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Isha's POV
It was a regular afternoon in the office. The faint hum of the AC, the occasional ring of a landline, the rhythm of keyboards tapping — everything was normal. Mundane. Routine.
But nothing about me felt normal.
I sat at my desk, one hand supporting my chin as I stared at the screen, but I wasn't working. I wasn't even thinking in the usual sense.
I was in my form. That's what people said — "Isha is in her form again." Focused. Composed. Sorted. After all, I had just returned from Jaipur more than a month ago.
A month and two weeks, to be exact. Everything was supposed to go back to how it used to be — my work, my goals, my firm, my peace.
But the silence inside me… it had never been this loud.
When I first came back from Jaipur, the first two weeks were surprisingly warm. He would call. We would talk. Nothing extravagant — just normal conversations: "Had your lunch?" "Are you free in the evening?" "Show me your dress for tomorrow." "Your handwriting in that last letter… God, you're hopeless."
We laughed. We video-called. We wrote to each other — real letters, not just texts.
And gifts. Oh, the silly little things I kept sending. A tie he would never wear. A book he'd never read. A watch I knew he already had three versions of. But still… I sent them, with scribbled notes attached. And he always replied — maybe not immediately, but he did.
Until… he didn't.
It didn't stop all at once. That's the thing about distance — it creeps in slowly, like dusk. You don't realize the light is fading until you're already in the dark.
The good morning texts stopped first.
Then the midday messages — those random "Did you eat?" "I'm in a boring meeting" texts that used to make me smile.
Then, our video calls went from hours to minutes.
Our voice calls — once a nighttime ritual — reduced to strained, dry hellos. And goodnights that felt… obligatory.
I sent a letter last week. A long one. I even sprayed it with the lavender scent he said he liked. I added a tiny note saying, "Don't roll your eyes this time."
No reply.
No message.
Not even a voice note making fun of my handwriting.
Just silence.
And every time I dared to bring it up — every time I asked anything — I got the same, repeated phrases.
"I'm busy."
"Office work is piling up."
"Something urgent came up."
I wanted to scream — Don't you dare lie to me so gently.
But I didn't. I couldn't.
I couldn't even tell anyone about it.
Because Ranveer bhai sa— the only one who would make shivansh undead through all this — was out of India. He had left shortly after I returned from Jaipur. And the world… well, the world shifted its weight on shivansh.
Ranveer's responsibilities — now on aviyansh's.
His pressure — now aviyansh's.
And shivansh always says he is also busy.
And still, no one saw that I was breaking in the middle.
I couldn't reach out to Dhruv bhaiyu either. He had stepped down from his post as PA and was now busy setting up his own company. I knew he was stressed — the kind of stress that keeps a person awake at 4 a.m., the kind that doesn't show but eats away inside. How could I add my confusion to that? My problems for him?
Back when I had first returned, all three of them — Dhruv, Ranveer, and Avi — used to video call every night. It became our safe little space. They teased me. They fought with each other. They asked about my day and then refused to let me speak because apparently, my "rants" took forever.
Even shivansh also came in middle to tease me or some time being jealous that I talk to them more and not to him.
But when Ranveer left… everything began to crack.
Now it was only Dhruv and Avi.
Dhruv still came online sometimes. He tried. He really did. He'd ask if I was okay and send memes he knew I'd laugh at.
And avi, he also tried to come online just to talk to me cause he is busy all ranveer bhai sa work came on his shoulder still he try.
But shivansh
Ansh, who used to be the loudest one on the call — the one who'd say "I'll cut the call if she talks to anyone else except me!"
The one who'd steal the camera, poke fun at me, and then secretly send me messages like, "You smiled. I saw it."
That ansh… stopped showing up.
Every time I asked, "Where's Ansh?"
They would say, "He's in the office."
Or "He stays at the penthouse now."
Or worse — "He's busy with work. He barely comes home."
And I'd nod, pretending it made sense.
Pretending I wasn't counting the seconds he wasn't there.
Pretending my heart didn't drop every time the screen lit up with everyone but him.
No one asked me how I was really doing. Because I looked fine. Because I was Isha — the strong one, the sarcastic one, the busy CA with her own firm.
But inside, every time prisha walked into the room, I held my breath.
Because for a moment, just a moment… I hoped she would say something like,
"Ansh was asking about you."
"He left a letter for you."
"He said he'll call tonight."
But that moment never came.
And the silence kept growing.
It was like mourning something that hadn't died, but had quietly… disappeared.
And I didn't even know when — or why — it began.
I was still lost in my thoughts, slouched back in my office chair, staring at the half-written report on my laptop screen, yet unable to write a single word more. The sound of typing in the outer office, the soft buzz of conversation between staff, the occasional ding of my phone—none of it could pull me out of this spiraling feeling of… distance.
I told myself, "He's busy. Everyone's busy."
But deep inside, I wasn't angry. I was just tired.
I closed my eyes and leaned back, pressing my hand to my chest. I missed them. I missed us.
The soft knock on the glass door broke my chain of thought.
"Come in," I said softly.
Prisha entered with her usual gentle smile, holding a folder in her hand.
"Still lost in thoughts?" she asked knowingly, settling down on the chair opposite mine.
I didn't answer. I simply blinked away the burning in my eyes and nodded faintly.
"You're thinking about them again, aren't you?" she said, placing the file on my table and folding her arms, leaning forward.
