Anshika lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her mind refusing to quiet down. The weight of the night pressed against her chest, heavier than before. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to force herself to sleep, but the thoughts kept circling back to the same place.

Kartikey.

She hated that she was thinking about him. Hated that his presence, his words, his concern had managed to slip past her carefully built walls. It wasn't supposed to matter. He wasn't supposed to matter.

But he did.

And that was the problem.

She turned onto her side, gripping her blanket tightly. Kartikey was everything she wasn't supposed to want. He was confident, bold, and unafraid to go after what he wanted. He belonged to a world where he made his own choices, where restrictions didn't define him, where his actions weren't scrutinized under the weight of family honor.

And she—she wasn't like that.

She had been raised to listen, to obey, to never bring shame to her family. She had always been the quiet one, the good daughter, the girl who knew her limits and never dared to cross them.

She was reminded that her actions weren't just her own, that every step she took reflected on her family. A girl had limits. A girl had responsibilities. A girl had to be careful.

A bitter chuckle slipped past her lips. Limits. Her entire life had been built around them. What to wear, when to come home, who to talk to, who to avoid—every step she took had already been decided for her long before she was old enough to make her own choices.

Then why was she hesitating now? Why did her heart flutter when Kartikey so much as glanced at her? Why did she feel the warmth of his presence lingering even when he wasn't around?

She curled her fingers into the bedsheet, forcing herself to breathe.

It wasn't real.

It couldn't be.

Kartikey was just being nice. That's what she told herself. That's what she had to believe.

Because if she allowed herself to think otherwise—if she allowed herself to believe, even for a second, that he saw her as more than just another junior in college—she knew she wouldn't be able to stop herself from falling.

And falling for someone like him, someone who didn't belong in her world, was dangerous.

She had spent her entire life walking on that narrow path, making sure she didn't falter. And now, suddenly, Kartikey had barged into her life, making her question everything.

Her mind screamed at her to keep her distance.

To not fall into something, she couldn't afford.

To not let him become a weakness.

But her heart—traitorous and foolish—ignored every warning. It clung to the way he looked at her, the way he noticed the things no one else did, the way he didn't let her brush things off so easily.

She thought of the flash of worry in his eyes when he had asked if she was okay. Of the way he had waited outside until she was safely inside the building. Of how he always found ways to pull her out of her shell, whether it was teasing her or challenging her.

And that terrified her.

Because no one had ever tried to pull her out before.

She let out a frustrated sigh, pressing her palms against her eyes. She was being ridiculous. She had spent years learning how to lock away parts of herself, how to be the perfect daughter, how to suppress desires she had no right to have.

So why was Kartikey making her forget all of that?

Her throat tightened as she thought of her mother's voice over the phone. The unspoken expectations. The rules that had been drilled into her since childhood.

She wasn't meant for someone like Kartikey. She wasn't supposed to crave something outside the life set for her.

The memories of her mother's voice, her Dadaji's strict words, reinforcing the walls she had spent years building around herself.

Maybe this was why she had to keep her distance. Maybe this was why she couldn't let herself get carried away.

Because the moment she stopped fighting, she would fall.

And there was no one to catch her.

She knew what was expected of her.

She knew the path she was supposed to follow.

So why did she keep looking back at him?

Why did she find herself smiling when he teased her, despite her best efforts to ignore him?

Why did her heart race whenever he was near?

Anshika shut her eyes, inhaling shakily.

She needed to stay away from him. That was the only way to keep herself from getting hurt.

But a traitorous voice whispered in the back of her mind—

Was she truly trying to avoid him?

Or was she just scared of what she might feel if she stopped running?

She refused to answer that question.

Instead, she wiped her face one last time, lay down, and forced herself to sleep.

Tomorrow, she would go to college like nothing had happened.

Tomorrow, she would pretend that this night—the storm of emotions, the quiet ache in her chest—never existed.

The next morning, Anshika got out of bed, moving on autopilot. Her body was heavy with exhaustion, her mind still sluggish from the night before. But she couldn't afford to carry last night into today.

She had to be fine. She had to move forward.

By the time she left for college, she had plastered a neutral expression on her face, carefully tucking away every lingering emotion. She knew how to do this. How to pretend.

Stepping into campus, she was greeted by the familiar chaos—students rushing to class, friends chatting in groups, the usual morning buzz of college life. She took a deep breath, letting the routine settle over her.

She kept her head down, focusing on getting to class, trying to ignore her friends. She knew they would have questions. About why she had left early, about why she had seemed so anxious.

She wasn't ready to answer them.

Her mind was already exhausted from replaying everything—her mother's words, the guilt curling in her stomach, the way Kartikey had looked at her last night.

A part of her expected him to seek her out.

But she didn't want to face him.

She didn't want to see the concern in his eyes, didn't want to hear his voice asking if she was okay.

Because she would lie.

And she was so, so tired of lying.

But then she saw him.

Kartikey.

He stood in the corridor, leaning against the wall, talking to one of his teammates, but the second his gaze found hers, something shifted in his expression. His eyes flickered with something unreadable—concern, curiosity, determination.

Anshika immediately looked away, tightening her grip on her bag strap. She wasn't ready for this. She wasn't ready for him.

But as she walked past him, willing herself to act normal, she heard his voice.

"Anshika."

She froze for a fraction of a second before forcing herself to keep walking.

"Stop," he said, this time firmer.

Her steps halted against her will. She inhaled sharply before turning to face him, schooling her expression into indifference. "H-haan?"

"Y-yes?"

Kartikey studied her for a moment, his eyes searching hers, as if trying to see past the mask she had put up.

"You okay?" His voice was low, quiet enough that no one else could hear.

Anshika clenched her fists. She had two choices—lie, like she always did. Or admit, even for a second, that last night had affected her more than she wanted to say.

She exhaled, forcing out a small, forced smile. "H-haan, kyu?"

"Y-yes, why?"

His jaw ticked, as if he didn't believe her for a second.

"Bas pooch raha tha," he said, though his gaze didn't waver. "Kal raat-"

"Just asking, last night-"

Anshika swallowed, cutting him off. "Thak gayi thi bas."

"I was just tired."

It was a flimsy excuse, and they both knew it. But Kartikey didn't push. Not yet.

Instead, he simply tilted his head, his voice softer when he spoke again. "Phirse bol raha hoon, agar kabhi baat karni ho, toh main hoon."

"I'm saying again, if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Anshika's breath hitched for a second, her carefully built walls trembling under the weight of his words. But she couldn't let herself be weak. Not now.

So, she nodded stiffly and turned away before he could see the cracks in her armor.

Because if she let herself believe, even for a moment, that she could lean on him—

She would never be able to stop.

As Anshika walked into the classroom, she barely had time to settle in before Priya and Meera flanked her from both sides. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and concern, and Anshika's stomach twisted in anticipation of what was coming.

"Okay, spill," Priya demanded, crossing her arms. "What happened last night?"

Anshika feigned confusion, forcing a neutral expression. "Kya?"

"What?"

"We were calling you last night! Where did you disappear to?"

Anshika forced a smile. "Bas thodi thak gayi thi. Toh ghar jaake so gayi thi."

"I was just tired. So, I slept after getting home."

Meera narrowed her eyes, crossing her arms. "Tu jhooth bol rahi hai. Teri yaahi aadat hai jab bhi tu kuch chhupa rahi hoti hai, toh tu avoid karne lagti hai."

"You're lying. It's a habit of yours, whenever you're hiding something, you start avoiding."

"Main avoid nahi kar rahi," Anshika defended.

"I'm not avoiding."

Priya leaned in closer. "Toh phir sach bata. Tujhe kya ho raha hai?"

"Then tell the truth. What's happening to you?"

Anshika's heartbeat quickened. She didn't want to talk about last night. She didn't want to talk about the phone call and Kartikey, about the way he had made her feel—like someone who mattered, like someone who was worth more than just the rules she had been raised to follow.

Anshika's heart skipped a beat, but she kept her face blank. "Tum dono overthink kar rahi ho."

"You both are overthinking."

Meera exchanged a look with Priya before leaning in. "Kartikey se koi baat hui kya?"

"Did something happen with Kartikey?"

The mention of his name sent a fresh wave of unease crashing over Anshika. She looked away, shaking her head. "Nahi."

