'm not doing this."("'m going home. I'm not doing this.)
He took a step forward, reaching for her wrist to stop her—"Janvi, suno toh"—but before anything else could happen…
A woman stepped in.
A soft floral dupatta fluttered as a middle-aged auntie intercepted them, holding a small purse and a giant heart.
"Arre beta, kya hua? Ladai ho gayi?" she asked, her voice warm and amused.("Oh dear, what happened? A fight?")
Janvi blinked, startled. Aarav let go of her wrist instantly, suddenly very aware of how they looked.
The aunt smiled kindly and nodded at Janvi. "Aise gussa mat karo, beta. Accha nahi lagta. Tumhare pati ne hi toh kuch bola hoga, jaake maafi maang lein."(Don't be so angry, dear. It doesn't suit you. Your husband probably said something silly—go forgive him.)
That word. Pati. Husband.
Janvi's lips parted, stunned.
Aarav blinked. "Uh, actually—"
But the aunt raised a hand dramatically. "Agar abhi pati nahi ho, toh banna chahiye! Aise harkatein toh sirf shaadi-shuda logon ki hoti hai."(If you're not her husband yet, you should be! Only married couples fight like this.)
Janvi felt the burn rise to her cheeks—embarrassment and rage tangled like fire and smoke. Her throat tightened. Her voice barely came out.
"Auntie… yeh mera pati nahi hai. Aapko galatfehmi hui hai."(Auntie… he's not my husband. You're mistaken.)
The woman paused, blinking once, then gasped. "Oh ho! Achha, toh main toh samajh gayi thi… sorry beta. Dono ka chehra itna match karta hai na, laga jodi ho."(Oh! I thought… Sorry, dear. You both look like a perfect couple.)
She walked off with a smile and a blessing under her breath.
Janvi stood still, face flushed, heart racing. Her eyes welled up—part shame, part confusion.
Aarav saw it. For the first time, the smirk vanished.
"Janvi… I'm sorry."
Her jaw clenched, but she gave a slight nod.
And then, from across the terminal, Anaya walked in—eyes widening as she spotted Janvi's tear-bright gaze.
Everything else stopped.
"Janvi?" she whispered.
The dam broke. Janvi ran into her arms.
And behind them, Rudra Singhaniya walked in too… but his eyes weren't on Janvi.
They were on Aarav.
Sharp. Silent. Knowing.
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Anaya's POV
We'd just stepped into the terminal, Rudra and I.
His hand rested lightly at the small of my back—steady, anchoring. Not possessive, but… present. It guided me forward, through the long-glass walkway flooded with amber airport lighting. His pace matched mine, casual and controlled, and yet my brain spun in a thousand directions.
Presentations. Clients. Flight schedules. It was supposed to be just work.
Until I saw Janvi.
She stood a few meters away, framed against the cold blue light of the terminal window. Her green kurta, usually vibrant, looked dulled tonight. Her arms were wrapped around herself, her frame small—shaken. Her face was turned slightly downward, but I didn't need a full view to see it.
Red-rimmed eyes.
Trembling lips.
A kind of silent, graceful ache—too proud to burst, but too overwhelmed to hide.
My chest tightened."Janvi?"
She turned slowly.Her eyes met mine.And whatever wall she had built in the last few minutes... cracked.
Rudra's hand flexed at my waist, his arm slipping around me subtly—like he sensed the shift before I did.
I didn't hesitate.
My heels clicked softly across the marble floor as I closed the distance. I reached her, wrapping my arms gently around her frame. Her shoulders tensed for a breath, then melted against me like she'd been holding it in too long.
I ran my hand down her back, whispering against her hairline."Shh… bas. I'm here. It's okay."(Shh… I'm here. It's okay.)
She didn't sob. But her body trembled once—an exhale that told me enough.
Then she pulled back, wiping beneath her eyes with the edge of her dupatta.Her voice cracked. "Mujhe laga tu nahi aayegi. Main bas…"(I thought you wouldn't come. I just…)She paused, shaking her head."Didn't know what to do."
I smiled gently. "I'm right here. Always."
Behind me, I heard shoes approaching.
Aarav.
He stepped up beside us, his usual teasing expression replaced by something quieter. Something unsure.
"I'm sorry," he said. His voice was low, almost hesitant. "Janvi… I was just messing around. I didn't think…"
Janvi glanced at him, her eyes still watery, but no longer burning. Relief softened her brows."I'm okay. Seriously," she said, giving me a quick glance. "Let's just get through this trip."
Her voice was almost convincing.
Almost.
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Rudra stepped aside as he walked forward—calm, composed, but with a sharpness in his gaze that could slice through silence like glass.
He stood next to Aarav, not facing him fully, just enough for the question to land:
"What happened, Junior Singhaniya?"
There was no anger in his voice.
No raised tone.
Just weight.
Aarav scratched the back of his neck, his posture straightening like a student caught passing notes.
"Bhai…" he said, exhaling, "I was teasing her. Just… didn't expect it to go that far."
Rudra nodded slowly, the movement quiet but final.
Then he turned to Janvi.
"Janvi," he said. His tone softened—subtly. "I apologize… on behalf of my younger brother."
She blinked. Surprised. "No, sir, really—it's fine."
He inclined his head. A gesture of respect. One he didn't give out often.
"Let's not carry this forward," he said. "We'll make this trip smooth."
He took a step back and waited—not pushing, not rushing. Just waiting, like gravity, pulling the tension from the room with sheer stillness.
And without another word, he began walking toward the check-in counter, eyes already forward.
The air shifted again. Janvi straightened her shoulders beside me, and I watched her gather herself—not because she wanted to, but because she refused not to. Aarav glanced at me, guilt still settling behind his usual charm.
I nodded toward the counter."Chalo. Let's go."
