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Days later, the mansion's living room buzzed with an unspoken tension as Subhadra stormed in, her hair messy, her bag slung carelessly over one shoulder like she'd just come out of a war zone. With the dramatic flair only she could muster, she threw a thick file onto the coffee table and flopped—no, slammed—herself onto the couch with the grace of a falling sack of potatoes. "I swear, this city is filled with idiots," she groaned, waving her hand like a queen too exhausted to deal with her court.

Rukmini raised an eyebrow but calmly reached for the file, flipping through the pages with sharp eyes. "Some of these people in the riot photos... they're not students," she muttered, her tone growing serious. "These men... they're too coordinated, too armed. This one—" she pointed to a grainy image, "—he could have a clue. Krishna, can you look into him?"

Krishna, who had been quietly leaning on the doorframe sipping coffee, nodded and walked over to take a closer look. "He's definitely not campus crowd. Probably one of Jarasandh's pawns, sneaking into student protests to stir chaos." His brows furrowed slightly, already calculating his next steps.

Just then, Subhadra sat up with a jolt, all her exhaustion temporarily vanishing. "Okay, so now that I've risked my life to get this top-secret info... where's my chocolate?" she demanded, eyes twinkling despite the dark circles under them.

Rukmini chuckled, finally letting her stern expression ease. "You've earned it. I'll get you the deluxe edition chocolate bar. Imported. With nuts, caramel, and sparkles if you want."

"Bless you, woman," Subhadra declared dramatically, collapsing again like she'd been rescued from starvation.

Krishna, never one to miss a chance, leaned in with a teasing smirk. "Wow. So now you're the one buying Subhadra chocolates? After that whole philosophical stand-off we had? Should I be worried you've joined the dark side?"

Rukmini didn't even blink. "I'll do whatever I feel is right," she said coolly, standing her ground. "Even if that includes bribing your sugar-crazed little sister with chocolate to keep her cooperative."

Krishna placed a hand over his heart in mock betrayal. "So much for moral high ground. You're just like me."

"No," Rukmini said, eyes sparkling as she grabbed her coat. "I think. You throw money."

Krishna gasped. "I strategically invest!"

"Into chocolate," she shot back, already walking away, leaving Krishna snickering and Subhadra cackling behind her.

"You guys are literally the weirdest team of revolutionaries I've ever seen," Subhadra muttered, still grinning as she reached for her phone. "But hey, as long as the chocolate keeps coming... Viva la resistance."

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.

.

The conference room was sleek and silent, save for the subtle hum of the air conditioning and the occasional click of pens against notepads. Krishna sat at the head of the long glass table, exuding his usual quiet authority. Dressed in a sharp black suit with sleeves rolled just slightly to the forearm—because power didn't need to scream—he listened intently as one of his managers broke down quarterly projections. His expression didn't falter, calm and composed as ever, though his fingers tapped rhythmically against the table, a quiet sign of a mind that never really paused.

The presentation continued, graphs shifting on the sleek screen behind the speaker, but Krishna's gaze momentarily drifted toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows that offered a view of the street below. Something—or perhaps someone—had caught his attention.

Across the street, just past the rows of parked cars and beneath a striped red awning, stood Rukmini.

His fingers stopped tapping.

She had just stepped out of a boutique-style store, dressed casually but elegantly, her hair pulled into a loose ponytail that bounced slightly as she walked. A moment later, a man exited behind her—tall, broad-shouldered, with a messy undercut and the kind of confidence Krishna could clock from across the street. Rukmini turned to him, laughed at something he said, and then... she hugged him.

Krishna's eyes narrowed just slightly.

Not in jealousy—he would never admit to something that juvenile—but in a quiet, flickering curiosity that gnawed a little harder than it should have. The hug wasn't particularly long. Or romantic. But it was warm. Familiar. The kind of hug people give when there's history involved. And then they started walking down the street, side by side, still talking, still smiling.

Inside the conference room, someone asked him a question. Krishna didn't answer right away.

