After the interview, they told me to return tomorrow. Now, standing outside the building, I debated whether to head home or wait until evening.

If I went home, my mother wouldn’t let me out later. It was better to wait. Deciding quickly, I drove to a café—a place I often found solace in.

By the way, this car was a gift from Rudraksh bhai on my last birthday. Sometimes I think he's only one who loves me on this planet.

Reaching the café, I claimed my favorite corner seat by the large glass window. The view outside was a perfect mix of the bustling city and the occasional serenity of passing strangers.

I pulled out my scrapbook and a bundle of Polaroids from my bag. With glitter pens and a little glue, I started decorating the pages, carefully pasting the photos one by one. Each Polaroid held a story—a glimpse of his life. I scribbled the moments, the emotions, and the details about him, even how I felt when I clicked that photo - I wrote everything.

But as I worked, a wave of bittersweet thoughts crashed over me.

Someday, I’ll have to move on—maybe. What will happen to all these scrapbooks and Polaroids then? It’s heartbreaking to even imagine letting go of something that holds him so close to me.

Sometimes, I dream of the impossible. What if he fall for me? But why would he? What if I’m not his type? What is his type, anyway? He’s never shared that with anyone. Should I ask him? Change myself to fit that image?

And what if he found out about all this one day? What would he think? My overthinking spiraled as I imagined him discovering everything and saying, “Wow, she loves me so much, let’s get married!”

Yeah, right. Not a chance. He’d probably just appreciate the effort, thank me, and move on. But I don’t want his thanks—I want him.

I chuckled to myself at the absurdity. God, I’m creepy, aren’t I? Obsessed with a guy who doesn’t even know I exist.

I plugged in my earphones and let the music drown out my thoughts for a while. My hands moved instinctively, placing the Polaroids where they belonged. I paused before finishing, deciding to leave a few untouched. Some photos were too precious to paste; I wanted to keep them close.

As the clock ticked closer to the hour, my heart began to race. I packed my bag, paid the bill, and walked out.

Excitement bubbled in my chest—a feeling I couldn’t quite put into words. The thrill of seeing your crush after a while, the anticipation that builds before the moment—it’s intoxicating.

My heart brimmed with excitement, an emotion too intense to put into words. There’s something magical about the moment before you see your crush—a thrill that takes over your entire being.

Standing there, my gaze fixed on the approaching group of cars. A sleek, black one halted in the center, and my heart fluttered wildly as he stepped out.

Dressed in a sharp black suit with a crisp white shirt underneath, he looked every bit the man who could stop time. His hair was neatly styled, complementing his clean-cut appearance. A pair of glasses rested perfectly on his face, framing his piercing gaze. His lean, striking frame, dark beard, and neatly trimmed mustache only added to his breathtaking aura.

His guards flanked him, a protective circle as he spoke on the phone. The device looked small in his hands—strong, confident hands that carried an air of authority.

As he moved closer, each step felt like an eternity. My feet froze, and I swallowed hard, nerves tying me into knots. My camera, hanging around my neck, remained untouched. I had planned to capture this moment, to preserve it forever, but how could I? My thoughts dissolved, leaving only admiration in their wake.

My heart ached suddenly, an unbearable pang as an image flashed in my mind—a girl, someone else, adjusting his collar with a soft smile. Not me. The thought of that possibility was suffocating. What if my delusions remained just that—delusions? What if I am never part of his story?

My family had already begun searching for a match for me, but the idea of marrying someone else felt like a betrayal. I’d rather run away forever than ruin someone else’s life while my heart belonged elsewhere.

But then reality hit—what if he married someone else? Would I have a choice but to move on? It felt impossible now, but in that scenario, I’d have no other option. The thought was confusing, frustrating, and heartbreaking all at once. I didn’t want to let go, but I knew I might have to.

And just like that, without sparing me a single glance, he walked past me and disappeared inside.

I stood rooted to the spot, feeling utterly foolish. My mouth hung open, my hands gripped my bag tightly, and I had lost all sense of time and place.

“Ekdam pagal,” I murmured under my breath, shaking my head in disbelief.

I wanted to slap myself for freezing up, for forgetting my plan, for not blinking, for letting my emotions get the better of me. Most of all, I wanted to slap myself for letting him have such power over me.

I stepped inside the restaurant, my heart still racing from the brief glimpse of him. I found a seat in the public dining area, but my eyes instinctively darted upward. He was on the second floor, in a private room, far from my reach.