"No."

That was a lie. A weak one. And Priya caught it immediately. "Toh phir itni zyada tense kyu lag rahi hai?"

"Then why are you so tense?"

Anshika inhaled sharply, willing herself to stay calm, to not let them see the turmoil bubbling underneath. "Main theek hoon."

"I'm fine."

Meera wasn't convinced. "Anshika, tujhe pata hai na ki humse jhoot nahi bol payegi."

"You know, you won't be able to lie to us."

Before she could respond, their professor entered the classroom, cutting the conversation short. Anshika let out a silent breath of relief, quickly opening her notebook to avoid their prying eyes.

But even as the lecture started, she could feel their gazes on her.

And no matter how much she tried to ignore it, her mind kept drifting back to Kartikey's words.

"Agar kabhi baat karni ho, toh main hoon."

Anshika swallowed hard, forcing her focus on the lecture.

She couldn't afford to think about him.

Not now. Not ever.

The cafeteria buzzed with life, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and spicy samosas filling the air as students chattered around them. Anshika sat at the usual table with Priya and Meera, their plates filled with food they were barely paying attention to.

Across from her, Arjun and Rahul were engaged in an discussion about a football match, their voices rising over the noise. But Anshika barely registered their words.

Because she could feel it—his gaze.

Kartikey. 

He hadn't said much since they sat down, but his silence was louder than anything else. She could feel his gaze on her—steady, unwavering, studying her as if she were some puzzle he needed to solve.

And it was making her nervous.

Anshika shifted uncomfortably, pretending to focus on stirring her cold coffee. The heat of his gaze made her pulse quicken, her hands tightening around the cup.

Why was he looking at her like that?

She shifted in her seat, pretending to scroll through her phone, hoping he'd get bored and look away. But he didn't. If anything, his stare only grew more intense, like he was trying to see past the walls she had put up, trying to catch the lies she had been telling herself.

Why was he looking at her like that?

Her pulse quickened as she finally dared to glance up, only to find his dark eyes locked onto hers, unreadable yet filled with something that sent a shiver down her spine.

Heat crept up her neck. She immediately looked away, grabbing a fry from Priya's plate just to have something to do.

Priya noticed the sudden movement and raised an eyebrow. "Kya hua?"

"What happened?"

"Nothing," Anshika muttered, stuffing the fry into her mouth, avoiding Kartikey's gaze like it physically burned.

Meera, ever the observant one, leaned in slightly. "Tu itni restless kyu lag rahi hai?"

"Then why do you seem so restless."

"I'm not," Anshika said quickly, too quickly.

Kartikey finally spoke, his voice low but firm. "Lying doesn't suit you, Anshika."

Her breath caught. Her fingers tightened around the cup. She didn't dare look up.

Meera and Priya exchanged glances but went back to their conversations, and even as Arjun and Rahul argued about which player deserved the Man of the Match, Anshika could feel the weight of Kartikey's gaze.

And it was making it impossible to breathe.

She dropped her gaze, pretending to be engrossed in her phone. 

"Tu sunn rahi hai?" Priya nudged her elbow, forcing her back into the present.

"Are you listening?"

"H-hmm?" she blinked, looking up.

Priya frowned. "Meera kuch pooch rahi thi."

"Meera was asking you something."

Anshika forced a small smile. "Sorry, kya?"

"What?"

Meera narrowed her eyes but repeated her question. Anshika barely registered it, nodding mechanically. She could still feel Kartikey's gaze burning into her, and she didn't dare look up again.

She needed to act normal. She needed to ignore him.

She chanced another glance at Kartikey, hoping—praying—he had shifted his attention elsewhere.

But no.

He was still watching her. Still searching.

And the worst part?

She was scared he would actually find what he was looking for.

The following days were a test of Anshika's resolve. She had promised herself that she would keep her distance, pretend that nothing had changed, pretend that Kartikey's presence didn't affect her.

But Kartikey wasn't making it easy.

He wasn't pushing—he never did—but somehow, he kept showing up in ways that made it impossible for her to ignore him.

A few days later

The evening was heavier than usual.

Anshika sat on the quiet terrace of the college, hugging her knees to her chest. The cool breeze brushed against her skin, but it did little to calm the storm brewing inside her.

The day had been exhausting.

Her mother's call that afternoon had been yet another reminder of the weight she carried. "Zyada logo se baat mat kiya kar, beta. Tumhe padhna hai, bas apni padhaai pe dhyan do." Her mother's voice had been gentle, but the meaning was clear—don't get too comfortable, don't stray from the path that had been set for her.

And then there was dance practice.

Anshika had tried, she really had. She had pushed herself to keep up with the choreography, to match the energy of the others. But no matter what she did, it wasn't enough. Her teammates had exchanged glances, and by the time practice ended, the sting of failure clung to her like a second skin.

And on top of that, assignments. Presentations. The ever-growing pressure of maintaining perfect grades.

It was too much.

She had held herself together all day, smiled when needed, nodded when expected, but now, alone on the terrace, her mask finally cracked.

Her vision blurred as she stared at the distant city lights.

She hated this feeling. This tightness in her chest, this sinking weight in her stomach.

She wasn't supposed to be weak.

Yet here she was, struggling to breathe past the lump in her throat.

And then—

Footsteps.

Anshika stiffened, quickly wiping her face, her heart hammering in her chest. She wasn't ready to face anyone right now.

But the moment she saw who it was, her breath caught.

Kartikey.

He stood a few steps away, hands in his pockets, his usual confidence replaced by quiet observation. He didn't speak immediately, just took in her tear-stained cheeks, her hunched shoulders.

Anshika's first instinct was to get up, to leave before he could say anything.

But she didn't move.

And neither did he.

For a long moment, they simply looked at each other.

Then, without a word, Kartikey walked over and sat down beside her.

Not too close, not too far. Just enough for his presence to be felt.

He didn't ask what was wrong.

He didn't offer empty reassurances.

He just sat there.

The silence between them stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

It was grounding.

Anshika clenched her fingers against her knees, willing herself to say something—to push him away, to assure him she was fine.

But she wasn't.

And somehow, Kartikey seemed to know that.

She took a shaky breath, staring at the evening sky. "K-kuch mat kehna," she whispered, her voice barely above a breath.

"D-don't say anything."

He didn't.

Minutes passed. The breeze carried the distant sounds of laughter from below, the faint hum of traffic in the distance.

Slowly, the tightness in her chest loosened.

And for the first time that day, she felt like she could breathe.

Her fingers curled slightly on the cool concrete beside her. A second later, she felt the slightest brush of warmth—Kartikey's fingers, barely there, just enough to anchor her.

It wasn't intentional. At least, she didn't think it was.

But she didn't move her hand away.

The lump in her throat returned for an entirely different reason.

No one had ever done this before. Just sat with her. Just let her feel without demanding an explanation.

The realization made her eyes sting again.

Kartikey hadn't expected to find her here.

He had only come up to the terrace for some fresh air, to get away from the endless conversations. But the moment he stepped out, the sight of her—huddled into herself, staring at the sky with tears streaming down her cheeks—stopped him in his tracks.

His chest tightened.

She was breaking.

He had seen a lot of things in life, been through his own share of struggles.

But this?

This was different.

This was Anshika.

And seeing her like this—so quiet, so fragile—made something twist inside him in a way he didn't fully understand.

Anshika was always so careful about keeping to herself, about hiding her emotions behind polite nods and well-rehearsed smiles. She never let her guard down. Not in front of him, not in front of anyone.

But tonight...

Tonight, she looked tired.

Not just physically. Exhausted. Like she had been carrying the weight of the world all day and finally ran out of strength.

He had seen glimpses of this before—moments where her hesitation lingered a second too long, where the spark in her eyes dulled under the pressure of everything she refused to say out loud.

And maybe that's why he didn't say anything now.

She didn't need questions. She didn't need meaningless words of comfort.

She just needed space.

So, Kartikey took slow, measured steps toward her and sat down. Close enough for her to know he was there, far enough for her to breathe.

He saw the way her fingers tightened against her knees, the way her throat bobbed as she tried to hold it all in.

His hands curled into fists on his lap, resisting the urge to do something—to fix whatever had broken her today. But that wasn't what she needed.

