The ticking of the wall clock was the only sound in the hotel room.

Avantika sat cross-legged on the bed, wearing one of Meher's oversized tees and scrolling mindlessly through Instagram. Everyone was either at the restaurant downstairs or out taking selfies with street art. Everyone... except her.

Meher had snuck out with her boyfriend. Again.

Traitor.

She glanced at the tiny glass vase on the side table. The red and white roses were beginning to curl at the edges, but they still held onto their perfume. Next to them, still folded with faint creases from how often she'd unfolded it, was the sketch. Her sketch.

She sighed.

"God, what is my life right now?"

Then, a thump.

Avantika froze.

Not the door.

The window.

A second knock—faint, but definitely there.

She frowned, rising cautiously and tiptoeing toward the curtains. Pulling them aside slowly, she looked through the glass and nearly screamed.

There he was.

Dangling outside her second-floor window, gripping the iron grill with one hand and holding—

"Are those... petunias?"

Abhimanyu grinned.

She threw the window open.

"What in God's name are you doing?" she hissed. "Do you have a death wish?!"

"I knocked at the door first. No one opened. So I climbed."

"You're insane. You are genuinely unwell."

"Possibly," he said, eyes twinkling. "Now can I come in, or should I just fall dramatically and haunt you as a lovesick ghost?"

She sighed so hard it might've moved the curtains.

"Hold on."

With considerable grumbling, she helped him through the narrow window frame. He slipped in effortlessly—because of course he did—and landed softly on her tiled floor.

She turned to him, hands on hips. "You do know you're a prince, right? There are security protocols for people like you."

"I ignored them."

She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"

He held up the bouquet of violet petunias. "These reminded me of you."

Avantika blinked. "Petunias?"

He stepped past her and gently placed them in the vase, shifting the older roses to the side.

"A little wild, a little stubborn," he said, arranging them beside the sketch. "But beautiful. And they don't need too much care—they just... survive. Thrive."

She looked at the flowers.

Then at him.

"Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Making me soft."

He grinned. "Wouldn't dream of it."

There was a pause.

"Why are you really here, Abhimanyu?"

He turned to her fully then, the flirtation giving way to something quiet and sincere.

"I want to take you somewhere."

She raised a brow. "It's midnight."

"Perfect."

"You're insane."

"You keep saying that like it's a bad thing."

She crossed her arms. "Where?"

He smiled again. "Lake Pichola."

Her jaw dropped. "What, like—on a boat?"

He nodded.

"A midnight boat ride?"

He nodded again.

She stared at him, stunned. "What makes you think I'd say yes to that?"

"You haven't said no yet."

She opened her mouth—then closed it. Damn him.

"And why, pray tell, would you invite me to a lake in the middle of the night like some Bollywood villain?"

"I'm not a villain," he said, stepping closer. "I'm just a man who wants a moment with you... somewhere quiet. Somewhere the city can't interrupt."

She tilted her head. "Why do you say things like that?"

He didn't answer. He just waited.

"You want me to sneak out of my hotel," she said slowly, "at midnight, with a literal prince, to sit in a boat and stare at water?"

He nodded once. "And the moon."

"You've gone mad."

"Possibly."

"I should report this."

"You won't."

"I should."

"But you won't."

She stared at him, arms still crossed.

"I don't have anything to wear."

"You look perfect."

She glared.

He raised his hands. "Okay, okay. Five minutes. Wear whatever makes you feel less likely to push me into the lake."

"Tempting offer."

But she turned and walked toward her suitcase anyway.

Ten minutes later, Avantika stepped outside the hotel from the back entrance, wrapped in a soft shawl, wearing black leggings and a navy kurti. Her hair was in a loose braid, and her expression said one wrong move and you're swimming.

Abhimanyu waited by the shadows, dressed casually in a dark kurta and jeans. No entourage. No guards. Just him.

"You came," he said.

"Don't make me regret it."

He led her through narrow alleyways that opened into a private dock shrouded in moonlight. A small wooden boat bobbed quietly on the water, already prepared.

A single lantern flickered at the bow.

She paused. "That's... romantic."

"I know," he said with a boyish grin.

She narrowed her eyes. "Too romantic."

"You can row if you want."

She gave him a flat look.

He helped her in, steadying the boat. She stepped carefully onto the worn wood, heart in her throat.

The city lights sparkled like jewels behind them as the boat pushed off, gliding gently into the stillness of the lake.

The night wrapped around them like velvet—cool, quiet, and impossibly soft.

For a few minutes, neither of them spoke.

The rhythm of the oars filled the silence.

Avantika leaned back slightly, watching the water shimmer in the moonlight.

"It's beautiful," she said softly.

"I thought of you the first time I came here alone," he said. "I wondered what it would be like to share it with someone who didn't care about my title."

She turned to look at him.

"Are you always this intense?"

"Only with you."

"You really have no boundaries."

"I climbed a hotel wall for you," he said. "I think we established that."

She laughed—actually laughed—and he looked at her like he'd found his favorite sound in the world.

He rowed them to the center of the lake, where the water seemed to stretch forever in every direction. No sounds. No people.

Just them.

Avantika dipped her fingers into the lake's surface. The coolness grounded her, reminding her this wasn't a dream. She looked up—and saw his gaze on her.

"What?"

"I keep thinking this is a memory I'll want to relive."

She blinked, heart thudding.

"You're not even trying to hide it anymore, are you?"

"No point," he said. "You see through me anyway."

They sat in that silence again. Not awkward. Just... full.

She shifted slightly, facing him. "This isn't going to work, you know."

"I know."

"You're royalty. I'm just... me."

"You're not just anything."

"And we live in two completely different worlds."

He nodded.

She looked away.

"And you still want this?" she asked. "Even with all the drama it'll bring?"

"I'd fight for it."

She turned to him, surprised.

He shrugged. "I may be royal, Avantika. But I'm still a man. And men fall. Hard."

She looked at him—really looked—and for once, didn't find a smirk or a tease. Just quiet sincerity.

"You're really bad at taking no for an answer."

"I'm hoping I won't have to."

She shook her head with a small smile.

And in that moment, on a boat in the middle of a moonlit lake, with petunias waiting back at her room and a prince rowing quietly across water, Avantika finally let herself feel it.

Not fear.

Not irritation.

Just curiosity.

Possibility.

Maybe even... something more.