"I know they're busy, Pri. It's just…" I bit my lip, "It's just hard not to notice the silence."
She reached across and gently held my hand. "Isha… don't take everything to heart, dear. It's not like they've forgotten you. You know how life gets sometimes—especially theirs. They are doing so much. They're just caught in that phase, maybe a little downslide before the next rise."
I nodded slowly. I knew she was right. But my heart still ached.
Just then, we heard a loud clattering sound from outside the cabin. It jolted me upright.
"What was that?" I asked.
Prisha turned toward the glass door. "Should I check? But Maybe it's Aarav. I asked him to bring my lunch up."
" Ohh, Poor guy, he might be scared to come in after I shouted at him last time to check on him."
Prisha chuckled and got up. "You really should stop scaring him. "
"Just ask him to come in," I said. "And have someone arrange the… I mean, lunch. Ugh, I said dinner. See! I'm still thinking about them!"
Prisha laughed and waved it off. "I'll handle it."
As I was settling the papers and laptop on my desk, adjusting my seat and mentally preparing myself to bury my emotions under work… the door burst open.
And I froze.
There—standing right at the doorway, breathing heavily as if they'd just climbed a thousand stairs—were Dhruv bhaiyu and Aviyansh.
For a moment, I couldn't even move. My heart actually skipped a beat. Was I dreaming?
They were really here. My bhaiyu. My Avi.
I blinked rapidly. "Am I hallucinating? Wait, is this real?"
Dhruv grinned wide and raised a brow. "Nope, not a hallucination. Want us to pinch you?"
I stood up from my chair in a daze. "You both… here? Really here?"
That's when they both rushed in, without another word, and hugged me—tightly, warmly, like they had missed me every single day just as much as I missed them.
I felt their arms around me, the warmth, the scent of their colognes, their presence—and then I just couldn't hold it back anymore. I let out a small sob, burying my face against Avi's shoulder as Dhruv bhaiyu held my hand from the side.
"I missed you," I whispered, voice trembling. "I missed you both so damn much… I thought you just started disappearing… I didn't know what to feel."
Dhruv bhaiyu gently kissed my temple. "We're sorry, bachha. We really are. But we didn't disappear. We were just—"
"—busy," Avi cut in, resting his chin on my head. "Stupidly, annoyingly, frustratingly busy. But never away from you."
I looked up at them through watery eyes. "Then why didn't you say anything? Why didn't you just call?"
Dhruv bhaiyu smiled softly, brushing my hair back. "Because we were planning something."
Avi added, "And because sometimes we're idiots. But today we're here… to make it up."
And in that moment, surrounded by their arms, their presence, and their laughter—I felt whole again.
We sat together in my office for what felt like hours, though the clock told a different story.
Dhruv bhaiyu had claimed the couch like it belonged to him since forever, stretching his legs over the edge with a smug look, while Aviyansh had dragged over the chair from the corner and was now lounging with his feet up on my coffee table—like it was their home, like nothing had changed.
And maybe, for a few moments, nothing had.
They were talking. Laughing. Telling me about the madness of the penthouse, the chaos of launching their new campaign, how one of their junior designers ended up printing wedding invites with the wrong bride's name.
I laughed—genuinely. That full-body, head-thrown-back kind of laugh. And they both beamed like proud idiots who knew they still had that effect on me.
Dhruv bhaiyu kept passing sarcastic one-liners. Avi kept mimicking my dramatic way of saying "Shut up, Aviyansh!"—and honestly, I missed yelling that.
But somewhere in the middle of the jokes, I started to drift again.
Their voices faded in and out.
I nodded at the right times, chuckled quietly, responded with hums—but the ache in my chest returned like an old wound you thought had healed.
They were here. They came. And I was happy, truly.
But it still didn't erase the empty space that had carved itself inside me.
They noticed it too.
Avi leaned in and tilted his head with a frown. "Alright, pause," he said dramatically. "Dhruv bhai, tell me it's not just me. She's zoning out, isn't she?"
Dhruv bhaiyu crossed his arms, narrowing his eyes at me. "Big time. You werepractically floating, Isha. Where are you lost?"
I looked at them both and sighed.
I didn't want to ruin the moment. But what was the point of holding it in, especially when they came all this way to see me?
So I told them.
"It's Shivansh…" I whispered, eyes fixed on the corner of my desk. "He's just been… so distant. Not like he's ignoring me. Just… not there. Not present."
Their expressions softened instantly.
Avi exchanged a glance with Dhruv bhaiyu but said nothing.
"He's always busy," I continued, my voice breaking a little. "And I understand. I do. I really do. He has his responsibilities, his work, his people. But sometimes, it feels like I'm just… waiting on the sidelines. Like I'm no longer part of that core group anymore."
Dhruv bhaiyu scooted closer. "You are, Isha. Don't ever think otherwise."
I nodded, brushing a finger under my eye to wipe away the corner of a tear. "I don't need him to call me every day. I just wish he would sometimes look at my letters and remember I exist. Or… ask how I'm doing, even if it's just a message. He hasn't done that in weeks."
Avi sighed. "You know how bhai sa is. He's… complicated."
Dhruv bhaiyu added gently, "He shuts down sometimes. When life overwhelms him, he buries everything. Even the good things. Even people he loves."