And Kartikey had never been one to push when it wasn't necessary.

Kartikey let out a silent breath and looked up at the sky.

He had always seen Anshika as someone who preferred to blend into the background. She never fought for attention, never demanded anything from anyone.

He wasn't sure how much time passed before she finally spoke.

"K-kuch mat kehna."

Her voice was fragile, barely above a whisper.

And yet, it held a quiet plea.

His jaw clenched slightly, but he gave a small nod. If she didn't want words, she wouldn't get any.

The silence stretched, but it wasn't uncomfortable.

It was steady. A quiet understanding.

The breeze ruffled her hair, a stray strand brushing against her cheek. She didn't push it away.

He didn't either.

He let his gaze linger on the horizon, allowing the hum of the college below to settle between them. And then, without thinking, his fingers shifted slightly, brushing against hers.

It was barely anything.

An accident.

Maybe.

She didn't flinch, didn't pull away.

And for some reason, that single moment—the lightest touch, the smallest acknowledgment—felt heavier than anything else Kartikey had experienced before.

He exhaled slowly.

He had never been the kind of person who stood still. He liked action, movement, certainty. He was used to solving things, to handling situations with a clear mind and a steady hand.

But with Anshika...

With her, it was different.

She wasn't something to be fixed. She wasn't a puzzle to be solved.

She was herself. A girl who had spent so long believing she had to stand alone that she didn't know what it was like to be with someone who wouldn't ask for anything in return.

Kartikey didn't know what she was thinking. He didn't know if she would ever talk about what was weighing her down tonight.

But for now, that didn't matter.

For now, she wasn't alone.

And as long as he was here, she never would be.

The silence stretched between them, but it wasn't suffocating anymore. It wasn't the kind of silence that built walls. It was something softer, something that made her feel seen without needing to explain why.

Anshika exhaled, her breath still uneven, her body still heavy with exhaustion. But at least she wasn't carrying it alone anymore.

She turned her head slightly, glancing at Kartikey from the corner of her eye. He was staring straight ahead, his usual sharp expression softened by something unreadable. His fingers still rested lightly against hers, a presence she wasn't sure she was ready to let go of.

And then, before she could talk herself out of it, the words slipped out.

"Lake..." Her voice was quiet, hesitant. 

Kartikey's gaze flickered toward her, his brows raising slightly at the unexpected request.

Anshika swallowed. "Mujhe wahan jaana hai."

"I want to go there."

She expected him to ask why, to question why she suddenly wanted to go there.

But he didn't.

He just studied her for a moment, and then, with a small nod, he stood up.

"Chalo."

"Come."

His voice was steady, no questions, no hesitation.

Anshika let out a slow breath before pushing herself to her feet, her body still heavy, but her heart a little lighter.

And without another word, she followed him.

The drive to the lake was quiet.

Anshika sat in the passenger seat beside Kartikey, her arms wrapped around herself. She wasn't sure if it was because of the evening's cool breeze or the uncertainty curling in her stomach. Maybe both.

He hadn't questioned her. Hadn't asked why she suddenly wanted to go to the lake, why she had looked at him with something unspoken in her eyes and expected him to understand.

But he had. And that scared her more than anything.

She stood a few feet away, staring at the lake's still surface. The faint reflection of the evening moon shimmered slightly with the wind's movement, and for some reason, the sight made her throat tighten again.

"I—" Her voice faltered. She didn't even know what she wanted to say.

Kartikey sighed, shaking his head lightly. "Mat socho itna, Anshika. Just sit."

"Don't think so much, Anshika."

She swallowed, then moved toward him, lowering herself onto the grass. He sat beside her, close enough for warmth, but still giving her space.

The silence stretched.

Anshika clenched her hands in her lap, her fingers twisting her bracelet. She wanted to say something. She didn't know what. Maybe thank you. Maybe an apology for dragging him here. Maybe nothing at all.

She felt him shift beside her. Then, slowly, carefully, he leaned back against the tree, stretching his legs out in front of him. His gaze was fixed on the water.

"This place," he said after a long pause, his voice quieter than usual, "It really saved me."

Anshika blinked, turning to look at him. She wasn't expecting that.

He didn't glance at her, just continued speaking, his tone steady, casual, as if he hadn't just opened a door to something deeper. "I don't like noise when my head's already full of it."

She understood that. More than she could put into words.

The wind brushed past them, carrying the scent of damp earth and fresh grass. Anshika's hands loosened slightly.

For a while, neither of them spoke. And maybe that was okay. Maybe this—sitting side by side, watching the water shift under the faint moonlight—was enough.

Then, just when she thought the moment would pass in quiet, Kartikey spoke again.

"Anshika."

She looked up at him.

His gaze was still on the lake, but there was something different in his voice now—something softer. "You don't always have to carry everything alone."

Her breath hitched.

She should have expected it. Kartikey had always seen more than she wanted him to. But hearing him say it—acknowledging the weight she had refused to admit to anyone—made her throat close up.

She turned away, her fingers digging into her palms. "I don't—"

"You do." He didn't let her finish. "You act like you have to be perfect all the time. Like you have to live up to some invisible standard that no one even set for you."

Her chest tightened. She hated how much his words struck home.

He sighed again, running a hand through his hair. "You can't keep doing that to yourself."

She swallowed hard, her eyes stinging. "It's not that simple."

"I know."

And the worst part? He actually did. He wasn't saying this just to comfort her. He wasn't trying to offer easy solutions or meaningless reassurances.

He just... understood.

Her throat burned, and before she could stop herself, she let out a shaky breath. "Sometimes, it feels like I don't have a choice."

Kartikey was quiet for a moment. Then, slowly, he turned toward her. "You always have a choice, Anshika."

She smiled, a faint sad smile. "You don't know my family."

"No, I don't." He tilted his head slightly. "But I know you."

Her heart stilled.

For a moment, she forgot how to breathe. His gaze was steady, unwavering. He wasn't challenging her. He wasn't trying to make her admit anything she wasn't ready for.

He was just there.

The way he always was.

She didn't know what to say to that, so she didn't say anything. Instead, she looked away, back at the lake, letting the evening air cool the warmth rising to her face.

The silence settled between them again, but it wasn't heavy anymore.

Kartikey hadn't planned on coming to the lake tonight.

But when Anshika had looked at him with those tired, uncertain eyes and whispered that she wanted to go, he hadn't thought twice. He hadn't needed to.

Because if she needed this place tonight, he would bring her here. Simple as that.

The drive had been quiet. She had curled into herself in the passenger seat, her arms wrapped tightly around her body, as if bracing against something unseen. Kartikey had kept his eyes on the road, resisting the urge to glance at her too often.

He didn't know what had pushed her to the edge tonight—whether it was just the exhaustion of the day, or something deeper, something that had been building for a long time.

But he knew one thing for sure.

Anshika wasn't the type to break in front of people.

And yet, she had let him see it.

That realization sat heavy in his chest.

Now, as they sat by the lake, side by side, he watched her from the corner of his eye. Her gaze was fixed on the water, her fingers twisting her bracelet, as if she could unravel her thoughts if she just pulled hard enough.

She looked so small like this. So weighed down.

It made something tighten in his gut.

Kartikey hadn't expected her to say that.

"You don't know my family."

It wasn't just the words—it was the way she said them. The quiet weight in her voice, the way her fingers clenched in her lap, the flicker of something unreadable in her eyes before she turned away.

Kartikey prided himself on being good at reading people. It came naturally—on the field, in class, even in the casual banter he had with others. He knew when someone was holding back, when someone was just saying what they thought they should say.

But with Anshika, it was different.

She didn't just hold back—she buried things so deep that even she seemed unsure of them sometimes.

And tonight, he caught a glimpse of something she hadn't meant to reveal.

"You always have a choice, Anshika."

He had meant it. He believed it. But the way she had smiled—soft, bitter, sad and tired—made something twist uncomfortably in his chest.

What was it about her family that made her feel like she didn't?

Kartikey knew she came from a strict household. She never talked much about them, but it wasn't hard to figure out. The way she always double-checked the time before heading back to her house, how she hesitated before saying yes to anything spontaneous, how she never let herself get too close to people.

It wasn't just caution. It was conditioning.

And now, sitting beside her by the lake, he realized how little he actually knew.

