The resort on the outskirts of Mumbai looked like it belonged in a film — long white curtains fluttering in the wind, marigold and jasmine garlands hanging from every arch, soft shehnai playing in the background. It was late afternoon, and the sky was painted in warm tangerine hues.
It was wedding season, and this one had already made headlines on Instagram.
Siddharth Kapoor, heir to a construction empire, was marrying Varsha Iyer, a sought-after wedding stylist. But for two of the guests here, this wasn't just another wedding. It was the start of something neither of them had planned for.
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Bhuvana Shetty adjusted the pleats of her sea-green saree, carefully pinning the pallu over her shoulder. She looked at herself in the mirror, brushed a light kajal under her eyes, and forced a small smile.
"You look stunning," Varsha said from behind, slipping on her earrings. "Nowdon'tgo all quiet on me, okay?"
"Iwon't," Bhuvana said softly.
Varsha wrapped her arms around her best friend. "You're really here. Out of the house. In a saree. Smiling. I'm proud of you."
Bhuvana's heart softened. For six long months after her mother passed, she hadn't left home much. Her world had shrunk to silence, her father's quiet grief, and her brother Vyom's forced cheer. But today, she was trying.
Because Varsha was more than a friend — she was family.
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Meanwhile, near the pool bar, Mahir Saighal sipped on a glass of chilled soda with a slice of lemon, his sunglasses pushed up on his head. His crisp white shirt was rolled at the sleeves, his watch glinting in the sun. The man looked like luxury and danger wrapped into one.
"What do you think of the décor?" asked Satwik, one of his childhood friends.
"Too many flowers," Mahir said lazily. "Looks like the garden exploded."
"Still better than your taste," Siddharth laughed, walking up beside him.
Mahir smirked. "That's because I don't need decorations to make a scene."
The boys were laughing, joking around, when he saw her.
Across the garden, under the arch of yellow blooms — a girl in a sea-green saree, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, looking lost for a moment.
Mahir's laughter stopped.
Siddharth noticed. "What?"
"Who's that?" he asked without looking away.
Siddharth followed his gaze, then grinned. "Oh ho. Calm down, Saighal. That's Varsha's best friend. Bhuvana Shetty. She's off-limits."
Mahir tilted his head slightly. "Why?"
"She's sweet. Quiet. Not your type."
Mahir handed him his drink. "That's exactly why I'm going."
Bhuvana was standing beside the juice counter, trying to decide between watermelon and orange, when a deep voice interrupted her thoughts.
"Do you recommend the watermelon?"
She turned — and came face to face with a man who looked like he walked straight out of a perfume ad. Sharp jawline, messy hair, a slow smile that could melt glaciers.
She blinked.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
He leaned closer, pointing at the juice counter. "You look like someone who knows how to pick the right drink."
"And you look like someone who interrupts strangers," she replied coolly.
He laughed. "You're not wrong."
She turned back to her drink, but he didn't leave.
"I'm Mahir," he said.
"I didn't ask," she replied.
He grinned wider. "You don't smile much, do you?"
"I save my smiles for people who deserve them."
"I'm going to earn that then."
She looked at him for a second, not smiling — but not walking away either.
"Good luck," she said, picking up her drink and leaving.
He watched her go — and for the first time in a long time, Mahir Saighal was genuinely interested.
Not just amused. Interested.
...
Later that night, the bachelor party kicked off under strobe lights and neon signs. DJ spinning old-school Bollywood beats. Men and women dancing by the poolside. Laughter, drinks, flirting — the usual chaos.
And in the corner, Bhuvana sat with Varsha and Nishitha, sipping cola.
"He's staring again," Nishitha said, nudging Bhuvana.
"Let him," Bhuvana muttered, not looking up.
Varsha giggled. "You know who he is, right? Mahir . Super rich. Super single."
"And super annoying," Bhuvana finished.
But even as she rolled her eyes — her heart skipped a beat when she felt his gaze across the crowd.
Because some people don't just walk into your life.
They crash into it.
Like fate.
Like fire.
TO BE CONTINUED....
VOTE FOR ME ...