The next day, the quiet mansion came alive.
One car after another rolled into the driveway. Doors slammed. Suitcases thudded. Voices layered over each other like music—laughs, greetings, gasps.
Cousins were back.
From Delhi. From Dubai. From London.
All here for Eid. All excited.
A group of girls strolled out toward the backyard, heels sinking softly into the grass of the bungalow yard, still catching up—until one of them froze.
"Wait… who's that?"
They all looked.
Tennis court.
A lone figure moving like he belonged in slow motion.
White T-shirt clinging to his frame.
Forearms flexing, veins like lightning.
Back muscles pulling under the fabric with every swing.
Hair messy.
Sweat dripping down the side of his neck like it had a purpose.
The girls just stood there, stunned into silence.
It wasn't even about attraction anymore. It was spiritual.
"…Did we walk into someone else's house?" one girl whispered, half-joking, half-praying it was true.
Before anyone could answer, a voice behind them boomed with a laugh.
One of the uncles walked right up to the guy, clapped him hard on the back and grinned.
"SOU-MIK?! Arre beta, what the hell happened to you?! Your mom told me you changed—but this? This is movie-level!"
The girls turned.
Every single one of them gasped like they'd been slapped by fate.
"Wait… what?"
"SOU-MIK???"
"No, no. Not that Soumik?"
"The one who used to wear cartoon boxers at age 12??"
The guy turned around with a smirk.
Yep. It was him.
"Yeah, it's me," he said, voice low, confident, grown.
Then he looked at the uncle and added,
"But I swear, you're still hotter than me."
Wink.
The uncle laughed, walked off.
And then—like a scene crafted by the universe itself—Soumik muttered,
"God, it's hot today,"
and reached for the hem of his T-shirt.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Unbothered.
He pulled it up, revealing a stomach so cut it looked unreal.
The fabric rolled up over his abs. His chest.
Sweat gleamed across his collarbones like a highlight.
It wasn't stripping. It was art.
The girls?
Not breathing.
Not blinking.
Just staring like they were watching history rewrite itself.
It was no longer: "Who's he?"
It was now: "How do I marry him?"
"How do I make this Eid unforgettable?"
And then—"Kids! Come inside! Snacks are ready!" someone called.
The girls turned like they were waking from hypnosis.
Flushed. Speechless. Forever changed.
They walked in slowly, like pilgrims returning from a divine vision.
Upstairs, behind the soft white curtains of the balcony…
Stood Mahi.
Watching it all.
Expression unreadable.
Eyes sharp.
Lips pressed into a pout.
That signature glare.
Jealousy? Maybe.
Shock? Definitely.
But mostly—something deeper.
She grumbled under her breath, voice low, annoyed:
"Hmph. Acting all hot like some K-drama hero… stupid idiot."
Then turned around, arms crossed, hiding the heat in her cheeks.
But deep down?
Something in her just shifted.
---