He wanted to ask.

But he didn't.

Because he knew Anshika.

She was already second-guessing herself for saying too much. If he pushed, she'd retreat. She'd close off, pretend she hadn't said anything at all.

So, he didn't press.

Instead, he leaned back against the tree, eyes on the water, letting the quiet settle between them.

She exhaled softly beside him, and he could feel the tension in her shoulders ease—just a little.

Kartikey glanced at her from the corner of his eye.

He didn't have all the answers. He didn't know what kind of weight she was carrying, what kind of expectations she was trying so hard to live up to.

But he knew one thing for sure.

She wasn't as alone as she thought she was.

And whether she realized it or not, he wasn't going anywhere.

After a while, Kartikey shifted slightly, pulling something out of his pocket. "Dark chocolate?"

Anshika blinked as he held out a packet of dark chocolate.

She stared at him. "Hn?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Dark chocolate. Khaane ke liye hota hai, pata hai na?"

"It's for eating, you know na?"

A small, unwilling smile tugged at her lips, but she shook her head. "Nahi chahiye."

"I don't want it."

Kartikey didn't argue. He just tore open the packet, took a piece for himself, and then casually placed it between them.

As if giving her the choice to take it or leave it.

Anshika stared at it for a long moment before sighing and finally picking it up and eating a piece.

Kartikey didn't react, but she swore she saw the corner of his mouth lift slightly in satisfaction.

They sat there like that—quiet, eating chocolate, watching the lake.

And somehow, Anshika felt lighter.

Not fixed. Not suddenly free of her burdens.

But lighter.

After a while, she exhaled and glanced at him. "Tum hamesha aise har jagah kaise aa jate ho?"

"How do you manage to be everywhere always?"

Kartikey smiled. "Bas aa jata hoon."

"I just do."

She looked away, staring at the lake. "Mujhe samajh nahi aata..." she murmured.

"I don't understand..."

"Kya?"

"What?"

"Tumhara aise..." She hesitated, searching for the right words. "Bina puche madat karna. Mera dhyan rakhna. Yeh sab..."

"You... Helping without asking. Caring for me. All this..."

She wasn't used to it. She wasn't used to someone not expecting her to hold everything together on her own.

Kartikey's voice was softer when he spoke. "Kabhi kisi ne bola nahi tumhe ki zaroori nahi hai ki sab kuch tum akele sambhalo?"

"Did no-one ever tell you, that it's not important to handle everything on your own, alone?"

She didn't answer.

Because no—no one had ever told her that.

She had been raised to believe that she had to handle things alone. That she had to be perfect. That she had to meet expectations without fail.

Kartikey sighed, leaning back slightly. "Main tumhe force nahi kar raha, Anshika. Bas... yeh keh raha hoon ki kabhi kabhi kisi pe bharosa karna bura nahi hota."

"I'm not forcing you, Anshika. I'm... just telling you that sometimes it's not bad to trust someone."

Anshika's heart stuttered.

Bharosa.

Trust.

The word sat heavy in her chest.

She knew Kartikey meant it—he wasn't saying it to manipulate her or to demand anything in return.

He was just there.

And maybe, just maybe, that was exactly what she needed.

Anshika closed her eyes for a brief second, letting the moment sink in.

And then, without looking at him, she murmured, "Thanks."

She didn't know if she was thanking him for the understanding, for the silence, or for simply sitting beside her when she needed it most.

But Kartikey didn't ask.

He just gave her that small, knowing smile. "Anytime."

And somehow, that single word felt like a promise.

Anshika lay on her bed, staring up at the ceiling, the dim glow of the streetlight filtering in through the curtains. The room was silent, save for the faint ticking of the wall clock, but her mind was anything but still.

She hadn't meant to open up.

It hadn't been planned. It hadn't even been conscious. But somewhere between Kartikey's quiet understanding and his unwavering presence, she had let her guard slip. She had let him see.

A soft exhale left her lips as she turned onto her side, hugging the blanket closer to herself. The evening played in her mind like an old film—Kartikey's steady voice, the way he had handed her chocolate without a word, the way he had listened without pushing. The way he had simply been there.

She had spent years convincing herself that some things were better left unsaid. That it was easier to carry the weight alone than risk the consequences of admitting how heavy it really was. But tonight—tonight, she had cracked. Just a little.

And Kartikey had caught her before she could fall.

Her fingers curled around the edge of her blanket as she thought back to his words.

You don't always have to carry everything alone.

She had wanted to deny it. To tell him that he didn't understand, that things weren't that simple. But he had spoken as if he knew. As if he had seen this before—seen her before.

And maybe he had.

Anshika squeezed her eyes shut, frustration curling in her chest. She didn't know how to deal with this. She didn't know why it mattered so much that Kartikey had looked at her that way—with patience, with understanding, with something she couldn't quite name but didn't want to examine too closely.

Trust.

He had used that word.

Kabhi kabhi kisi pe bharosa karna bura nahi hota.

Her heart ached at the thought. Trust wasn't something she gave easily. It wasn't something she had ever been able to give so easily. She had always been careful, never depending on anyone too much.

But Kartikey hadn't asked for her trust. He had simply been there, offering it to her instead.

How had it happened? How had he become someone she trusted without even realizing it? It wasn't just his words tonight—it was the way he had been there, steady, unshaken, offering comfort without demanding anything in return.

And what scared her the most wasn't that she had let herself lean on him tonight.

It was that, deep down, a part of her wanted to do it again.

Anshika opened her eyes, staring at the faint patterns of light and shadow on the ceiling. Her mind was a mess, tangled with thoughts she wasn't ready to face. But one thing was certain.

Something had shifted tonight.

And no matter how much she tried, she couldn't pretend otherwise.

The next day, Anshika sat on the steps near the campus garden, rubbing her temples. She had been working on an assignment for hours, and her head was throbbing.

A bottle of water appeared in front of her.

She looked up.

Kartikey.

"Lo, peelo," he said, sitting beside her.

"Here, have it,"

"Nahi chahiye," she muttered.

"I don't want it,"

"Itni ziddi kyun ho tum?" He twisted the cap open and held it out. "Peeyo."

"Why are you so stubborn? Drink it."

She sighed but took a sip. "Khush?"

"Happy?"

Kartikey simply shrugged. "Mujhe kya, tum so nahi rahi ho na aajkal theek se?"

"You're not sleeping properly these days?"

Anshika stilled. No one had noticed that before. Not even her closest friends.

Something about the way he said it—so casually yet so attentively—made her chest feel tight.

"Zyada mat socho," he added, flicking her forehead lightly. "Bas dhyan rakho apna."

"Don't overthink, just take care of yourself."

Anshika wrinkled her nose, rubbing the spot on her forehead where Kartikey had flicked her. "Kya haiii?"

"Whattt?"

Kartikey smirked, shrugging. "Kuch nahi."

"Nothing."

She rolled her eyes but didn't argue. Instead, she took another sip of water, feeling oddly comforted by his presence.

A moment of silence passed between them, the sounds of students chattering in the background filling the space. Then Kartikey spoke again, his tone lighter.

"Diwali aa rahi hai. Ghar ja rahi ho?"

"Diwali is coming. Aren't you going home?"

Anshika sighed, shifting slightly. "Nahi."

"No."

Kartikey frowned. "Kyun?"

"Why?"

"College ne zyada holidays nahi diye, aur mere first semester ke exams bhi hain Diwali ke baad. Toh Lucknow jaane ka koi matlab nahi banta, waise bhi itni dur hai." she sighed.

"College hasn't given enough holidays, and then I have my first semester exams right after Diwali. So, there's it makes no sense to go to Lucknow, it's too far anyways."

Kartikey observed her carefully. "Aur tumhe bura lag raha hai," he stated, not even bothering to make it a question.

"And you are feeling bad about it,"

Anshika hesitated for a second before nodding. "Haan... thoda."

"Yes... a bit."

It wasn't just 'thoda.' She had been looking forward to going home, celebrating with her family, lighting diyas with her mother, helping in the kitchen with her chachi, sitting with her Dadaji as he told her old stories, decorating with her brothers.

But this year, she would be here. Alone.

Ananya was going home.

Kartikey watched her for a long moment, something unreadable in his eyes. Then, suddenly, he smiled. "Toh? Diwali yahin mana lenge."

