When they stepped out of the room, neither of them said a word.
The silence clung to them—not heavy, not uncomfortable, but charged. Each breath they took seemed to echo just a little louder than it should. The hallway outside their room was dimly lit, the soft yellow bulbs casting long shadows on the cream-tiled floor. Somewhere in the kitchen, a wall clock ticked away the minutes, slow and deliberate.
Shruti stood by the narrow mirror mounted near the shoe rack, fixing the final pin on her shoulder. Her fingers were still trembling—traitors that refused to calm down even after she'd composed her expression. She caught her own reflection as she leaned closer.
She barely recognized herself.
The emerald saree shimmered softly against her skin, the pleats falling just right now, the pallu anchored in place. Her kajal was smudged at the corner—probably from when she blinked too hard after Arjun had whispered near her ear. Her lips still looked too pink, too full, as if they remembered the brush of his knuckles more vividly than she wanted to admit.
Her heart hadn't stopped racing.
It wasn't just from the closeness they'd shared. It was from the weight of his gaze when he'd said she looked beautiful. The way he had helped her—not out of obligation, but with care. Respect. Attention.
She'd never been seen like that before.
Not by anyone.
Not as someone delicate and worthy and radiant. She'd always been the quiet one. The in-between girl. The background presence. But not with him.
Never with him.
Behind her, Arjun stood near the main door, his hand on the bolt, unmoving. He wasn't looking at her now—but not because he didn't want to.
He was trying too hard not to.
His eyes betrayed him, flicking toward the mirror and catching the glimpse of her reflection—just for a second at a time. And each time, his breath hitched.
The way the pallu hugged her frame, the gentle dip of her shoulder, the stray strand of hair near her ear—he noticed everything. Not with hunger. Not with boldness.
But with awe.
He'd never helped someone wear a saree before. He hadn't expected it to rattle him. But now that it was done—now that they were both standing here, dressed like two strangers from a dream—it hit him how intimate it had been.
How it had changed something.
He cleared his throat. "Ready?"
Shruti gave a tiny nod, not trusting her voice. She smoothed the pleats near her waist one last time, fingers lingering longer than necessary just to give herself something to do. A few bangles slid down her wrist with a soft chime.
She moved toward the door, steps slow, trying not to let her nerves show. Her sandals clicked gently on the tile, echoing in the narrow corridor. She reached for the door handle, her fingers brushing the cool metal.
And then—he stopped her.
Arjun's hand closed gently around her wrist.
"Wait," he said, voice barely above a whisper.
She froze, her breath catching. The heat of his palm against her skin sent an involuntary shiver through her.
Her gaze flicked up to him in question, eyebrows drawing together slightly, unsure.
"What is it?"
Arjun looked at her for a second—really looked. His eyes searched hers like he was trying to memorize something he didn't want to forget. Like something inside him had risen and refused to settle until this moment passed through them.
And then—he moved.
Without another word, he leaned in.
The kiss was sudden, soft, fleeting.
It wasn't planned. It wasn't choreographed. It wasn't the kind of kiss movies made look grand. It was brief—like the gentlest confession slipping out between two breaths. But it held so much more than a touch.
His lips brushed hers gently, almost unsure, as if afraid to break the spell between them. It was tender, trembling, and terribly real. It lasted no more than a heartbeat. But that single beat was enough to change everything.
Shruti's entire body froze.
She didn't close her eyes—couldn't. Her gaze was locked on him even after he pulled away, her lips still parted slightly, stunned.
Her heart didn't know how to settle. It beat wildly inside her chest, each thump an echo of what had just happened.
"Arjun…" she breathed, her voice barely there.
He stepped back slowly, as if just realizing what he'd done. His eyes were wide, not with regret—but with the sheer intensity of what had passed between them. His lips parted as if to apologize, but he didn't.
Because he didn't need to.
She wasn't angry.
She was just… breathless.
Shruti raised a trembling hand to her lips, fingers grazing the skin he'd just kissed. Her mouth still tingled—warm and unfamiliar.
"Arjun…" Shruti breathed, her voice barely more than a whisper, caught somewhere between surprise, confusion, and wonder. Her eyes searched his, wide and shimmering in the soft hallway light. "What… what was that for?"
She wasn't angry. She wasn't even flustered anymore—not in the way she used to be. Her voice trembled like the hush before a confession, and yet, she was holding back a smile that threatened to bloom.
Arjun stood a step away from her, his back straight, but the air around him had softened. His hands slid casually into the pockets of his trousers, but the way his gaze lingered on her—steady, unwavering—betrayed the casualness he was trying to wear.
"That?" he said, cocking his head slightly, lips curving into a slow, lazy grin. "That was nothing…"
She raised an eyebrow at him, waiting.
"…Compared to the kind of self-control I had to practice back in that room."
Shruti's mouth parted, but no words came. Her heart skipped at least two beats.
Arjun's grin grew a little crooked, a little bolder, his eyes twinkling with mischief and something far more honest beneath it.