"I'm not mad at him," I said quickly, "I'm just—scared. That one day I'll stop reaching out too. And that'll be it."
There was silence for a moment.
Then Avi suddenly blinked and looked at Dhruv bhaiyu. "Wait. Did she even know?"
Dhruv bhaiyu frowned. "Know what?"
Avi turned to me dramatically, wide-eyed. "Isha. Tell me honestly. Do you know what upcoming Thursday is?"
I looked between them, confused. "Thursday?"
They both stared at me.
"Shivansh's birthday," Dhruv bhaiyu said slowly, like it was obvious.
And just like that—my heart stopped.
"What?"
I blinked rapidly, mouth slightly open. "It's his birthday? This Thursday?"
Avi sighed, sitting upright. "Yup. And don't beat yourself up, okay? It's not just you. Even we forgot last year."
"But—how did I not know this?" I asked, stunned. "He never mentioned it. Not once."
"Because he doesn't celebrate it," Dhruv bhaiyu said softly.
"He hasn't for the past years almost a decade," Avi added.
I swallowed. "Why?"
They exchanged a quick look—then Dhruv bhaiyu answered. "Something happened years ago. Family matter. Ever since then, Shivansh stopped celebrating. He says it's just another day."
I leaned back in my chair, heart heavy. "But this year?"
Avi smiled gently. "This year, he said maybe he'd let it be different. Maybe."
That maybe was all I needed.
I sat up straighter. "Then I'm going to make it special."
Avi's eyes lit up. "Now that's the Isha we know."
I stood and began pacing, already in full planning mode. "He won't expect it. I mean, I'll have to be careful. He won't let me do it if he knows. So it has to be a surprise."
Dhruv bhaiyu pulled out his phone and opened Notes. "Okay, we're officially taking ideas. Operation: 'Unbirthday Surprise' begins now."
I started pacing faster. "We'll need decorations. But not over-the-top. He doesn't like flashy. Something intimate. Personal. Maybe something themed around music—he loves that."
Avi added, "And old books! Remember that dusty vintage bookstore he wouldn't shut up about in Jaipur?"
"Yes!" I gasped. "I'll get him something rare. First edition, maybe."
"Food?" Dhruv bhaiyu asked.
"He never eats cake on his birthday," Avi said. "But he does eat gulab jamuns or kheer like his life depends on them."
We all laughed—and in that laughter, something healed inside me.
I wasn't alone.
I never was.
Together, we brainstormed everything—gifts, food, location, how Dhruv bhaiyu distracted him, how Avi would sneak in the room, how Dhruv would handle the food, and how I would finally, finally give him a birthday he'd remember, how bhaiyu will came with shivansh at the penthouse and we will surprise him.
For him.
For us.
And maybe… just maybe… to remind him that love doesn't fade with silence. It only waits—patiently—to bloom again.
Because in my heart... I was still jittery. I still had that odd, uneasy feeling. The kind that lingers even after a perfect plan is made. Like something was missing—not in the surprise, but in me.
And as always, Dhruv bhaiyu noticed.
He was sprawled across the couch, playing with a stress ball. "Isha?"
I looked up from my notepad. "Hmm?"
He threw the ball at me. I caught it by reflex.
"You're overthinking again."
"I am not."
"You are," Avi joined in, not even looking up from his phone. "You've already color-coded the gift box list twice."
"So? That's just being thorough."
"It's being you," Dhruv bhaiyu said with a small smile. "Come on. Take a break. Let's go on a date."
I blinked. "A what?"
"A date," he grinned, standing up and ruffling my hair. "Brother-sister style. No pressure. No planning. Just fun. You need it."
I opened my mouth to protest, but Avi had already grabbed his jacket. "Let's go, Lady Stress-a-lot. You've earned this."
I didn't know what to expect. I hadn't been to a trampoline park in years. The last time I bounced on one, I was still in a messy ponytail and stealing my mom's kajal when no one was looking.
But the moment we stepped inside the massive indoor park in Noida, my eyes lit up.
It was… alive.
High ceilings, colorful foam pits, neon lights, and trampolines stretching across the floor like a dream playground. Pop music thumped gently through hidden speakers. The air smelled like socks, sanitizer, and buttery popcorn.
"OH. MY. GOD." I turned in a slow circle. "This is insane."
Dhruv gave a mock bow. "Welcome to the trampoline park."
Aviyansh was already halfway to the locker area. "We're getting those neon socks. And I swear, Isha, if you don't flip at least once, I'm dragging you to the foam pit myself."
I laughed, louder than I had all week.
We changed into the bright orange grip socks, tied up our shoes, and I followed them in. The trampoline floor was soft and springy beneath my feet—it felt like walking on clouds.
Dhruv bhaiyu jumped first.
Then Avi.
Then me.
And in an instant—we were flying.
"WOOOOHOOOO!" Dhruv bhaiyu shouted, somersaulting mid-air.
Avi tried to copy but landed face-first into the netting. "I regret everything."
I was laughing so hard I had to sit down. My stomach hurt—in the best way.
I finally stood on the edge of the trampoline lane, closed my eyes, and jumped.
The moment I rose in the air, weightless and wild, something broke loose inside me. Not pain. Not confusion. Something deeper.
Maybe it was a joy.
Maybe it was freedom.
Maybe… it was healing.