"So? We will celebrate here."

She turned to him, surprised. "Kya?"

"What?"

He shrugged, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Hum sab milke Diwali yahin celebrate karenge. Doston ke saath."

"We will celebrate diwali together, here only. With friends."

Anshika bit her lip. "Lekin—"

"But-"

"Lekin kya?" He raised an eyebrow. "Tumhe laga tha tum yahan akeli rahogi?"

"But what? You thought you'll be alone here?"

She lowered her gaze, playing with the cap of the water bottle. 

"Paagal ho kya?" Kartikey nudged her arm. "Main hoon na."

"Are you crazy? I'm here na."

Something about those three words—Main hoon na—made her chest feel even tighter. He said it so easily, like it was a given, like it was obvious that she wouldn't be alone because he wouldn't let her be.

She exhaled softly. "Ghar jitni acchi toh nahi ho sakti."

"But it won't be as good as home."

Kartikey grinned. "Haan par, main koshish karunga ki acchi nahi, best ho."

"Yes but, I'll try to make it the best and not just good."

She couldn't help but smile a little at his words. "Aur kya karenge hum?"

"What else will we do?"

"Sab kuch." His eyes sparkled with mischief. "Decorations. Ek Diwali party rakhenge. Aur rangoli, woh tum banaogi."

"Everything, decorations. We will have a diwali party. And rangoli, you'll make that."

Anshika couldn't hide the small smile on her lips. "Haan."

"Yes."

"Perfect." Kartikey leaned back, satisfied. "Aur patakhe—"

"And fireworks—"

She cut him off, shaking her head firmly. "Nahi, main patakhe nahi chalati."

"No, I don't like fireworks."

Kartikey blinked at her. "Seriously?"

She nodded. "Haan. Mujhe shor pasand nahi hai, aur pollution bhi hota hai."

"Yes. I don't like the noises, and it causes pollution too."

He watched her for a second, then grinned. "Hmm... par phir bhi thode se toh chalenge na?"

"But a little is okay na?"

Anshika huffed a small laugh. "Tum sach mein itne committed ho iss plan ke liye?"

"You are really so committed to this plan?"

"Obviously." Kartikey stretched his arms. "Tumhe ghar ki yaad na aaye, yeh mera goal hai."

"It's my goal to make sure that you don't miss home."

Her heart did an odd little flip at that. Tumhe ghar ki yaad na aaye... Why did he always say things like this? So simply, so naturally, like she actually mattered?

She cleared her throat, trying to push away the warmth rising in her chest. "Aur baaki sab? Woh bhi ready honge?"

"And everyone else? Will they agree?"

"Haan," he said confidently. "Arjun, Rahul aur Priya toh yahin rahenge, aur Meera?"

"Yes. Arjun, Rahul and Priya will be here only, and Meera?"

She nodded softly. "Woh ghar ja rahi hai"

"She is going home."

Kartikey nodded, and then tilted his head, studying her. "Abhi bhi upset ho?"

"Still upset?"

She hesitated but then shook her head. "Nahi. Ab thoda better lag raha hai."

"No. Feeling a little better now."

"Bas thoda?" He made a face. "Main itni mehnat kar raha hoon tumhe cheer up karne ke liye." 

"Just a little? I'm working so hard to cheer you up."

Anshika smiled slightly, shrugging.

Kartikey let out a dramatic sigh. "Chalo, abhi ke liye itna kaafi hai."

"Fine, it's enough for now."

She shook her head at his antics but couldn't deny that he had managed to lift her mood.

For the first time since she'd realized she couldn't go home for Diwali, she didn't feel so alone.

And it was all because of him.

The days leading up to Diwali passed in a blur of assignments, exam preps, and last-minute shopping. Anshika found herself getting pulled into Kartikey's enthusiasm more than she had expected. Despite her initial hesitation, she had to admit—she was actually looking forward to it.

On Diwali evening, Kartikey had insisted that instead of celebrating somewhere else, they should all go to his house.

"Mere ghar pe maanayenge," he had said casually, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Mere parents bhi tum dono se milna chahte hain."

"We will celebrate at my house. My parents wants to meet you both."

Anshika had been hesitant. Meeting his family felt... different. Personal. And she wasn't sure if she was ready for that.

"Arjun, Rahul, aur Priya bhi aa rahe hai," he had added when she hesitated. 

"Arjun, Rahul and Priya are also coming."

How could she refuse after that?

So, that evening, she found herself sitting in the backseat of Kartikey's car, dressed in a simple yet elegant navy-blue salwar suit, her dupatta neatly draped over her shoulder. The others were chatting excitedly, but Anshika stayed quiet, staring out of the window as the streets of Bangalore gleamed under the golden glow of diyas and fairy lights.

When they reached his house, Anshika felt her nerves spike. Kartikey's home was a beautifully lit bungalow, adorned with strings of warm lights and rangoli at the entrance. The aroma of sweets and incense filled the air, making it feel every bit like the Diwali celebration she missed back home.

"Chalo," Kartikey said, hopping out of the car. He turned to Anshika when he noticed her hesitation. Leaning in slightly, he whispered, "Relax. Tumhe koi kha nahi jayega."

"Come on. Relax, no one is going to eat you."

She shot him a glare, which only made him grin.

As they entered, a middle-aged woman in an elegant saree greeted them warmly. Kartikey immediately went to her side, wrapping an arm around her shoulder. While Rahul and Arjun moved to touch her feet.

"Maa," he said, gesturing toward them, "Yeh mere dost hain. Priya..." He paused, turning to Anshika, his gaze softening slightly. "Aur yeh Anshika."

"Maa, these are my friends. Priya... And Anshika."

Anshika felt a sudden nervousness creeping up her spine as his mother's gaze landed on her. There was something warm and kind in her eyes, but it still made Anshika's cheeks heat up.

"Namaste, aunty," she said, folding her hands politely.

Kartikey's mother smiled. "Namaste, beta. Bohot suna hai tumhare baare mein."

"I've heard a lot about you."

Anshika's eyes widened slightly, and she turned to look at Kartikey, who simply smirked. Bohot suna hai?  What had he been telling them?

Before she could ask, another voice joined in.

"Haan, bohot suna hai, bhai se."

"Yes, heard a lot, from brother."

Anshika turned to see a guy—probably a few years younger than Kartikey—grinning mischievously. He had the same sharp features as Kartikey, just younger.

Kartikey shot him a sharp glare. "My brother, Kunal."

His younger brother, Kunal, snickered but stepped forward. "Bhabhi ko aise welcome karte hain kya, bhai?"

"Brother is this how we welcome sister in law?"

Anshika's face turned crimson. He is just joking.

Rahul and Arjun burst into laughter, while Priya smirked at Kartikey, who simply shook his head. "Ignore him. Yeh paagal hai."

"He is crazy."

Kunal just smiled at her and backed off before Kartikey could smack him.

Before Anshika could recover from the embarrassment, Kartikey's father joined them. He was a tall man with an air of authority but a kind smile. He greeted everyone and then looked at Anshika.

"Kartikey kaafi baatein karta hai tumhare baare mein," he said, smiling knowingly.

"Kartikey talks a lot about you,"

Anshika gulped, shooting Kartikey a glare, but he just looked smug.

His father chuckled. "Aao, sab andar chalo. Pooja ka waqt ho gaya hai."

"Come, let's go inside. It's time for the pooja."

The pooja was beautiful, reminding Anshika of home. She sat quietly beside Priya as Kartikey performed the aarti with his parents. She noticed how easily he fit into this role—respectful, responsible, and completely at ease in his family setting. It was... nice to see him like this.

After the pooja, they all moved to the terrace, where diyas lined the edges, casting a warm glow. Kartikey's mother brought out a tray of sweets, and everyone dug in happily.

"Yeh maine banayi hain, try karo." she said, offering a plate to Anshika.

"I made these, try them."

Anshika took a piece hesitantly and took a bite. Her eyes widened. "Bohot acchi bani hain, aunty."

"They're really good, aunty."

Kartikey's mother beamed. "Thank you, beta."

Anshika smiled, feeling a little more at ease.

Meanwhile, Kartikey leaned in slightly. "Maa ko kaafi pasand aayi tum."

"My mother likes you."