To avoid looking like a complete fool, I quickly ordered some food, pretending that I was just another customer minding my own business. But who was I kidding? My thoughts were entirely consumed by him.

🐚 🦢 🪞🪕

Time slipped by, the minutes passing into one another as I sat there, half-eating, half-lost in my thoughts. Suddenly, movement caught my eye. I spotted him descending the stairs, flanked by a group of men. My heart skipped a beat. He was as composed as ever, his presence commanding even in the smallest gestures.

Panic surged through me as I realized I couldn’t just sit there. Without thinking, I quickly got up and made my way outside, blending into the crowd as best I could. Once outside, I fumbled with my bag, pulling out my camera. My fingers worked swiftly, adjusting the settings and ensuring everything was perfect.

Finding cover behind a large plant, I crouched down, careful not to make any noise. The leaves provided enough concealment for me to remain unnoticed, yet I had a clear view of the entrance.

My hand stopped mid-air when I spotted a girl standing with them. The moment she walked up to him, a strange pang shot through my chest. And then, she extended her hand toward him with a wide smile.

My teeth clenched instinctively.

After talking for a few minutes, she left. But what were they even talking about? Who was she? She left with his client, but what was her purpose here when she isn't the boss?

Can’t she just focus on her own work—homework, office work, whatever it is—rather than hovering around him?

Everyone wants him. Nobody can just leave my choice alone.

I sighed deeply, steadying my grip on the camera before raising it to take her picture. Just as I pressed the button, a bright flash illuminated the dimly lit surroundings. My heart nearly stopped.

My eyes widened in horror as realization hit—I had forgotten to turn off the flashlight.

Panic surged through me. I could already feel the weight of multiple eyes turning in my direction. My fingers trembled slightly as I fumbled to lower the camera, my mind racing for an escape before anyone could spot me.

“Who’s there?” one of his guards barked, their voice echoing louder.

I didn’t wait for a second command. My legs lead me forward before my mind could catch up. I slipped out of my hiding spot, moving to the main door. My heart pounded against my ribs, the blood rushing in my ears as I avoided looking back.

But two man from either side held my arm. I shut my eyes and drop my head down— giving up.

The very thing I had prayed wouldn't happen just did. My nightmare had come true.

I cursed myself for such a careless mistake—how could I forget something so basic? My hands felt cold, my heart hammering in my chest.

Oh, God. How would I face him now?What if he recognized me? The thought alone made my stomach churn.



As I stepped out of the car, the cool evening breeze brushed against my face. The hotel stood tall in front of me, Its pure white structure radiated elegance.

The golden lights around the entrance blended seamlessly with the fading hues of the sunset— Pink, purple and orange, creating a mesmerizing sight.

I adjusted phone on my ear and slid my other hand into my pocket, my usual composed demeanor intact. My guards moved ahead, ensuring the path was clear, but my attention momentarily shifted to the surroundings. The soft murmur of fountains, the floral fragrance in the air, the distant sound of a violin playing inside—it was a setting meant to impress.

I went inside, instantly drawing everyone's attention, but I didn't pause and made my way straight upstairs to the private dinner.

The guests were already seated when I arrived. I shook hands with Mr. Sharma. “Good evening, Mr. Sharma.” “Evening, Mr. Harsana,” he greeted back, then gestured toward the woman beside him. “My daughter, Chahat.”

She smiled shyly, lowering her gaze—as if on cue. I had seen this type of introduction coming from a mile away when he told me about his daughter on call.

“Hello, Ms. Sharma.”

She extended her hand for a handshake, and I shook it briefly before taking my seat.

“She just returned from America today,” Mr. Sharma added with a chuckle and I was hearing this for the forth time tonight. “I was discussing our project at home, and she was eager to meet you.”

“Oh.” I nodded, not sure what else to say. Why was she even eager to meet me?

Time passed, and after the deal was signed, drinks were offered. I declined, focusing on my meal instead.

“So… I see you're still a bachelor,” Mr. Sharma remarked casually.

“Yeah.” I set my spoon down and glanced at him.

“Well, Chahat just finished her studies… ranked third in her class,” he added.

I forced a polite smile. What was the point of telling me this? Weren't we here for business?

“Congratulations,” I said.

“Thank you,” she replied softly.

Then, just when I thought the conversation would shift, Mr. Sharma leaned forward. “Mr. Harsana, I heard you have a younger sister.”

