A comfortable silence settled over them, devoid of awkwardness. It was a silence filled with understanding, a shared acknowledgment of the present moment and the unspoken potential. The silence spoke volumes about their maturity and respect for each other's boundaries.
SAVITRI DEVI: (raising her glass, her voice warm and filled with wisdom) I propose a toast. To honesty. To the importance of timing, and the understanding that things unfold as they should. And to the strange ways we all eventually find ourselves exactly where we need to be, even when we resist the journey.
GAYATRI DEVI: (adding to the sentiment, her eyes twinkling): And to the beautiful notion that a single evening, shared with the right people, in the right atmosphere, can be more than enough. It can be a catalyst for growth, for connection, and for the discovery of unexpected possibilities.
Everyone around the table gently clinks their glasses, the delicate sound echoing the shared sentiment. The atmosphere is filled with warmth, with a sense of anticipation, and the quiet promise of what the future might hold.
EXT. THE IMPERIAL – TERRACE BALCONY – NIGHT
The night sky stretches endlessly, studded with stars barely visible above the soft city glow. Below, the bustle of City D hums faintly, distant and unbothered.
The terrace balcony of the Imperial is serene. Flowing white curtains dance with the breeze. Potted mogra blooms scent the air. The light from inside is warm but distant now.
Rishika stands alone, her back to the door, hands resting on the cold marble balustrade.
The door clicks open softly.
Riyansh steps out, his jacket slung over his shoulder, no longer the polished perfection of earlier—he's more real now.
He pauses, then approaches slowly, stopping beside her with respectful distance.
Riyansh (quietly, with a smile): You survived the elders. Congratulations.
Rishika (smirking, eyes still ahead): Barely. I think dadi (grandmaa) was moments away from placing the ring on my finger herself.
Riyansh (sighing): If I had taken another sip of that kesar-milk, I might've said yes just out of sugar shock.
They both laugh. A moment of shared relief.
Then, silence. Not awkward—just filled with unsaid thoughts.
Riyansh (turns slightly toward her): You know… they mean well. In their world, love follows logic. Two good families. Two good people. Add blessings and marigolds—done.
Rishika (gently): In their world, emotions are negotiable.
(turns to face him) But I'm not a merger, Riyansh. And I'm not looking to be signed off like a contract.
Riyansh (softly impressed): Good. Because I've walked away from enough deals to know—paper doesn't guarantee peace.
Their eyes meet. It lingers—not romantic, but real. Respectful.
Rishika: I'm still figuring out who I am… beyond expectations, beyond the Upadhyay name.
(pauses) And honestly? I don't want to drag someone else into that halfway journey.
Riyansh (nods, sincerely): I get that.
(then adds, lightly) I'm not ready either. I don't even know if I believe in forever anymore. But I do believe in… truth. And tonight was full of everything but that.
She smiles. He's not pushing. Not pretending. Just present.
Rishika: So what are we, then? Two heirs to family legacies… escaping on a balcony?
Riyansh (grinning): Escaping? Or just... breathing?
A breeze sways her hair. He doesn't touch it—just watches her look up at the stars.
Riyansh (CONT'D): You know, for someone raised in gold walls… you speak like a rebel.
Rishika: And you? For someone born with every door open—you don't try to walk through every one.
Riyansh (smiling): Maybe I'm just waiting at the right one… to knock gently.
She looks at him—thoughtful, not flustered. He doesn't expect a reply.
Riyansh (CONT'D): Let's make a deal.
No pressure. No titles. No timelines.
Just… real conversations. Coffee. Maybe a long walk now and then.
They shake hands—simple, grounded. A beginning that asks for nothing but honesty.
INT. INSIDE – THROUGH THE WINDOW
Gayatri Devi and Savitri Devi sit quietly inside, watching from a distance. They don't interrupt. They simply smile, two women who lit a lamp—but left the room for destiny to decide if it wants to shine.
Outside the restaurant, the valet opens the car door for Rishika. She glances back once toward the balcony before slipping inside. The city lights catch the shimmer of her saree, but her eyes are distant—quietly stirred.
She sits alone in the back seat. The driver doesn't ask questions. The hum of the road fills the silence.
She unpins her earrings slowly, gaze fixed on the passing streetlights.
Rishika (softly, to herself): "No pressure. No titles. No timelines…"
(pauses, then smirks) What a strange kind of comfort.
A notification buzzes on her phone — a message from Riyansh: "Well-handled tonight. Proud of you."
She reads it twice, then locks the screen without replying.
Rishika (thoughtfully): Pride. Approval. Expectations.
(pauses) And then there's… space.
She looks out the window, wind brushing strands of hair against her cheek.
INT. RIYANSH'S SUV – NIGHT
Riyansh leans back in the passenger seat, jacket now tossed on the side. He's unusually quiet.
Driver (gentle tease): Long evening, sir?
RIyansh (smiling faintly): Long… but not wasted.
He pulls out his phone, thumbs hovering over the screen—debating. Then he opens his notes app instead and types:
"Sometimes, you don't need fireworks. Just the silence of someone who listens without needing to fix you."
He stares at the words. Then saves the note and closes it.
INT. UPADHYAY HOUSE – RISHIKA'S ROOM – NIGHT
The room is softly lit. Books on her nightstand. A framed childhood photo of her father, now gone, beside her lamp.
She slips off her sandals, walks barefoot to the mirror. Her fingers trace the delicate border of her saree pallu as she speaks to her reflection.
Rishika(quietly): This wasn't the fairytale they wanted.
(pause) But maybe it's a better beginning.
She pulls her hair back, thoughtful.
Then opens her diary and writes: "He didn't try to own my story. Just offered to walk beside it."
She closes the book, places it beside her pillow, and turns off the light.
INT. RIYANSH 'S ROOM – LATER NIGHT
Bookshelves lined with economic theory, photography books, and a dusty guitar in the corner.
He pours himself a glass of water. The room is minimalist—neat but lived-in.
The city stretches endlessly—alive, uncertain, free.
Riyansh and Rishika, in their respective rooms, both look up at the night sky.
The same stars.
The same gentle breeze through half-open windows.
The same sense that something subtle, yet important, has begun.