We took turns flipping into the giant foam pit, climbing out breathless, with sweat on our foreheads and joy in our cheeks.
"I think I just swallowed foam," Avi groaned, sticking his tongue out.
"Then that's your dinner," Dhruv smirked, helping him out.
I lay back in the foam cubes, arms stretched. "I forgot how much I love being a complete idiot."
"You're welcome," Dhruv bhaiyu said, flopping beside me.
"This was needed," I whispered. "So badly."
"You've been carrying so much, Isha." Avi said softly. "Work. Expectations. Shivansh. Emotions. That gorgeous brain of yours never rests."
I blinked up at the glow-in-the-dark stars painted on the ceiling. "It's hard. I love him. But he's been so distant. I don't even know if he remembers his own birthday."
Dhruv bhaiyu turned to face me. "Even if he doesn't... you do. And that's enough. The way you love him is enough."
I nodded slowly, my throat tight.
"But," Avi grinned suddenly, "until the big surprise day comes... just bounce."
And with that, he shoved me straight into the foam pit.
After trampoline dodgeball, relay races, a jumping photo competition (Avi won with a weird mid-air split), and too many failed backflips—we were exhausted.
But happy.
Outside the park, under the starry Delhi sky, we sat on the curb eating soft cones from a vendor nearby. My face was flushed, my hair a mess, and my heart… a little more at peace.
"I don't say it often," I said, licking my vanilla ice cream. "But I love you guys."
"We know," Dhruv bhaiyu said, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
"We love you more," Avi added, bumping my cone gently with his.
And as the streetlight glowed above us and the sounds of traffic faded in the distance—I felt something new.
A calm, quiet confidence.
Shivansh's birthday was coming.
And this time, I wasn't planning for fear.
I was planning from love.
We had no idea the trampoline park would become the beginning of something we'd all start craving again and again.
The laughter, the falls, the ridiculous jumps where Dhruv literally flailed like a penguin mid-air—everything had filled me with this beautiful ache. The next few days just carried that same chaotic comfort with them.
We didn't stop after that day.
Almost every evening that week, avi said,
"Khaane chalein?"
( let's go for dinner.)
And somehow, the answer was always yes. No matter how tired we were or where we were coming from, we always ended up together.
That particular evening, I remember slumping into my bean bag, scrolling my phone mindlessly.
Avi said "You okay?"
I replied before I could second-guess it:
"I'm just… sad."
After all the playing, jumping, and endless teasing on that trampoline, I finally flopped down on the edge of the mat, completely exhausted.
"I'm really hungry," I groaned, clutching my stomach like I was dying. "And don't you dare offer me a sandwich," I warned before they could even open their mouths.
Avi raised an eyebrow, amused. "Okay, drama queen. What do you want then? Pizza?"
My eyes lit up. "Now you're talking."
Dhruv laughed. "But didn't you already eat before we got here?"
"I nibbled," I said, rolling my eyes. "That doesn't count. Besides, this hunger is emotional."
"Here we go again," Avi muttered with a grin, already pulling out his phone to place the order.
The conversation kept bouncing between whether we wanted cheese burst or thin crust, garlic bread or fries, but eventually, we settled on way too much food for three people and decided to crash at my's place until it arrived. Everyone was too lazy to go home, and honestly, I didn't mind. I liked these little moments. No pressure. No drama. Just… us.
And then, in the middle of laughing about how Dhruv once tripped over his own jeans in front of a crowd,
A pause. Then I added:
"Let's go to my apartment?"
It wasn't just mine anymore. It had slowly become ours—that little rooftop room where we once kept our canvases and forgot the world existed.
Within 30 minutes, Dhruv bhaiyu and Avi were climbing the stairs with their usual chaos, arguing about who was hungrier and whether we should order four or six garlic breads.
The fairy lights in the paint house still glowed like little fireflies, the open windows letting in the Delhi breeze, and our worn-out bean bags were now marked with everyone's favorite spots.
We flopped into place like it was home.
"Same order?" Dhruv bhaiyu asked, phone in hand.
"Add the brownies this time," I muttered, hugging my knees.
Avi picked up his phone and called Ranveer bhai sa.
I looked at him, surprised. "You still talk to him like that?"
Avi smirked. "It's complicated."
I didn't ask further.
To my shock, he picked up immediately.
"Hi," I said softly, biting my lower lip.
"You sound tired," he said gently.
"I am. But mostly hungry," I sighed. "We played for hours and now we're waiting for pizza. And no, before you ask—I haven't eaten. Don't guilt-trip me."
"Without me?" he asked, and there was a teasing note in his voice, but underneath… something warmer.
"Well… someone didn't invite me anywhere."
There was silence for a beat. Then…
"I'm jealous," he admitted.
I froze.
"What?"
"That they're with you. That they get to sit beside you, laugh with you, eat with you. I miss you."
My heart squeezed.
He never said these things. Usually, I had to decode his feelings through his silences, his glances, his carefully measured words. But now?
He was finally opening up.
He was on speaker, and we all listened as he laughed, joked, and actually… talked. Talked about random, stupid things. Talked about her. Made fun of him.
For someone who had always been cold, distant, unreadable— Ranveer bhai sa was now just a boy who sounded a little lost, a little smitten, and a little too happy to talk about her.
We ended up with two big boxes of pizza, three garlic bread trays, two brownies, and a two-liter bottle of cold drink we knew we'd finish before it even chilled.