Anshika narrowed her eyes. "Tumne kya bola unse?"

"What did you tell her?"

He smirked. "Sach."

"Truth."

She huffed but before she could respond, Kunal spoke up again.

"Bhabhi, patakhe nahi chalane?"

"Sister in law, you don't want to light fireworks?"

Anshika opened her mouth to protest, but before she could, Kartikey put an arm around Kunal's shoulder. "Nahi, Chote. Teri bhabhi patakhe nahi chalati."

"No, brother. Your sister in law doesn't like fireworks."

Anshika stood there, stunned. What???

The entire group burst out laughing, and even Kartikey's parents chuckled. Kartikey just grinned, watching her flustered reaction with amusement.

Anshika stood there, her cheeks burning as everyone laughed at Kunal's teasing. She wanted to argue, but the words refused to come out. Kartikey, of course, looked smug as ever, clearly enjoying her flustered state. So, she just looked away, focusing on the snacks in the tray kept nearby.

The word bhabhi echoed in her head like a firecracker that refused to die out.

Bhabhi.

Bhabhi.

She gripped the edge of her dupatta, her heart hammering in her chest. What was she supposed to say? No, I'm not your bhabhi? That would just make things worse! If she denied it too strongly, it would seem like she was overreacting. But if she ignored it, did that mean she was okay with it?!

Her throat went dry.

She could hear the laughter around her, feel the amused glances sent her way, but her focus was locked on the one person who had the audacity to enjoy this entire thing—Kartikey.

He stood there, smirking like he had won some battle she didn't even know she was fighting. Idiot.

Her cheeks were burning. Her skin tingled with the weight of everyone's teasing. This was too much. Too much.

How was he so unbothered?! She wanted to throw a laddoo at him.

And why—why did his family think it was okay to say things like bohot suna hai tumhare baare mein and Kartikey kaafi baatein karta hai tumhare baare mein?

What had he even told them?!

Did he really talk about her that much? The thought sent a strange shiver through her.

But she refused to dwell on it. No, not right now. Not when she was already flustered beyond words.

She risked a glance at him, her hands fidgeting. What if he really had said something? Something that made them think this way.

No. No way. That was ridiculous.

But then again...

Her mind raced, torn between embarrassment and a strange, unfamiliar warmth curling in her chest. She wanted to deny it outright. But at the same time, a tiny, unreasonable part of her wondered—was this really such a bad thing?

She had met his parents today, seen him in his family setting, and for some reason, everything felt too warm, too familiar. It scared her how easy it was to fit into this moment. But what scared her more was how much she liked it.

She quickly shook off the thought, mentally scolding herself. No. This was just Kunal's teasing. 

Kartikey could tell she was spiraling. The way her hands twisted her dupatta, the way her gaze darted around, the way she refused to meet his eyes—she was completely flustered.

And he loved it.

He hadn't planned for this. Kunal was definitely getting a scolding later. His younger brother had taken things too far—especially in front of their parents. He had seen the way Anshika had stiffened when Kunal first said bhabhi. That brief moment of discomfort, that second where she had panicked, had made him want to drag Kunal aside and smack him.

But then, her reaction had shifted.

She had turned red, eyes wide, completely lost for words. And something about that—about her struggling to process it, about her failing to fight back— made him think.

Maybe it was time.

Maybe it was time she started getting the hints.

His mother had already taken a liking to her. His father had looked at him with that knowing smile. And Kunal? Well, Kunal had just said what Kartikey had been thinking for a while now.

But Anshika? She wasn't there yet.

Of course, he knew she wasn't ready to even think about this kind of thing. Yet. But the idea of it—the idea of her being called Kunal's bhabhi—didn't bother him one bit. If anything, it felt... right.

It wasn't like he had hidden it. At least, not from himself. He had known for a long time what he felt for her. The real question was, when would she realize it? When would she stop running from it?

His mother had already caught on.

He still remembered the conversation from a few weeks ago.

"Beta, yeh Anshika..." she had said one evening, while they were sitting in the living room.

"Son, this Anshika..."

He had known exactly where this was going.

"Haan, Maa?" he had asked casually, pretending to focus on his phone.

"Yes, Maa?"

"Bohot mention karte ho tum usey."

"You mention her a lot."

He had paused, but before he could even think of denying it, she had continued.

"Mujhe bata sakte ho, you know. Jo bhi hai."

"You can tell me you know, whatever it is."

And he—idiot that he was— had let his guard down. Of course its Maa.

"Maa... I like her." he had confessed, unable to hide the adoration in his voice.

His mother had simply smiled.

"Hmm... sirf liking toh nahi lag rahi beta."

"Hmm... It definitely seems more than just a liking."

That had been the end of the conversation. She hadn't pressed for details. But her knowing smile had been enough. She knew.

And now, watching Anshika's flustered reaction, he was almost glad Kunal had said what he did. Almost.

He'd still give the idiot a warning later.

But for now?

He was going to enjoy this.

His family clearly saw something between them. Even his mother had taken an instant liking to Anshika. That alone was enough to make him feel a strange sort of pride. Maa already likes her.

Leaning in, his voice barely above a murmur, he said, "Maa ko kaafi pasand aayi tum."

She snapped her gaze to his, eyes full of suspicion. Too easy.

"Tumne kya bola unse?" she demanded, her voice laced with frustration.

He smirked. "Sach."

Her breath hitched, and for a second, just a second, he saw something flicker in her eyes. Something unsure. Something nervous.

Cute.

She was still too flustered to argue properly. Perfect.

As the laughter died down, everyone started moving toward the open space at the terrace where the fireworks were being set up. The sky was already alight with bursts of color, and the crisp Diwali air carried the distant sounds of laughter and celebrations from nearby houses.

Anshika stood away, watching as Rahul and Arjun excitedly unwrapped a set of rockets and crackers, while Priya clapped in amusement. Kartikey stood nearby, effortlessly chatting with his father and Kunal, but his gaze flickered toward her every now and then.

He made his way over to her, hands in his pockets, his usual confident smirk in place.

"Aise dur kyu khadi ho? Darr lag raha hai?" he teased, tilting his head slightly.

"Why are you standing away like this? Are you scared?"

She crossed her arms. "Main patakhe nahi chalati."

"I don't light fireworks."

"Main jaanta hoon," Kartikey replied, his tone teasing yet gentle. "Lekin phuljadi toh chala sakti ho, na?" He held up a pack of sparklers, waving them slightly in front of her.

"I know, but you can at least light a sparkler?"

Anshika hesitated. It wasn't that she was scared—okay, maybe a little—but she had never been particularly fond of fireworks. The loud bursts, the unpredictable sparks—it all made her uneasy.

Kartikey, however, seemed determined. "Agar main pakad ke rakhu toh?" he offered, lowering his voice so only she could hear.

"If I hold it then?"

Her heart skipped a beat at his words, and she looked up at him, her brows furrowing in uncertainty. But before she could respond, Priya grabbed a sparkler from the pack. "Chal na, Anshika. Bas ek baar try kar!"

"Come on, Anshika. Try it once!"

Anshika sighed. Maybe one phuljadi wouldn't hurt. She gingerly took one from Kartikey's hand, her fingers brushing against his for the briefest moment. He noticed—of course, he did—but he didn't comment. Instead, he lit his own sparkler and held it out. "Isse jalao."

"Light it with this."

She swallowed and reached forward, her sparkler trembling slightly as she touched it to his. The moment it caught fire, she instinctively flinched, but Kartikey's warm chuckle steadied her. "Itni bhi dangerous nahi hai, Anshika. Dekho, kitni sundar lag rahi hai."

"It's not that dangerous, Anshika. See, it's looking so beautiful."

She watched the tiny golden sparks flicker and dance, the glow reflecting in her eyes. He was right—it was beautiful. Her lips curled into a hesitant smile.

"Ek aur cheez try karogi?" Kartikey asked, tilting his head slightly.

"Will you try one more thing?"

Anshika glanced at him warily. "Kya?"

"What?"

He grinned and stepped aside, revealing a small anaar placed on the ground. "Yeh. Mere saath milke jalaogi?"

"This. Will you light it with me?"

Her smile immediately faded. "Nahi, Kartikey. Phuljadi theek hai, lekin yeh—"

"No, Kartikey. Sparkler was fine, but this-"

"Main hoon na," he said softly. "Tum akeli nahi ho."