As I walked beside Rudra, his presence just behind my shoulder, I realized something.
He hadn't said much.
But somehow, in three sentences, he had reset the whole room.
And I knew then—this trip wasn't just about presentations anymore.
It was about how close we all were to something shifting.
Something deep.
Something none of us were fully prepared for.
We were finally through security.
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Passport stamped, boarding passes checked, bags tagged and pushed into conveyor belts by gloved hands. It should've felt like just another work trip. Routine. Professional. But nothing about this journey was routine, not when Rudra Singhaniya walked a step behind me with a hand loosely resting on my back. Not when Aarav kept glancing at Janvi like he was terrified she might vanish into the crowd. Not when every nerve in my body buzzed with questions I couldn't ask out loud.
"Janvi," I whispered, pulling her aside as we waited for our gate to open. "Tum theek ho?"(Are you okay?)
She gave a small nod, her eyes still slightly swollen. Aarav had apologized at least three times since we left the entrance, his tone soft, even playful, trying to bring her back to normal. But something in Janvi's silence told me it wasn't just about the airport scene—it was about something deeper, maybe herself, maybe him.
But I let it rest.
Some things needed silence to breathe.
We stood at Gate 9A, waiting.
Rudra stood tall near the lounge window, arms folded, his face as unreadable as ever. But he wasn't looking at the skyline. He wasn't even looking at his phone.
He was looking at me.
Just me.
The kind of gaze that doesn't demand attention—it commands it.
And still, I looked away.
My heart thundered in my ears. Not because of the flight—it was my first international one, sure—but because of everything unspoken. The tension that started in the mansion's hallways, passed through side glances at breakfast, and now pulsed beneath the airport lights.
I didn't understand it completely.
But I felt it.
And maybe that mattered more.
The boarding call came: "First and Business Class passengers to Singapore via Gate 9A, now boarding."
That was us.
He stepped forward first, as if by instinct, handing over our boarding passes without hesitation. I followed behind him—my legs steady, my stomach not so much.
Aarav and Janvi were next. They moved quieter now, more aware of the space between them, as if both of them were afraid of stepping wrong.
Rudra handed my carry-on to the attendant, then turned slightly. "Your seat's 5A, with Janvi. You'll be comfortable."
I blinked. "Aren't we supposed to sit together?"
He smiled faintly. "We are. But you asked to be with her. I don't forget things that matter to you."
My breath caught for a second.
"But Rudra…" I started to protest.
He raised a brow. "It's a six-hour flight, Velvet. I'll survive." He bent a little, took my hand, and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. "Go take care of your friend. I'll be one row behind."
I nodded, trying not to let it show how much that simple gesture rattled my insides.
He handed Aarav his own boarding slip. "Seat 6B, junior. You're with me now."
Aarav smirked slightly. "Sir, don't make me regret this pairing."
Rudra gave him a deadpan look. "You should be scared."
And just like that, we walked down the jet bridge—two by two. Janvi and I ahead, our heels tapping in sync on the steel floor. The cabin smell hit me before I stepped in: expensive leather, recycled air, and something distinctly floral.
Seats 5A and 5B awaited us. Cream leather. Pillows monogrammed. Glass partitions high enough for privacy but not too high to forget you weren't alone.
Janvi slid into the window seat. I took the aisle.
She gave me a small smile, but her fingers trembled as she pulled the seatbelt across her lap. "I still feel like everyone's watching," she murmured.
"They're not," I said gently, squeezing her hand. "They're watching Netflix or the safety video. Just breathe."
She nodded, and for a moment, she leaned her head slightly on my shoulder like we used to in college—before life got polished and professional and complicated.
Behind me, I could feel Rudra settle into his own seat. The low thump of his bag being stowed. The rustle of his coat as he folded it over the sidearm. And then… stillness.
I glanced back once—and there he was.
Seat 6A.
Watching me again.
Not the screen. Not the runway. Not the clouds on the horizon.
Just… me.
As if every time he looked, he was memorizing something he wasn't ready to admit out loud.
The plane doors closed. The engines hummed louder. The cabin crew started their safety demo, but all I could hear was my own heartbeat and the quiet electricity running under my skin.
I buckled in, finally.
The belt clicked into place with a soft snap. I tried to focus on breathing, but the moment Rudra leaned forward, I tensed.
He didn't speak loudly.
Didn't make a scene.
He just said, low and close: "Velvet, we're on time. Stay with your presentation."
I turned my head just enough to meet his eyes.
There it was again—that tone only he could use. Half-command, half-comfort.
He leaned back, folding his arms across his chest. "Bhagwan ke naam par, thoda professional toh ban jaa."(For God's sake, try to act a little professional.)
I laughed quietly. "Promise."
He didn't answer.
But he smiled—just enough to know he'd heard me.
The plane lifted off moments later.
The ground disappeared. Delhi shrunk into tiny lights and blurred roads. Clouds wrapped around us like cotton veils. And somewhere in the space between gravity and sky, my pulse steadied.
I turned to check on Janvi. She had her eyes closed, lips parted slightly, a calm expression replacing the anxiety from earlier.
Then I looked across the aisle.
Aarav sat, headphones half-on, one eye still watching Rudra like a student waiting to pass an exam. There was something about Aarav when he was around his elder brother—a blend of awe, rivalry, and admiration.
And Rudra?
He hadn't moved since takeoff.
He sat there, still, regal in his own way. One knee crossed, hand resting on the armrest, face unreadable but present.
I closed my eyes, my head turning to the window, chin tilted just enough to rest. But I didn't sleep.
Not really.
Because somewhere in this flight—this liminal space between what we were and what we would become—I felt something shift.
Not a storm.
Not a breakdown.
But an awareness.
Of him.
Of us.
And of the way even silence can say everything.