"Eat. Eat. Eat." – The Ranveer bhai sa Call
Just as I took my first slice, my phone buzzed.
Ranveer bhai sa.
I picked it up, surprised.
"Aren't you three having too much fun without me?" he said before even greeting me.
He was in Australia, sitting in his big flat, wearing a plain grey tee and that slightly annoyed expression he always had when he missed out on plans.
I turned the camera to show everyone.
"We're in my apartment," I said. "And yes, we ordered without you."
Avi leaned over into the frame and said, grinning, "Franky! You're all alone out there, huh? We're all together!"
Ranveer bhai sa scowled dramatically. "Yeah, rub it in, why don't you."
We all laughed, and then—the best part—he mimicked me.
Holding a napkin to his face, he whined, "Eat. Eat. Eat. That's all you do. Eat more, Isha!"
I threw my head back laughing.
"You do it better than I do!" I said between bites.
"Give him something to eat, Isha," Avi teased. "Poor boy's starving on screen."
So I turned to the camera and held up a slice. "Here. Just for you."
He pretended to grab it through the screen.
We were all stretched out on the floor by now. Pizza half-eaten. Brownie trays open. Cold drink bottles tipped. It was one of those nights where nothing fancy happened but everything felt right.
Then Dhruv bhaiyu's tone shifted.
"You know we're flying back tonight," he said, his voice softer now.
I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"Yeah. Airport in two hours," he added. "We just… didn't want to make it dramatic. But if you need anything, just call. Like you did today. We're always here."
Avi added, "About bhai sa's surprise, we'll manage. Don't worry."
"We'll pick you up beforehand," Dhruv bhaiyu said, gently. "We got it covered."
Something in me tightened—but not in a sad way. More like that feeling when someone wraps you in a blanket without you even asking.
They got me. They always did.
We packed the leftovers, flicked off the lights, and made our way down from the apartment. The staircase echoed with soft chatter, and I tried to freeze that moment in my mind: the scent of pizza on our clothes, the tired smiles, the empty wrappers, and all the unsaid love between us.
They dropped me off at my house like always. Nothing grand. Just a gentle goodbye.
Avi opened the door and said, "Last time until the next time."
Dhruv bhaiyu handed me the leftover brownie box. "You'll need this more than we do."
And then, with one last look—one full of things we didn't say—they both got into the car and left for the airport.
Alone Again, But Not Really
I walked back inside, the hallway strangely quiet. But my heart wasn't heavy.
Because I knew we weren't saying goodbye.
We were just hitting pause.
The sun hadn't even risen properly, but I was already wide awake. My eyes had popped open on their own — no alarm, no noise — just the wild flutter of nerves and anticipation.
Just like that a hole week pass by my eyes. And now,
Tomorrow is Shivansh's birthday.
And I'm going to surprise him.
A thousand little things are dancing in my head — gifts, notes, outfit options, backup gifts, backup-for-backup gifts, the packing list, his reactions, and oh God… did I even remember to pack his favorite chocolate?
I sat cross-legged in the middle of my bed, hair a mess, laptop open, my notepad filled with scribbles, arrows, and bolded underlines.
The room around me looked like a tornado had swept through a birthday store.
Boxes, wrapping paper scraps, tissue paper, ribbons, open suitcases, and polaroids were scattered everywhere.
I glanced at the checklist on my iPad, which I had updated at least twenty times by now.
✔️ Handwritten letter
✔️ That photo album of our best moments (with captions)
✔️ His favourite cologne
✔️ Leather keychain with our initials
✔️ Custom mug (that says "Birthday Boy, Handled by Isha")
✔️ Tickets for the post-birthday surprise trip with me. Of course.
✔️ Midnight gift (wrapped in blue – he loves blue)
✔️ Emergency chocolate stash
✔️ Travel outfit (cute, but comfortable, duh)
Ugh. I still had to triple-check the charging cables, his handwritten note, and… wait, where was the sixth gift?
My eyes widened.
"Ishika!" I screamed, my voice a wild blend of panic and desperation.
"I swear I packed that dark green box. Where is it?! That one had the cufflinks!"
Ishika appeared at my door, munching on chips like it was just another Friday.
"They're on your study table, drama queen. You kept them aside saying 'This one's too special to mix with the rest.' You were crying, remember?" she said, raising an eyebrow with a teasing grin.
I blinked. "Oh. Right… I forgot I did that."
She smirked. "You're lucky I've memorized your madness."
Meanwhile, Arav was sitting on the floor near the balcony, surrounded by more gift bags, carefully cutting little tags and attaching messages to each of them.
"Isha," he said without even looking up, "calm down. You've packed enough stuff to gift a small kingdom. You're not eloping with him, you're surprising him."
I flopped onto the couch with a dramatic sigh.
"Exactly. Which is why it needs to be perfect. What if I forget something important? What if he guesses it before I land? What if something goes wrong? What if the jet's late? What if—"
"Isha."
This time it was Prisha, perched on the kitchen counter with a milkshake in hand, cutting me off. "Breathe. Dhruv bhai already confirmed the timing, right? The raghuvanshi private jet is scheduled. You're literally flying in style. And we've all double-checked your stuff."
"She's triple-checked it," Ritvik bhai ya added, laughing as he peeked into a half-zipped duffle bag. "And labeled everything like it's a military operation."