"I'm here na, you're not alone."

Something in his voice made her pause. He wasn't teasing her this time. There was a quiet reassurance in his words, something that made her chest feel warm. The others were too busy with their own fireworks to pay attention to them, but Kartikey's gaze remained fixed on her.

She bit her lip, hesitating. Seeing her reluctance, he gently reached for her hand and placed an already lit sparkler in it. "Main pakadke rakhta hoon. Hum saath mein jalayenge. Theek hai?"

"I'll hold it. We will light it together. Okay?"

Her heart hammered in her chest as she nodded slowly.

They crouched down together, and Kartikey leaned in closer. "Main hoon," he murmured, guiding her hand toward the small firework.

"I'm here."

As soon as the sparks caught, Anshika instinctively moved back—only to find herself pressing against Kartikey's chest. Her breath hitched. She could feel the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. For a second, she forgot about everything—the anaar, the Diwali celebrations, even the laughter in the background. There was only the soft thud of her heart and the gentle pressure of his presence behind her.

Kartikey, however, remained still. He didn't step away, didn't tease her. Instead, his hand rested lightly on her arm, a silent reassurance. "Dekho," he whispered.

"Look,"

She followed his gaze, watching as the anaar burst into a fountain of golden sparks, illuminating their figures. The sight was breathtaking, but Anshika couldn't focus on it. She was hyper-aware of the way Kartikey's breath ghosted against her hair, how his hand had subconsciously moved to hover near her waist, almost as if he wanted to hold her but wasn't sure if he should.

Her fingers clenched around the now-extinguished sparkler. Slowly, she turned her head slightly, just enough to see Kartikey's face. His eyes were focused on the fireworks, but there was something softer in them now—something different.

As if sensing her gaze, he looked down at her. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The noise of the celebration faded into the background, leaving behind an odd kind of stillness between them.

A small smile played on Kartikey's lips. "Happy Diwali, Anshika."

She swallowed, her heart still racing. "Happy Diwali, Kartikey."

And as the fireworks lit up the night sky, Anshika realized—maybe, just maybe—this Diwali would be one she'd never forget.

The night continued with more laughter, games, and storytelling. Anshika had never expected to feel so at home in someone else's house, but with Kartikey's family, it was impossible not to.

As the night wound down and she sat quietly, watching the fireworks from the terrace, Kartikey joined her.

"Toh?" he asked, nudging her lightly. "Ghar ki yaad aayi?"

"So? Did you miss home?"

Anshika looked at him, then at his family and their friends laughing in the background, then back at him. She smiled softly.

"Nahi," she admitted. "Yeh bhi ghar jaisa hi lag raha hai."

"No, this also feels like home."

Kartikey grinned. "Mission successful."

And for the first time since Diwali had started, Anshika felt completely, undeniably happy.

Just then, her phone vibrated in her hand, and she saw an incoming video call from home.

Her throat tightened. She had been so caught up in the evening that she hadn't even realized how much she missed home. Guilt crept up her spine as she quickly excused herself and moved to a quieter corner of the terrace before accepting the video call.

The screen lit up with familiar faces—her mother in a bright maroon saree, her grandfather and her grandmother smiling warmly, and her younger cousins peeking from the sides, grinning mischievously. Her aunt waved from behind as they all wished her cheerfully.

"Happy Diwali." she wished them back, the sight of them all together in their beautifully decorated living room made her chest tighten with longing.

"Anshika beta!" her mother's voice was filled with warmth and excitement. "Kaisi ho tum?"

"Anshika, how are you?"

Anshika forced a smile, though her fingers clenched slightly around the edge of her dupatta. "Main theek hoon, Mummy."

"I'm fine, Mummy."

Her grandmother beamed. "Bohot sundar lag rahi ho tum iss salwar suit mein, beta!"

"You're looking very pretty in this salwar suit, beta!"

She chuckled softly. "Aapko kaise dikh raha hai, Dadi?"

"How can you see, Dadi?"

"Arey, mummy ne photo dikhayi thi na beta." her grandfather said with a laugh, popping an almond into his mouth.

"Your mother showed us the picture, beta."

Anshika shook her head, feeling a bittersweet warmth spread through her. 

"Kahan ho tum abhi?" her mother asked, tilting her head slightly. 

"Where are you now?"

Anshika hesitated for a moment before forcing another smile. "M-mummy, P-priya ke ghar pe hoon. 

"M-mummy, I'm at P-priya's house."

She instantly felt guilty, she hated lying, but she knew that if she told them the truth—that she was at a guy's house, that she was celebrating Diwali with him—there would be endless questions, concerns, and unnecessary overthinking.

Her grip on the phone tightened, the guilt pressing down on her chest. But as she hesitated, unsure of what to say next, her eyes flickered back toward Kartikey. He was watching her, a small, knowing smile tugging at his lips—calm, reassuring, as if he could sense her turmoil even without knowing its cause. He didn't say anything, but somehow, that simple smile was enough to soothe the unease knotting inside her.

She exhaled quietly, her shoulders relaxing just a little. Maybe she wasn't doing something wrong. Maybe, just maybe, for once, she could let herself have this moment.

Her mother sighed, nodding in understanding. "Theek hai beta, kam se kam kisi ke saath toh ho. Hum toh soch rahe the ki tum apne flat mein akele hogi."

"Ok beta, at least you're with someone. I was worried that you'll be alone at your flat."

That sent a fresh wave of guilt through her. She knew her mother had been worried about her spending Diwali away from home.

"Akele nahi hoon, Mummy," she said softly, hoping that much, at least, was not a lie.

"I'm not alone, Mummy."

Her mother nodded her head fondly. Then, her voice softened. "Beta, tumhari bohot yaad aa rahi hai."

"Beta, I'm missing you a lot."

Anshika's smile faltered. She gripped her dupatta tighter, her chest tightening at the raw emotion in her mother's voice. "Main bhi aapko bohot miss kar rahi hoon, Mummy," she whispered.

"I'm also missing you a lot, Mummy."

Her mother's eyes softened. "Toh exams ke baad jaldi se ghar aa jana."

"Then come home fast, after your exams."

Anshika swallowed. "Haan, Mummy. Pakka."

"Yes, Mummy. Of course."

Her mother smiled, satisfied. "Accha, chalo ab aarti karlo humare saath."

"Ok, now do the aarti with us."

Obediently, Anshika joined her palms together as her grandmother picked up the aarti thali and began singing the familiar bhajan. Even through the screen, the warmth of home, the familiar voices, and the ringing of the bell in the background made her feel like she was right there with them.

A lump formed in her throat. She hadn't realized how much she needed this—this small connection, this piece of home.

When the aarti ended, her mother smiled warmly. "Ab jao, beta. Apni Diwali enjoy karo."

"Now go, beta. Enjoy your Diwali."

Anshika nodded, but before she could cut the call, her grandfather spoke up. "Ek minute, beta."

"One minute, beta."

"Haan, Dadaji?"

"Yes, Dadaji?"

"Ghar time se pohoch jana, theek hai."

"Go back home at time, okay."

Her breath caught. Damn. She had forgotten that her family was too detail-oriented for anything to slip by unnoticed.

She forced a smile. "Jii."

"Sure."

"Accha, accha," her mother interrupted. "Anshika, beta, ghar pohoch ke ek baar phone kar dena. Khayal rakhna."

"Ok, ok, call me once you reach home okay. Take care."

She nodded, offering them one last smile before disconnecting.

Anshika stared at the blank screen of her phone, her fingers tightening around it as the warmth of the call faded, leaving behind an ache she hadn't been prepared for. She had held it together while speaking to them, but now, in the silence of the terrace, the longing hit her all at once. She blinked rapidly, trying to push back the sting in her eyes, but a single tear slipped free, trailing down her cheek before she could stop it.

She quickly wiped it away, taking a deep breath. It's okay. Exams ke baad ghar jaana hai. She reminded herself, but it didn't stop the dull ache in her chest.

Before she could compose herself, a familiar voice broke through the quiet.

"Anshika."

She stiffened slightly at the voice, hurriedly wiping at her eyes before turning to see Kartikey standing a few steps away, his expression shifting the moment he got a good look at her.

