Avantika stood in front of the dusty university gates, her suitcase by her side, her tote bag weighing down one shoulder. She inhaled the familiar Delhi air—a mix of honking cars, early summer heat, and the smell of street-side chai—and felt a twinge of relief. Home.

Sort of.

Abhimanyu stood just behind her, shades on, dressed plainly in a white linen shirt and faded jeans, trying his best to blend in.

Failing spectacularly.

Even dressed down, there was something about him. The way he stood—like the world couldn't shake him. The kind of presence that whispered power and demanded attention. His brother stood further back, frowning at Google Maps as if it had personally betrayed him.

"You sure you'll be okay here?" Abhimanyu asked, voice low.

She nodded, tightening her grip on her suitcase. "Yeah. I've lived in this hostel for three years now."

"Doesn't mean I have to like it."

She gave him a look. "You don't have to like it. You just have to respect it."

He smirked, but there was a flicker of hesitation in his eyes. "Well... that brings me to what I wanted to ask."

"I'm not marrying you," she said quickly, teasing.

"Okay, rude. But no," he replied, grinning. "I was going to ask if you'd be comfortable staying with us."

She blinked. "Us?"

"In the penthouse," he said carefully. "It's not far from your university. It's a bit more... spacious than your hostel."

Her brows rose. "You're asking me to move in with you?"

"I'm asking if you'd consider staying in a space that's safer, quieter, and where I could... see you more often." His voice softened toward the end. "You'd have your own room. Full privacy. My brother's also staying there for a few weeks. He can cook. He's actually good at it."

From behind, Abhinav scoffed. "Excuse me? Did you just offer me as a personal chef in your romantic pitch?"

Avantika tried not to laugh. "You cook?"

Abhinav raised an eyebrow. "Better than he ever will. He can barely boil water without setting off the fire alarm."

"That happened once!" Abhimanyu called over his shoulder.

Avantika looked between the two brothers. "So, let me get this straight. I move into this fancy penthouse, get my own room, privacy... and a royal chef?"

Abhinav sighed. "Apparently, yes."

She shifted uncomfortably. "I don't know... It's a lot. I mean, I'm used to my own space. My own routine. Moving in with you, even temporarily—it's a big shift."

Abhimanyu took a step closer. "I get that. I do. And I don't want you to feel pressured. But if you ever feel uncomfortable in the hostel, or if it gets too loud, too chaotic—you'd have a place to retreat to. No strings. No expectations."

She met his eyes. "No strings?"

He nodded. "None. I'll even sign a non-creep contract if you want."

Abhinav muttered, "Make him sign two."

Avantika bit back a smile, then glanced at her phone. Her roommates were still out, and her hostel wasn't going to quiet down anytime soon. The idea of clean bathrooms, good food, and the boy she wasn't supposed to like but definitely did...

She exhaled. "Okay. But only for a few days. Just until I get back into the swing of things here."

Abhimanyu's face lit up. He tried to play it cool—tried being the key word.

"Great," he said, too quickly. "I'll help you with your stuff."

"You're really going to pretend you're not dying with happiness right now?" she asked.

"I'm composed," he said, straightening his shirt with mock dignity.

"You're grinning like a dork."

"That's your effect on me."

"God help me," she muttered, letting him take her suitcase.

Abhinav followed behind them, grumbling about bratty brothers and ridiculous romances, but didn't complain too much when she offered him the window seat in the car.

The Penthouse

Avantika wasn't sure what she expected—but this certainly wasn't it.

The penthouse was at the top of a sleek, modern building in the heart of South Delhi. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows, warm neutral tones, and the scent of fresh lilies and sandalwood greeted her.

"This is... nice," she said, dropping her tote by the door.

"Only nice?" Abhimanyu asked.

"It's giving Netflix royalty who hates shoes inside the house vibes."

Abhinav appeared from the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. "That's because we don't wear shoes inside."

"See?" she said, grinning. "Called it."

Abhimanyu led her down a hallway and opened a door to a spacious room with a view of the city skyline, a soft grey comforter, shelves filled with books and empty frames, and—mercifully—a huge private bathroom.

"This is yours," he said. "You can change anything you want. Add whatever you need."

She looked around. "This room's nicer than my apartment back home."

"I know. I helped design it."

Her eyes narrowed. "You designed this for guests... or for me?"

He looked too smug. "Who knows?"

"Stalker."

"Soft-hearted stalker."

She walked over to the bed and sat down. It was ridiculously soft. Like sitting on a cloud.

"You're not going to try anything funny, right?" she asked, half-serious.

"I've already promised privacy," he said, hands raised. "You're not my prisoner. You're my... crash guest."

Abhinav called from the kitchen, "He wanted to say love interest, but his brain chickened out."

"Shut up, bhai!"

Avantika laughed, burying her face in her hands. "Oh god, what have I walked into?"

That Evening

The three of them sat at the long dining table, surrounded by soft instrumental music and the smell of paneer tikka sizzling on the table.

Abhinav served dinner—actual plated, balanced food—and Avantika nearly wept.

"This," she said, scooping another spoonful of dal, "this is heaven. You're a miracle worker."

Abhinav smirked. "Unlike my brother who would've served you Maggi and expected a marriage proposal."

Abhimanyu scowled. "I'm literally sitting right here."

"Exactly. Learn something."

Avantika grinned between bites. "So what's the plan tomorrow?"

"Whatever you want," Abhimanyu said. "You've got class?"

"Only one lecture. I can work remotely after that. Then I thought I'd visit the bookstore near Connaught Place."

"I'll come with you," he said.

She blinked. "Don't you have prince duties?"

"I do. But Delhi duty comes first."

She softened slightly at that. "Okay. But only if you don't get caught by fangirls again."

Abhinav groaned. "Please. If I have to sign one more stranger's arm, I will renounce the throne."

Avantika raised a brow. "Wasn't there some scandal with you and an actress?"

"That's classified."

"So true," she said, grinning.

Later That Night

Avantika lay on the bed, scrolling through pictures from Udaipur on her phone. She paused on one—her by the lake, hair wind-tousled, eyes glowing from the sunlight. She didn't even remember Abhimanyu taking that photo.

He'd sent it to her after their boat ride.

"Your laugh looks like it belongs in a painting," he'd texted.

Now, lying in this unfamiliar bed in a fancy home she didn't quite understand, she finally admitted it to herself.

She liked him.

Annoyingly, inconveniently, deeply.

And despite his royal title, his annoying charm, his intense gaze that always found her when she least expected it—he made her feel safe.

And that scared her more than anything.

She turned off her phone, curled into the soft blanket, and let the scent of lilies and sandalwood lull her to sleep.