"I mean, seriously," he went on, shrugging with mock innocence. "You were standing there looking like that—hair a mess, earrings crooked, all flushed and frowning at those pleats like they personally insulted your ancestry…"
Shruti gasped, a mortified laugh slipping from her lips. "Excuse me?"
"And I was just supposed to stand there?" He leaned in just slightly, his voice dropping a notch. "Fix your saree and walk away? Like some saint?"
Her cheeks turned crimson.
She smacked his arm with the back of her hand, too flustered to find a comeback. "Arjun! You're—you're impossible."
But her laughter spilled out anyway—bright and uncontrolled. She had tried to hide it, tried to look away, but the heat rising to her cheeks betrayed her completely.
Arjun didn't flinch at the mock blow. In fact, he looked downright pleased with himself.
"I'm also incredibly patient," he added smugly, moving to unlock the main door.
"Humble too, apparently," she shot back, flipping her pallu over her shoulder with a huff.
He held the door open for her with a slight bow. "Always."
They stepped out together into the morning light, warm and golden, spilling over the narrow steps and casting soft shadows onto the pavement. The breeze carried the scent of wet earth and nearby bougainvillea blooms. A rickshaw passed lazily down the street, honking once as it turned the corner. Birds called faintly from a tree two houses away.
It was an ordinary morning by all accounts—but everything felt slightly altered. Like the air had thinned. Like the silence between them had become something sacred.
As they walked down the lane toward the waiting auto, Shruti's fingers brushed against Arjun's—accidentally at first. She didn't pull away.
Neither did he.
They didn't hold hands. Not quite. But their fingers lingered close enough to know they could. That they wanted to.
He glanced down at her, his grin mellowing into something quieter. Something tender.
"You really do look beautiful," he said, out of nowhere.
Shruti turned toward him, startled again by the softness in his voice.
"You said that already," she replied, trying to sound unimpressed—but the pink in her cheeks betrayed her.
"I know," he said. "But it's still true."
She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes downcast, smiling so hard it hurt her cheeks.
"Stop saying things like that," she murmured, shyly.
"Why?"
"Because it makes me feel…" she trailed off, unsure how to say it without sounding foolish.
He slowed his pace and looked at her carefully. "Feel what?"
"Seen," she said finally, almost in a whisper.
That stopped him.
He didn't smile. Didn't tease. He simply nodded.
"Good," he said softly. "Because I do see you. Always have."
Shruti's breath caught. A lump rose in her throat, sudden and uninvited. She blinked it back quickly.
"I thought we were done being serious," she said, managing a small laugh to hide the way her heart clenched.
Arjun smirked. "Oh, I'm just getting started."
She rolled her eyes, but her hand brushed his again—this time intentionally.
He walked past the Thar without hesitation. And came out with another one. A Jeep Meridian.
Shruti glanced at it briefly, one brow raised. "Not the Thar?"
Arjun smirked as he opened the passenger door for her. "You want to climb in that wearing a saree?"
She gave him a look. "Fair point."
"Besides," he added, tone more casual now as she slid into the seat, "today's not about turning heads. It's your day. I don't want the car to be louder than your performance."
Shruti blinked at him, surprised by how effortlessly thoughtful he was when he wasn't even trying to be. She said nothing—just adjusted her pallu and tried not to smile too obviously.
Once Arjun settled into the driver's seat, he adjusted the mirror and started the engine with a smooth hum. The AC kicked in with a soft whoosh, and the air between them held a quiet calm—one that neither of them tried to fill too quickly.
As the car glided out of the gate and onto the familiar road toward the college, Shruti stared out the window, watching the early sun pour golden light over the sleepy city.
A few minutes passed before she leaned slightly toward him, her voice just loud enough to carry over the gentle thrum of the engine. "You know…"
He glanced sideways. "Hmm?"
"If I trip on stage in this saree and fall flat on my face," she said, adjusting her bangle with exaggerated grace, "I'm blaming you."
Arjun laughed, the sound low and warm. "Me? What did I do?"
She looked at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. "You distracted me. Emotionally. Spiritually. Logistically."
He glanced at her again—really looked at her—and smiled with that slow, crooked grin she was starting to recognize as dangerous.
"Fair enough," he said. "But if you dance the way you smiled just now…"
Shruti tilted her head. "Just now?"
"Yeah," he murmured, eyes on the road again. "When you looked at yourself in the mirror right before we left. Like you finally saw what I always see."
Her throat tightened unexpectedly. That quiet, steady admiration in his voice was far more disarming than any teasing.
She turned back toward the window quickly, her lips curved into a soft smile she didn't try to hide this time. It wasn't shy or nervous. It was full. Real.
The car rolled forward smoothly, passing early-risers and school buses, quiet morning shops and sleepy traffic. Shruti's fingers rested on the edge of her seat, her saree pleats settled carefully around her knees, her anklets chiming faintly with every bump in the road.
The event was still hours away.
The performance hadn't even begun.
But with Arjun beside her, listening without needing to speak, seeing her without needing to look—
The day already felt full.
To be continued...