For a moment, he didn't say anything. He just watched her—his usual teasing glint nowhere in sight, replaced by something softer, something unreadable.

"You're crying," he said quietly, stepping closer.

She quickly turned away, biting her lip. "Main theek hoon," she murmured, but even she wasn't convinced by her own words.

"I'm fine."

Kartikey didn't push. Instead, he moved a little closer, resting his arms on the terrace railing beside her. He didn't say anything for a moment, just let the silence settle between them, giving her space.

Then, in a voice that was gentler than she had ever heard from him, he said, "Missing home?"

Her grip on her phone tightened as she nodded. "Haan," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. "Pehli baar ghar se dur Diwali mana rahi hoon—" She stopped, shaking her head, struggling to put her emotions into words.

"Yes, I'm celebrating Diwali away from home for the first time-"

Kartikey hummed in understanding. "Normal hai, Anshika, par tum akeli nahi ho."

"It's normal, Anshika, but you're not alone."

She blinked up at him, surprised at the quiet intensity in his voice.

"Yeh ghar bhi tumhara hai. Hum log bhi family hai na?" He gestured slightly toward their friends in the background, still laughing and celebrating. "Aur main bhi..." He hesitated for a fraction of a second before finishing, "Yahan hoon."

"This is also your home. We are also family right? And I'm also here."

Anshika swallowed, her chest growing warm at his words.

Something about the way he said it, so simple yet filled with quiet sincerity, made her throat tighten all over again. She looked at him, really looked at him, and for the first time that night, the guilt of lying, the ache of missing home, and the loneliness she hadn't even realized she felt... all of it lessened just a little.

She exhaled a small, shaky breath and nodded. 

Kartikey studied her for another second before his expression shifted. "Ab tum aise upset mat dikho, warna sab sochenge maine tumhe rulaya hai."

"Now stop looking all upset, or else everyone will think that I made you cry."

Anshika huffed, rolling her eyes, but the corners of her lips lifted slightly. "Bohot chances hain uske."

"There are a lot of chances of that happening."

His smile faltered for a fraction of a second, and then, with a quiet sincerity that caught her off guard, he said. "I swear I will never want that."

Anshika's breath hitched at the unexpected gentleness in his voice. She looked up at him, surprised, but he wasn't smirking, wasn't teasing—just watching her with an intensity that made her heart stumble over itself.

As the night wound down, the celebrations slowly shifted into quiet conversations and goodbyes. Anshika found herself sitting in Kartikey's car as he drove her back to her flat. The roads were still alive with the remnants of Diwali—strings of fairy lights twinkled from balconies, the scent of burnt fireworks lingered in the crisp air.

The car hummed softly as Kartikey maneuvered through the streets with effortless ease. He hadn't said much since they left, but the silence between them wasn't uncomfortable. If anything, it was strangely comforting.

"Toh, ghar pe kaun kaun hai?" His voice was casual, but there was an underlying curiosity in it.

"So, who all are there in your family?"

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before answering, her fingers toying with the end of her dupatta. "Mummy hai... Dadi-Dadaji hain, aur..." she hesitated briefly before adding, "Chachi-Chacha aur do bhai."

"Mummy... Grandmother- Grandfather and... Aunt-Uncle and two brothers."

There was something careful about the way she said it, a subtle stiffness in her tone. Kartikey noticed.

The pause was just long enough for him to catch on.

"Papa?" he asked, his voice softer now.

"Your father?"

Anshika's fingers clenched slightly in her lap. She knew this was coming, but that didn't make it easier. A lump formed in her throat as she forced herself to say the words she rarely spoke aloud.

Anshika's breath caught for just a moment. She hadn't expected him to ask. She had gotten used to people avoiding the subject, either because they already knew or because they sensed her hesitation.

Her fingers clenched around the fabric of her dupatta as she looked down at her lap. "Woh..." She exhaled slowly, trying to steady her voice. "Woh nahi hain."

"He... He is no more."

Kartikey's hands tightened briefly around the steering wheel, and for a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, in a softer voice, he asked, "Kab...?"

"When...?"

Anshika swallowed hard, her throat suddenly feeling dry. "I was... s-seven."

The words felt heavier than she expected, as if saying them aloud made the loss more real. There was something about admitting it in a conversation like this that made her chest ache.

Kartikey didn't respond immediately. He didn't offer the usual hollow condolences or say things like "I'm sorry" or "I can't imagine how hard that must have been." Instead, he just nodded slowly, his jaw tightening slightly.

For a long moment, the only sound was the steady purr of the engine. Then, finally, he said, "Tumhe yaad hain woh?"

"Do you remember him?"

Anshika blinked, surprised by the question. Most people, when they found out, either changed the topic feeling awkward or looked at her with pity. But Kartikey... he was just asking. As if he actually wanted to know.

She nodded hesitantly. "H-haan." A small, wistful smile tugged at her lips as she thought back. "Kuch cheezein... yaad hain." She paused for a second, her voice breaking. "Woh bohot pyaar karte the mujhse." 

"Y-yes. I remember some things. He loved me a lot."

Kartikey's grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Of course karte the," he said, his voice unusually firm.

"Of course he did."

Anshika glanced at him, startled by the certainty in his tone. He wasn't just saying it to comfort her—he genuinely believed it. And for some reason, that made her chest feel a little lighter.

A lump formed in her throat at his words, an unexpected warmth spreading through her chest. She wasn't used to people saying things like that—so certain, so unwavering. Most people only pitied her or tiptoed around the subject. But Kartikey... he spoke like he knew. Like he understood that her father's love wasn't just a past memory but something that still existed, something that still mattered.

A lump formed in her throat, and she quickly turned her gaze toward the window, watching the blur of lights pass by. She didn't trust herself to speak just yet. Don't. Cry.

Kartikey didn't push. He let the silence settle again, filling the car like a warm, steady presence rather than an awkward void.

After a few moments, he exhaled, his grip on the steering wheel loosening just a little. "Mujhe bataana kabhi," he said, his voice quieter now. "Uncle ke baare mein."

"Tell me more sometime, about Uncle."

Anshika glanced at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. His eyes stayed on the road, his expression unreadable, but the sincerity in his words lingered in the air between them.

She wasn't used to this—to someone offering to just listen. To someone not treating her past like a wound that needed to be tiptoed around.

A part of her wanted to brush it off, to say it didn't matter anymore. But another part—the part that had spent years holding onto memories in silence—felt something shift inside her.

A hesitant warmth curled in her chest, unfamiliar yet comforting. She didn't say much, just nodded slightly, her fingers still gripping her dupatta.

"Hmm," she murmured, a soft acknowledgment.

Kartikey didn't press further. Instead, he reached forward, turning the volume knob up slightly, letting the quiet hum of an old bollywood song fill the space between them.

As they neared her flat, Kartikey finally spoke again, his voice lighter. "Diwali achhi gayi na?"

"Diwali went well, right?"

She nodded, grateful for the change in subject. "Haan... bohot."

"Yes... really well."

"Good," he said, pulling the car to a stop. He turned toward her, his expression a little concerned "Suno, akele theek rahogi na? Darr toh nahi lagega?"

"Listen, you'll be okay alone? You won't be scared right?"

Anshika shook her head softly. "Nahi, Kartikey."

"No, Kartikey."

Kartikey raised an eyebrow. "Pakka? Priya ke ghar jaane ke liye kyu nahi maani tum? Kuch bhi ho toh call me."

"Sure? Why didn't you agree to go with Priya to her house? Call me if you need anything."

"Pakka aur, haan." she replied firmly.

"Sure and, yes."

He chuckled. "Theek hai, theek hai." Then, as she moved to open the door, his voice softened just a little. "Anshika."

"Ok fine, fine, Anshika."

She paused, looking back at him.

He held her gaze for a second longer than necessary before saying, "Diwali ki lights se bhi zyada sundar tum lag rahi thi aaj."

"You were looking prettier than the Diwali lights today."

Heat rushed to her face. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

Kartikey smiled affectionately, clearly enjoying her reaction. "Goodnight, Anshika."

Anshika let out a soft breath, shaking her head as she stepped out. But as she walked toward her building, a small, involuntary smile tugged at her lips.

Even as the night faded, his words lingered.

His presence still with her.

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