The Singhania mansion was built with warmth. A place where power whispered through the halls, and emotions were trimmed to perfection like the manicured hedges outside.

Anika sat curled up in the family lounge, barefoot on the couch, legs folded beneath her as she scrolled through her notes. Her blazer was tossed on the side, tie loosened, hair tied up messily—a quiet rebellion in a house where appearance was worshipped.

The door clicked open.

“Still working?” came a voice laced with both amusement and concern.

She looked up to find Arnav standing there—older, broader, and somehow always effortlessly composed. In his late twenties, Arnav Singhania was everything a family legacy demanded: a sharp mind, a sharper tongue, and a loyalty to the Singhania name that bordered on religious.

Anika offered a small smile. “Trying to. But my brain refuses to participate after 9 p.m.”

He chuckled and walked in, setting down a coffee mug in front of her. “That’s why you need breaks. Try functioning like a normal human for once.”

“I’m a business student, daughter of a great businessman, sister to the rising business tycoon” she said, taking the mug. “Normalcy died with the orientation packet.”

Arnav sat across from her, one ankle casually propped over his knee. “How’s college?”

She knew what he meant. Not just the lectures. Not the grades.

Him.

“Good,” she replied lightly. “Busy. Competitive. Pretentious.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Have you seen him yet?”

Anika sipped her coffee slowly. “Who?”

“You know who. Mai naam bolunga to shayad papa daudke aajayenge”

She looked away, her gaze falling on the flames dancing in the fireplace. “Yes. We’re in the same program.”

Arnav was silent for a moment. “Anika…”

“I’m not talking to him. We’re not even on speaking terms. We barely look at each other.” She paused, then added with dry honesty, “We’re doing exactly what papa wanted. Total avoidance.”

Arnav didn’t look convinced. “Good. Just… be careful. Shivaay isn’t a harmless distraction. His family raised him to win.”

Her lips twisted. “So did ours.”

That earned a faint smile from her brother, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I just don’t want you caught in the middle of something none of us created.”

Anika nodded. “I know. I’m being careful.”

What she didn’t say—couldn’t say—was that sometimes, no matter how careful you were, curiosity still found a way in.

________________________

The next morning, Crestwood hummed with low chatter and caffeine-fueled chaos. Students scattered across the lawn and hallways, juggling books, ideas, and egos.

Anika moved briskly through the atrium, her heels clicking with purpose. Her headphones were in, but no music played. She just needed the illusion of distance.

She turned the corner toward the marketing building and froze mid-step.

Shivaay was heading right toward her, walking with that same measured confidence. A few friends flanked him, but he wasn’t talking. His gaze was straight ahead. Sharp. Unapologetic.

Anika’s jaw tensed.

There was enough space in the hallway for both of them to pass—barely. She could turn left, take the longer path toward the stairs, avoid this altogether.

But she didn’t.

Her spine straightened as she kept walking.

So did he.

Neither of them slowed.

For one breathless second, they were side by side, close enough to catch the warmth of each other’s skin, the quiet storm in their eyes.

And then—

A brush.

Just the faintest touch of shoulders, fabric against fabric.

Her heart lurched. She didn’t flinch. Didn’t stop. But she felt the contact like a match struck in the dark.

He didn’t say a word. Neither did she.

But her skin burned long after the moment passed.

_______________

Later that day, Anika found herself walking into her business ethics seminar, only to pause at the sight of her assigned seat.

Two rows from the front. Right beside him.

Shivaay already sat there—legs stretched out slightly, flipping through his notes as if he hadn’t just scorched her nerve endings three hours ago.

She considered asking the professor to switch seats. But that would draw attention. Questions.

So she sat. Quietly. Carefully.

He didn’t look at her, but she caught the twitch of his jaw. The tiniest tilt of his head.

The professor started lecturing, but Anika couldn’t focus. Every breath she took felt like it echoed. Every movement was measured, rehearsed. She kept her gaze on her notes, but her awareness circled him like gravity.

Halfway through class, he passed her a sheet of paper the professor had handed down the row. Their fingers brushed.

That was all.

But her pen slipped three minutes later, and she scribbled over the margin to make it look intentional.

This wasn’t just avoidance anymore.

It was a dance. Silent. Loaded.

And dangerously close to becoming something else.

_____________________

Later that evening, the Oberoi Mansion was far from quiet.

Rudra’s music blasted from one speaker, some remix he swore was “chill vibes,” though it was anything but. Omkara sat on the armrest of the couch, lazily flipping through a photography book, his long hair tied back. Shivaay stood near the bar counter, sipping water and trying to read the same line in his marketing textbook for the third time.

“You know what I realized today?” Rudra said, flopping onto the sofa dramatically.

“No one cares?” Shivaay muttered without looking up.

“No. That you—our very own heartthrob, college royalty, Shivaay the Ice King—haven’t dated anyone since the college began.”

Omkara smirked. “He’s not wrong. People were actually betting on who’d be the first to get your number. But so far—nothing. Cold trail.”

Shivaay arched a brow. “You both clearly have too much time. Are you spying on me? Ya phir school me ye sab sikha rahe?”

Rudra grinned. “We’re just concerned about your social life, bhaiya. You’ve got fan clubs in three departments. Girls talk about your eyes like they’re made of sapphire. And still—no girlfriend? Suspicious.”

Omkara leaned forward, a glint in his eyes. “Unless… there is someone. And you're pretending there isn’t.”

Shivaay rolled his eyes. “This isn’t high school. Also how are you getting also these information?”

Rudra gasped dramatically. “Oh my God. There is someone!”

“I didn’t say that.”

“But you didn’t deny it either.” Omkara’s voice was calm, teasing. “Kaun hai wo?”

“No one.”

“That’s not convincing,” Rudra said. “Is it that girl whom you added on Instagram last week—Tanya? Tara?”

“Wrong and wrong,” Shivaay said coolly. “And even if there was someone, I wouldn’t bring her here for you kids to interrogate.”

“Ha! So there is someone,” Rudra whooped.

Shivaay gave him a long, blank stare. “Do you ever stop talking?”

Om chuckled. “He doesn’t. But seriously, Shivaay, you can tell us”

Shivaay shrugged, tone even. “I’m focused. That’s all.”

But Om’s gaze lingered a second longer. He knew his brother. Knew that something—someone—had disturbed the balance.

And Shivaay knew it too. Because ever since the moment in the hallway, when Anika’s shoulder brushed his, her scent—a subtle jasmine and book pages—had stayed with him longer than it should have.