I raised an eyebrow at the unexpected mention of Tara. “Hm?”

“Why don’t Chahat and your sister meet? They could be good friends,” he suggested.

I let out a soft chuckle, setting down my fork for the second time. I was hungry. “I can’t say anything about that. Your daughter is welcome to visit her if she wants.”

With that, I returned to my meal, my focus back on the plate, silently hoping the conversation wouldn’t steer any further in that direction. I mean how how I know if Tara want any friends or not?

“You have a business abroad?” I asked, steering the conversation back to business before he could bring up anything I had no interest in discussing.

I picked up my glass of water, fully aware of his daughter’s eyes lingering on me.

“Yeah, Chahat is the upcoming heir. I don’t have a son,” Mr. Sharma replied casually.

I took a sip, nodding slightly as he looped the discussion back to the same topic. I shifted my gaze away, uninterested.

-----

“Mr. Sharma, thank you so much for this wonderful dinner. I enjoyed it,” I said eventually, rising from my chair.

“My pleasure, Mr. Harsana,” he said, standing as well.

“I should take my leave now. I have to return to Jaipur tonight,” I added, waiting for his response.

“Sure, sure. Have a safe ride,” he said, extending his hand. We shook hands, exchanging a brief, formal hug.

As we continued with our final discussion, we made our way to the exit. I was standing outside my car when I noticed Chahat running toward me.

I raised an eyebrow, wondering what she wanted until she extended her hand. “Friends? I don’t want to be your sister’s friend. I want to be yours.”

“I don’t make friends.” My voice was firm, my expression unchanged.

“Can I be your first friend?” She kept her hand extended, her smile unwavering.

“I don’t make female friends,” I repeated, sliding my hands into my pockets.

“Can I be your first female friend?” she smirked slightly.

I scoffed, glancing away. “My first and last female friend will be my wife. That’s her place.”

Her smile faltered for a moment before she finally pulled her hand back. “Fine,” she sighed.

“Your father’s waiting,” I said, nodding toward Mr. Sharma, who was standing nearby, smiling—for no reason at all.

She walked to her father, and I turned my attention to Nihal, who was already staring at me.

“What?” I asked, raising a brow.

“Nothing,” he replied, shaking his head before opening the car door for me.

Before I could step inside, one of my guards called out.

“Sir!”

I turned back, my brows furrowing as I saw two guards holding a girl by her arms. Her head was lowered, long strands of hair falling over her face as if she were deliberately trying to hide.

Why, God? So many encounters with girls in a single day.

“She was behind a tree, secretly watching you. The moment she got caught, she tried to run,” one of the guards explained.

He held out a camera—a Polaroid.

She had taken my picture.

A grin tugged at my lips. The nerve. Who did she think she was? Did she have any idea who I was? Either she was one of those girls obsessed with power and danger, or worse—she had been sent by someone. The thought made my grin fade slightly. Was she working for someone? Maybe one of my enemies?

“She’s refusing to hand over her bag,” another guard added.

“How?” Nihal stepped closer, narrowing his eyes.

He reached for her bag, gripping the sling firmly, but before he could yank it away, she raised her head.

“Arey, chhodo yaar!” she snapped at the guards.

I signaled them to release her. They obeyed, stepping back immediately. As soon as they did, she grabbed Nihal’s wrist and yanked his hand away from her bag.

“Kya hai? Dimaag kharab hai tumhara? Ya anpadh ho? Padhai-likhai nahi kari?” She took a step forward, eyes blazing. “Agar padhe nahi ho toh tameez toh hogi na? Privacy naam ki cheez suni hai kabhi?”

[ What’s wrong with you? Are you out of your mind? Or are you uneducated? Haven’t you studied? ]

[ If you are not educated, at least you should have some manners! Have you ever heard of privacy? ]

Nihal instinctively moved back.

“Acha, ek baat batao—kya hoga mere bag mein? Koi bomb? Main atankwadi lagti hoon?”

[ Tell me one thing—what would be in my bag? A bomb? Do I look like a terrorist? ]

She moved forward with every question, making Nihal step back until his spine hit the car. His eyes widened slightly, clearly taken aback by her sudden outburst.

I couldn't stop myself—I chuckled softly. She was unexpected, a complete contradiction to what I had imagined.

Someone special.

But as soon as I realized who I am—Anirudh Singh Harsana—my amusement vanished. I straightened my face, erasing any trace of a smile.

To be continued.....

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