Chapter 8 - First Fight

🥂 Friday Night — ZedCorp's Annual Gala

The ballroom sparkled like a movie set.

Crystal chandeliers. Velvet-draped tables. Waiters in white gloves gliding between guests with trays of champagne. It was the kind of place where people smiled too perfectly and laughed like their teeth were worth money.

Rohan Malhotra stood near the bar, feeling painfully out of place in his borrowed blazer and discount cologne.

This wasn't his world.

It never had been.

"Looking sharp, Malhotra," Raghav said, clinking glasses. "Trying to impress someone?"

"Just here for the free food."

"Right. And by food, you mean the CEO's daughter."

Rohan shot him a look.

Raghav grinned. "Don't worry, bro. Your secret's only safe with the entire department."

He walked off laughing. Rohan sighed, sipping his drink. He told himself he was fine. That he didn't care. That he was here to network, smile, and escape without embarrassing himself.

And then—

She walked in.

Ishita Rajawat.

In an off-shoulder wine-red dress, hair swept back, heels that clicked like punctuation marks. Every head turned. Including his.

She hadn't seen him yet.

She was laughing—arm linked with someone.

Tall. Sharp suit. Confident smirk.

Who the hell is that?

Rohan's stomach twisted.

The guy leaned in, whispered something in Ishita's ear. She laughed again—too easily, too… familiar.

And Rohan knew.

An ex.

A polished, high-class, maybe-somewhat-still-in-the-picture ex.

He watched as Ishita nodded along to whatever the guy was saying. She didn't push him away. Didn't flinch when the guy's hand brushed her arm. She just… stood there, composed.

Rohan tried not to care.

He failed miserably.

🕐 9:17 PM — Balcony

He found her near the terrace bar, sipping mocktail and laughing at something Mr. Fancy Suit said.

"Ishita," Rohan said, approaching with his jaw clenched.

She blinked. "Oh—hey. You made it."

"Yeah. You look… great."

"Thanks. This is Karan. We were just catching up."

"Karan," Rohan repeated, extending a hand stiffly. "Nice to meet you."

"Oh, we've met before," Karan said casually. "Back in her college days. I was the disaster before her glow-up."

Ishita laughed again—awkwardly this time.

Rohan didn't.

"I didn't know exes were on the guest list."

"Karan's dad is on the advisory board," she said quickly. "He's around these events a lot."

"Right," Rohan said. "Of course."

"Dude," Karan said with a grin, "you must be the guy who made her write poems again. She wouldn't shut up about you last week."

"Karan—" Ishita cut in, clearly uncomfortable.

"Nah, it's sweet! She's glowing, man. Like damn."

"That's enough," Rohan said.

Karan smirked. "Alright, bro. I'll go flirt with someone less committed."

He winked at Ishita and walked away.

Rohan waited a beat.

"Seriously?" he snapped. "You just let him touch your arm like that?"

"Excuse me?"

"You didn't even pull away. He was all over you."

"It was a light touch, Rohan. We were talking. Don't overreact."

"You think this is overreacting?"

"I think you're jealous of someone I dated five years ago."

"I think you still care what he thinks."

"That's not fair," she said, voice tight. "I didn't do anything wrong."

"You didn't stop it either."

She stepped closer.

"You want me to cause a scene every time someone from my past shows up? That's not how my world works."

"Exactly," Rohan muttered. "Your world."

She went quiet.

"You really think I don't care about you?" she said.

"I don't know what to think."

"Then maybe this isn't going to work."

That hurt.

More than he expected.

"Maybe it's not," he said quietly.

She stared at him. Her eyes were glassy, but her face didn't waver.

"Enjoy the party, Rohan."

She turned and walked away.

And just like that, the air between them shattered.

🚶 11:05 PM — Outside the Venue

Rohan stood by the parking lot, hands in his pockets, blazer wrinkled from the tension.

He'd messed it up.

Again.

And he wasn't even sure what the fight had really been about.

Jealousy? Insecurity? The fact that deep down, he still felt like she was too good for him?

Probably all of it.

He didn't go back inside.

He didn't text her.

He just walked home.

Alone.

With nothing but the image of her red dress trailing into the crowd—and the bitter taste of a first real fight that hurt more than he'd expected.