"Okay, yeah, but—" I started.
"You even color-coded the wrapping paper," Prisha pointed out, hopping down. "If that's not prepared, I don't know what is."
I let out a small, nervous laugh. "I just don't want to mess anything up. It's his day. He deserves something beautiful. I want him to feel loved — no, seen. Appreciated. Like the king he is… without all the crown drama."
Ritvik sat beside me, nudging my shoulder. "You know, he already feels that with you, right?"
I nodded slowly, eyes stinging a bit. "Still… I want to show him. For once, let me give him something without him knowing every step. No hints. No guards around. Just me… surprising him."
The room was filled with warmth and laughter, and in between the chaos, I realized how lucky I was —
My parents were out of town at a family function with Arjun, my brother, and for once, I had the house to myself.
Well, not exactly alone — I had my crazy, loyal squad around me, turning this pressure into something bearable. Something fun.
At one point, Ishika grabbed my hand and made me sit still.
She gave me that older-sister-but-not-really look.
"You're doing something beautiful, Ishu. Stop stressing over perfection. The way your eyes light up when you talk about him — that's the real gift. He's going to lose it when he sees you there."
I blinked rapidly. "Okay, don't make me cry now. I still have eyeliner to apply tomorrow."
They all laughed.
Prisha jumped up, "Alright! Operation Shivanah Birthday Surprise is a go. Let's rehearse — Isha lands, looks like a goddess, walks in with a cake and twenty gifts, and BOOM — he falls in love all over again."
I stood up, grinning.
"Exactly. So help me figure out what to wear on the flight — cute but not too flashy. And remind me to carry that bracelet I made for him too."
"You mean the one you've been hiding under your pillow like it's a sacred relic?" Ishika teased.
I threw a cushion at her.
And like that, with chips, milkshakes, packing tape stuck to everyone's fingers, and music playing in the background, the evening melted into a beautiful, chaotic memory.
Tomorrow… I'll see him.
Tomorrow, it'll be his smile I wake up to.
Tomorrow… it all begins.
And for tonight, I'm here — nervous, excited, full of love — and exactly where I need to be.
I don't even know what time it is. Morning? Afternoon? Evening? My brain is running on pure adrenaline. One thing is clear:
Tonight, I will see him.
Not on a video call. Not in some dream I don't want to wake up from. But in person. In real.
And I'm going to land in front of him — his Isha, holding kheer in a carefully packed steel dabba, a suitcase full of love and a heart that's ready to explode.
I haven't sat still since 7 AM.
Scratch that. I didn't sleep at all last night.
I was just too wired — pacing around my room in my pajamas at 3:45 AM, whispering to myself, "Okay, remember to double-tape the gift box, pack the photo album, don't forget the charger… or the kheer!"
And now, as sunlight poured through the curtains, I was already in the kitchen, hair tied in a lazy bun, wearing an apron, stirring milk in a steel pot, the sweet scent of cardamom already filling the air.
"This is ridiculous," I muttered, stirring faster, "I'm making kheer like it's the final round of MasterChef."
Ishika wandered into the kitchen with a lazy yawn, dressed in one of my oversized T-shirts, her eyes half-closed. "You're up already? Wait you did take a nap right and—are you making kheer in the noon at least make it in evening"
"Yes," I said without looking up, "because it has to cool, then set, then I'll pack it properly, and—"
Ishika chuckled, walking over to peek into the pot. "Okay, wow. This smells divine. If I were Shivansh, I'd marry you just for this."
"Shut up," I blushed. "It's his favorite. He always says his birthday isn't complete without kheer. I want it to taste like home."
"That's what you are to him," Ishika whispered, wrapping her arms around my shoulders from behind. "Home."
I paused, my throat catching unexpectedly. I swallowed, focusing on the kheer.
"Careful, don't cry into it," she teased, wiping her own sleepy eye.
By late noon, my house was buzzing like a pre-party war zone.
Prisha was handling the wardrobe, helping me decide between "casual cute" or "romantic subtle."
"You cannot wear beige, Isha," she said dramatically, holding up a kurta. "This is not the look of a woman who is flying across the country on a private jet for a surprise birthday arrival."
"Okay fine," I groaned, flopping on the bed, "but not red either. That's too… obvious."
"What about that white chikankari set with the soft dupatta?" Ishika suggested, digging through my closet. "It's soft, classy, and you look like a literal angel in it."
"Done," Prisha said, throwing it onto the bed. "That's it. Add some nude gloss, keep your hair open. Boom. Birthday goddess activated."
Meanwhile, Aarav and Ritvik bhaiya were in the living room, arguing over which bag should carry which gifts.
"I'm telling you," Aarav said, lifting a sleek blue bag, "this one has the weight and the vibe. It should carry the photo album and the bracelet."
"And I'm telling you," Ritvik bhaiya retorted, holding a brown paper box, "this is the one she told me for the bracelet!"
"GUYS!" I shouted from my room. "Just put a sticky note on both and I'll decide in ten minutes!"
"Ten minutes, my foot!" Aarav called out. "You've been saying that since breakfast."
We all laughed. Even in the chaos, there was something magical about having my people around — my messy, chaotic, perfect team.
I looked at the clock.
Still hours to go. But my stomach was already flipping like I was on a rollercoaster.
