The evening breeze carried the smell of sizzling spices and roasting kebabs. A courtyard restaurant tucked inside an old haveli had become the group's dinner stop—chosen by Meher after a viral reel declared it "Udaipur's hidden gem."

Fairy lights draped the trees, paper lanterns floated above, and the low hum of a live sitarist created an ambiance that was part magic, part mischief.

Avantika sat cross-legged on a cushion around a traditional floor table with her friends, trying to focus on her paneer tikka while her brain ran on a loop of earlier events.

His arms. His voice. That ridiculous lie about being a palace worker.

She stabbed her fork into a piece of tandoori mushroom with unnecessary force.

"Avantika," Meher leaned in, grinning, "you've been quiet ever since your solo palace walk."

"I was dehydrated," Avantika replied coolly. "Not lobotomised."

"Right. But I bet a certain someone hydrated you real good."

"Meher."

The table erupted in laughter.

And then...

The chair next to her moved.

Without warning. Without sound.

Avantika turned—and nearly dropped her fork.

There he was.

Abhimanyu.

Sitting beside her with complete calm, like he belonged there. His kurta was a deep maroon this time, the sleeves rolled up again. He greeted Meher with a polite nod, then turned to Avantika like she was the only one there.

"You have got to be joking," she whispered, turning slightly so her back blocked the others' view of his face.

"Good evening," he said, unfazed. "I heard the paneer makhani is exceptional here."

"Are you seriously sitting here right now? With my friends? Do you have any boundaries?"

"Yes," he replied. "I just haven't reached them yet."

"You're insane."

"I'm persistent."

She looked around in panic, but her friends were too busy digging into their food and gossiping about some professor's breakup to notice.

"Leave. Now."

He smiled, then reached across the table—and served her.

A spoonful of butter naan, then dal makhani, then a careful scoop of the veg biryani.

She stared at her plate, mortified. "What are you doing?"

"You skipped lunch. And breakfast, judging by how light your plate was this morning."

She blinked. "You've been watching me eat?!"

He didn't answer.

Instead, he picked up a bowl of raita and placed it gently beside her.

"Eat."

"I'm not a child."

"Good," he said. "Because feeding you like this would definitely be inappropriate for children."

She turned to him with a death glare.

"Stop trying to charm me."

"I'm not trying."

"Then what is this?"

He leaned in, his voice dropping. "This is me, taking the seat next to you until you tell me not to."

She glared harder. "I am telling you."

"Your eyes say otherwise."

She let out a sound between a groan and a scream.

"Fine," she hissed. "I'll play along. Let's talk."

He tilted his head, amused. "Now I'm listening."

"You said you're not a tour guide. But you 'help out' at the palace."

"Correct."

"And you 'volunteer' for events."

"Occasionally."

"And you have access to the restricted gardens, special entrances, private rooms."

His smile faltered—just for a second. "Yes."

"Right. So you're not staff."

"No."

"But you work closely with the palace."

"Yes."

"Almost like..." She leaned closer, her voice barely above a whisper. "...you live there."

His eyes didn't move.

Didn't blink.

She continued, emboldened. "You speak like you own the place. You're dressed too well. You walk with that royal 'I've-never-stood-in-a-queue' posture. You order palace staff around like you've been doing it all your life."

Abhimanyu gave her a faint smile, but said nothing.

"And your 'employer'—that man you called Abhinav?" she pressed. "He's not your boss. He looked at you like an older brother. Protective. Annoyed."

Abhimanyu's silence deepened.

"So either you're an insanely good liar," she said, her tone low, "or..."

She paused, eyes narrowing.

"...or you're a Singh. One of those Singhs."

Still no response.

The table around them erupted in laughter again—someone had made a dirty joke about the professor and the chai stall owner. The noise filled the air, but all Avantika heard was her own heartbeat and the sound of her breath.

"Say something," she demanded quietly.

"Okay," he said, finally.

She braced herself.

"I like the way you deduce," he said. "It's hot."

She nearly slapped him with her spoon.

"I'm serious!"

"So am I."

"You're infuriating."

"And yet, here we are."

She turned away, furious—and took a bite of the naan he had served her.

He noticed.

Smugly.

"I'm going to figure out exactly who you are," she mumbled between bites. "And when I do—"

"You'll run?"

"No."

"You'll fall for me?"

"Ugh!"

He chuckled.

Her phone buzzed on the table. Meher leaned in with a teasing grin.

"Who's your friend, Avantika?"

She froze. "He's... just a guy from the palace. Helped me out earlier."

"Wow," Meher said. "Polite. Handsome. Slightly obsessive. Your type."

"Shut up."

Abhimanyu, ever the charmer, turned to Meher with a slight bow of his head. "It's a pleasure to be here."

Meher smiled wide. "Likewise. We were just saying Avantika needs a break from engineering boys who talk in code."

"She deserves more than code," he said, eyes back on Avantika. "She deserves poetry."

Avantika turned to him slowly. "Did you just quote a Shah Rukh Khan line at me?"

He didn't deny it.

Instead, he leaned slightly closer, the corner of his mouth twitching. "You caught that?"

"I'm from Delhi," she snapped. "We're bred on SRK."

He looked at her for a long second.

And in that moment, the joking faded.

"I know I've been reckless," he said, voice lowered just for her ears. "And annoying. And pushy."

She stared at him.

"But I see you, Avantika. Not just your ankles. Or your waist. I see how you lead your group. How you always read the signs around you. You're smart. Fierce. You know what you want."

She blinked, taken aback.

"And I want to be the one who matches your madness."

Her lips parted, speechless for the first time all evening.

He stood suddenly, dusting his kurta, then smiled at her friends.

"Thank you for letting me share a meal. I hope to see you all again."

He looked at her.

"And you... I'll wait."

And just like that, he walked away into the warm Udaipur night.

The table fell silent for a second before Meher broke it.

"What. Just. Happened."

Avantika didn't answer.

She couldn't.

She just stared down at her plate—and realised she was still eating the biryani he served her.

Later that night, she sat on the hotel balcony with her phone in hand, scrolling furiously through Google.

"Udaipur royal family Singh brothers"

"Who is Abhinav Singh Udaipur"

And then she found it.

A picture from a gala. A man in a white sherwani standing tall beside a younger man in maroon, with familiar eyes and a dangerous smile.

Crown Prince Abhinav Singh Rajput and his younger brother, Abhimanyu Singh Rajput.

Avantika dropped the phone.

And whispered: "Oh, shit."