Evening melted into night like ink swirling through water.
The grand dining table gleamed beneath the soft chandelier, gold light scattering over polished silverware, porcelain bowls of steaming sabzi, and stacks of puffed roti shimmering with ghee. From the kitchen came the clatter of utensils and the easy laughter of a home alive with warmth.
Hiya followed Riddhi like a kitten chasing sunlight, still giggling over something Riddhi had whispered — a story about Dev's legendary tantrum over a lost cricket bat.
"This house…" Hiya breathed, eyes wide, "…it feels like a movie palace."
"You haven't seen the basement yet," Riddhi teased, eyes twinkling.
Hiya's giggle chimed in the air — a sound so soft, it felt like a thread of wind through bells.
And then—
A hush.
Like the stillness before a drop of rain.
A chair scraped gently beside her. Someone sat.
Hiya turned instinctively.
And her breath caught.
He sat not a hand's length away — the boy from the edges of her memory. The one who caught her when the world had tilted.
But now, he wasn't just a boy.
He was sharp-jawed silence. Storm-colored eyes. Tousled hair that defied neatness. A thin silver chain glinted at his collarbone as he reached for the jug of water — every motion crisp, quiet, and completely uninterested in her existence.
Hiya's lips parted slightly.
Before she could stop herself, the words slipped out, low and unsure:
"Aap… kaun?"
He didn't look at her. Not even for a second. He spooned rice onto his plate, brows furrowing with faint impatience.
Riddhi leaned in with a conspiratorial smile. "That, dear dumpling, is the prince of this palace — Dev."
Hiya's eyes widened. That was Dev?
"The one you fainted on this morning," Riddhi added with a grin. "From tomorrow, he's your college senior. And if anything ever troubles you — boys, books, broken fans — he's your go-to."
Still, Dev said nothing. He passed the salt to Arijit, complimented the sabzi, and kept his gaze trained on his plate like she wasn't even there.
Hiya shrank slightly in her chair.
Riddhi smirked. "And if he acts too cold or grumpy — tell Papa. He'll lecture him till he melts."
Hiya pressed her fingers against her lap. Her cheeks flushed — not with shame, but something else.
Something unfamiliar.
Something like… ache?
Dev didn't speak to her.
Didn't look at her.
Didn't acknowledge the girl who had literally collapsed in his arms this morning. The same girl who had just hours ago been declared part of his home.
She was invisible.
And still… her heart had stirred.
Not loud. Not fast. But different. Like a thread being pulled from the edge of something she couldn't yet name.
That night, wrapped beneath fresh linen, Hiya lay curled on her side.
The room smelled of sandalwood and soap.
Her fingers toyed with the hem of her pillow as thoughts spun like fireflies under her closed eyelids.
Why didn't he look at me?
Why do I care?
Why did his silence feel like a question pressed to my chest?
She didn't know yet.
But the prince of the palace had entered her story.
And Hiya — sweet, chubby, giggling Hiya — had already begun to stitch his name into the soft, secret corners of her dreams.
🌙 End-of-Chapter Hook:
He hadn't said a word.
But something in his silence had touched her louder than a hundred poems.
Tomorrow, she would see him again.
And tomorrow… she might just try to make him see her too.