Every minute that passed made it more real. I was going. To him. Tonight.
The gifts were all packed now — his cologne, his letters, the framed photo of us at that beach, the keychain, the mug, the scrapbook... the kheer safely set in a lunchbox with padding around it like it was some priceless jewel.
I glanced at my reflection. Hair blow-dried, soft curls. That white outfit — elegant but understated. Subtle shimmer on my cheeks. Glossed lips. Bangles jingling faintly.
"You look like you're walking out of a movie," Ishika said, giving me a once-over. "Romance heroine vibes."
"I feel like I'm walking into a panic attack," I said, fidgeting with my bangles. "What if he guesses? What if I cry like an idiot the second I see him?"
"Then cry," Prisha said, stepping beside me. "And then hug him and tell him how much he means to you. That's not weakness. That's love."
I nodded, biting my lip. "You guys… what if I forget something?"
"You won't," Aarav said, coming over. "You've literally color-coded your emotions."
"And if you do," Ritvik bhaiya added, "he won't even care. He'll just stare at you like you're magic. Because, well, you are."
I sat down on the bed, letting the moment sink in.
Everything felt like it was vibrating — my hands, my stomach, my breath.
The excitement. The fear. The anticipation. The hundred versions of his smile running through my head.
"I'm so scared," I whispered.
"And that's how you know it's real," Ishika said, sitting beside me.
Hours flew by in a blink.
And now, it's 9:47 PM.
The kheer is packed. The gifts are stacked in my duffel. My friends are hugging me like they won't see me for months.
"I'm going to faint," I murmured as I adjusted my dupatta.
"No," Ishika whispered, tucking a strand of my hair behind my ear, "You're going to fly."
We all walked out to where the car was waiting to take me to the private terminal.
The sky above was velvet dark, with a crescent moon and a billion stars.
And I? I was heading toward one of them.
Toward him.
The streetlights blurred past the window as I stared out, my fingers clutched around the edge of my dupatta.
"Isha," Ishika whispered softly beside me in the car, "Breathe, okay?"
I turned to her and gave a weak smile. "Am I shaking?"
She glanced at my hands and nodded. "A little. But in a cute, 'I'm-going-to-meet-the-love-of-my-life' kind of way."
I let out a nervous laugh. "He doesn't even know I'm coming. What if he's busy? What if I just… stand there awkwardly while he looks at me like— 'Oh, you came?'"
Ishika rolled her eyes. "Yeah, because that's exactly how people react when the love of their life shows up holding their favorite kheer and a suitcase full of emotions."
We pulled into the private hangar.
The car rolled to a slow stop near the sleek, silver jet that stood under the glowing airport lights. It wasn't too big or flashy — just enough to remind you that it belonged to someone powerful, but not someone arrogant.
I stepped out, slowly, one heel at a time, and the breeze instantly fluttered my dupatta behind me.
"Oh god," I whispered, holding my chest, "I think I'm going to throw up."
"No you're not," Ishika said, rushing to my side and holding my arm. "You're going to show up. You're going to change the air he breathes. And then you'll tell him how much you've missed him."
As she and a ground staff member helped unload my carefully packed luggage — the suitcase with all the gifts, the steel dabba of kheer wrapped in a towel, and a small, hand-labeled box I had hidden away — I stood, frozen.
Everything suddenly felt so real. Not a dream. Not a fantasy.
My friend gave my arm a small squeeze. "You got this."
I blinked rapidly. "The kheer. Please make sure it's upright. I'll actually cry if it spills."
Ishika snorted. "Don't worry. I told the staff three times."
I hugged her tight — the kind of hug where you don't say much, but you say everything.
"Call me the second you land," she whispered. "And send a selfie. I want to see the moment he sees you."
"I will," I said, then paused. "Thank you… for always holding me when I lose my balance."
She smiled. "It's easy. You're the reason I know what love looks like."
With a deep breath, I stepped into the jet.
The interior was warm, quiet, with soft cream leather seats, golden lighting, and a corner where my luggage had already been carefully placed.
I sat near the window.
The door shut. The engines hummed to life.
And just like that… I was flying to him.
I stared out at the stars, the city lights below looking like scattered jewels on dark velvet.
My fingers tapped nervously on my lap. My heart beat like it was counting down the seconds.
I hadn't seen Shivansh in weeks. We'd spoken, sure… but never like before.
He'd been busy. Distant sometimes. Caught up in meetings and royal duties.
But tonight — tonight we'll talk. Tonight I'll tell him that I felt the distance and still chose to stay. Tonight, I'll look into his eyes and say:
"We're one month away from our wedding… can we close the gap now?"
I reached into my bag and touched the steel dabba, still warm.
And then, I glanced at the small velvet pouch inside the gift box — a custom-made key, engraved with his initials.
Not for a house. Not for a locker.
It was a symbolic key. To us. To our forever.
I smiled faintly.
The sky outside looked endless.
Just layers and layers of dark velvet, stitched with tiny stars, glowing softly — quietly. Like they knew I needed peace. Like they were silently witnessing the storm inside me.
I leaned back into the plush seat and sighed.
We hadn't spoken like before. His voice now came in pieces, his messages were just okay-good-talk-laters. He was distant — and I knew he didn't mean to be. But I'd be lying if I said it didn't hurt.
Still, I came. Still, I was flying to him.
And now, alone in the silence, my mind began to wander — not to words, not to recent memories, but to that night.
The one I hadn't allowed myself to revisit… until now.
It had started with just a look.
A single look that made the air thick, my skin warmer, and his eyes darker. Like he saw something in me that even I hadn't discovered yet.
We hadn't planned it. We never spoke about it. It wasn't one of those fairytale things where the universe gives you a heads-up — no. It happened like lightning. Sudden. Fierce. Blinding.
One second, we were inches apart. The next… his breath was on my neck, and my soul forgot how to function.
I remember the weight of his gaze when he looked at me — not just looked, but saw. Every inch. Every shiver. Every hesitation I tried to hide behind a brave smile.
And I… I melted.
I remember how his hands were warm, but his touch — hesitant. Almost like he was asking me every second if this was okay. Like he was protecting something sacred.
Me.
Us.
Even when our bodies moved on instinct — a rhythm only we understood — his fingers trembled slightly when they brushed against my skin.
God… my skin.
Even now, it tingled under the memory.
The way he touched me… like I was a poem he didn't want to ruin. Like he was afraid I'd disappear if he held too tight.
And I…
I wasn't afraid.
I should've been. But I wasn't.
Because for the first time in my life, I wasn't just wanted — I was safe.
Safe in the way he whispered my name like a secret.
Safe in the way he slowed down just to ask if I was okay.
Safe in the way he kissed my temple afterward, like it mattered just as much as kissing my lips.
The heat rose to my cheeks again.
Even now, thinking about it made me bite my lower lip, press my thighs together, hug my arms tightly around myself — trying to calm the waves.
Not because it was shameful.
Not because I regretted it.
But because it was the most vulnerable I had ever been.
And with him… I didn't feel exposed. I felt seen.
That night wasn't about passion or pleasure or hunger.
It was about trust.
The kind of trust you don't talk about.
The kind you give someone only once.
And I gave it to him.
I still remember curling into his chest afterward.
The way he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.
The way he whispered, "You're mine now. In every way."
And how I whispered back, "I was always yours."
I reached for my water bottle, trying to ground myself, but even the cold water couldn't cool the fire blooming in my chest — not a lustful fire… but that warm, sacred heat that comes from remembering love as a feeling, not just a moment.
I looked down at my hands.
The same hands that once held his jaw as I kissed him with everything I had.
The same fingers that had trembled against his skin because I was scared he'd vanish if I let go.
I missed him.
Not just as my partner.
I missed his laugh against my shoulder.
I missed his sleepy voice.
I missed the way he held me like I was the answer to every question in his heart.
And now… I didn't know where we stood.
We were engaged.
We were getting married.
But between the crown on his head and the silence in his replies — I wasn't sure if we were still us.
The seatbelt light flickered on.
"Ma'am, we'll be landing in fifteen minutes," the Airhoteress whispered gently.
I nodded.
I looked at my reflection in the small mirror beside me — flushed cheeks, glassy eyes, bitten lips.
He's going to see you in this state? I asked myself, half-panicking.
But somewhere inside me, a softer voice replied, He's seen you in every state. And he never turned away.
So I fixed my hair. Pressed my palms to my cheeks. Smiled shakily.
I was about to see him again.
But more than that… I was about to see what was left of us — if the fire still burned, or if it had become a memory I carried in my skin forever.
Either way… I was ready.
The plane touched down with a gentle thud, rolling across the lit runway before halting.
I stood up, breath shallow, heart ready to leap.
The door opened.
Cool Jaipur night air hit my face as I stepped down the stairs.
And there they were — Dhruv bhaiyu and avi, standing a little distance away, dressed in crisp semi-casuals, their eyes searching—
And then they saw me.
Their faces lit up. They didn't run, but their strides were quick, purposeful, eyes glowing.
"Isha Bachhe!" Dhruv bhaiyu called out, warmth in his voice.
"Finally!" avi added, smiling wide. "The real queen arrives."
I laughed softly as I reached the bottom. "Hey…"
"You look tired," Dhruv bhaiyu said, reaching out to take the dabba from my hand.
"She's glowing," Avi argued, "This is the face of love. And jet lag."
The airport staff brought my bags down just then. One of them also carried a small box gently — the one with the kheer.
"Ma'am," the staff asked, "This was kept separately as instructed. Please confirm?"
"Yes, yes!" I rushed forward. "That's the one—please be careful with it."
Avi leaned closer. "What's in that?"
I smiled mysteriously. "A surprise. For him."
Dhruv bhaiyu smirked. "Looks heavy for a surprise. Should we be scared?"
"Maybe," I teased, "You'll find out soon."
We walked toward the waiting cars.
One was already full of fuel and luggage, ready to follow. The other — a sleek black vehicle — had its doors open for us.
As I slipped into the back seat, Avi turned around and asked with a grin, "So, how nervous are you on a scale of 1 to 'my heart might burst'?"
I clutched my bag tighter and whispered, "Somewhere between sky-high and I might cry when I see him."
Dhruv bhaiyu chuckled. "That's the Isha we know. Soft, sweet, but dangerously in love."
As the car drove out of the runway, I stared outside, Jaipur lights welcoming me back — and soon, he will too.
And this time, I'm not arriving as just a girl with butterflies.
I'm arriving as his future bride, with kheer, a key, and a heart ready to close every distance that ever stood between us.
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