"Sir?"

He blinked once. "Yes. Continue."

He turned his gaze back to the speaker, refocusing, nodding along as though nothing had just shaken him. Not even a little. Because why would it?

Who Rukmini met, who she smiled at, who she hugged—it was none of his business.

So why did that uncomfortable twinge settle in his chest like a weight he couldn't shake?

He exhaled slowly through his nose and adjusted his watch like that could somehow recalibrate his thoughts. She's free to meet anyone. Hug anyone. Smile at anyone.

Still, for the rest of the meeting, he didn't look out the window again.

And for the first time in a long time, Krishna's famously unbothered composure cracked just slightly at the edges.

The meeting ended with the usual polite nods and formal goodbyes, but Krishna didn't even wait for the last handshake to finish before he slipped back into his private office. The large glass doors shut behind him with a near-silent click, muting the sounds of the bustling company outside. The moment he was alone, Krishna dropped the act.

His shoulders tensed.

The memory of that hug kept replaying in his head like a glitch in the system. Rukmini's smile. The way she'd tilted her head as the guy—whoever he was—had leaned in. Krishna leaned back in his chair and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing the image away.

What's wrong with me? he thought, annoyed at himself. He wasn't the type to sulk. He didn't do emotional spirals. And yet here he was, completely distracted and irrationally... irked.

A soft knock interrupted his brooding, and the door opened just a crack before Ram slipped in, holding two mugs of coffee like some sort of peace ambassador. He took one look at Krishna's furrowed brows and muttered, "You look like someone just told you Birla Group beat you to a deal."

Krishna didn't answer.

Ram placed the mugs down and sat across from him. "Okay... what's going on with you?"

"Nothing," Krishna said flatly, his fingers suddenly very interested in rearranging the pen stand on his desk.

"Right. And I'm secretly the heir to a chocolate empire." Ram leaned forward. "Come on, Krishna. Spill."

Krishna stayed quiet, and just when Ram was about to push again, Krishna muttered under his breath, "It's nothing important."

Before Ram could call out the obvious lie, Krishna's personal assistant tapped lightly on the glass door and stepped in. "Sir, Miss Rukmini is here. She said she wanted to meet you."

Krishna's ears perked up instantly.

His hand, which had been fiddling with a paperweight, froze mid-spin. His gaze snapped to the assistant with a sharpness Ram definitely caught. "She's alone?" Krishna asked, too quickly.

The assistant blinked. "Um... yes, sir. She came alone."

Krishna leaned back into his chair and, after a second's pause, said with deliberate calmness, "Tell her I'm in the middle of a meeting. It'll take a while. Ask her to wait."

Ram looked like he'd just witnessed someone slap a puppy. "You're making her wait?" he asked, scandalised. "What kind of childish game are you playing right now?"

Krishna didn't answer. Instead, he reached for the nearest file, flipping it open with unnecessary focus. "I'm busy."

"You were literally sitting here brooding five seconds ago!"

"I'm busy now," Krishna repeated, eyes fixed on the page though it was upside down. Ram noticed. Ram always noticed.

The assistant left, slightly confused, and Ram stood, shaking his head. "You're a mess, man. Just talk to her."

Krishna didn't even look up. He just kept pretending to read as Ram walked out, muttering something about how billionaires could be the pettiest creatures alive.

And Krishna?

He sat there silently, staring at the same paragraph for a full two minutes, trying to convince himself he wasn't waiting to hear the sound of her heels approaching the door.

Krishna had assumed—no, expected—that within five minutes of being told he was "too busy" to meet her, Rukmini would barge in, arms crossed, and unleash her signature glare that could rival corporate litigation. She'd dramatically ask, "How dare you make me wait like this?", and then scold him in that no-nonsense tone that somehow always managed to make him feel like a very expensive, very dumb piece of furniture.

But fifteen minutes passed. Then twenty.

Silence.

No Rukmini. No stormy entry. No flaring nostrils or flung hair.

Curiosity—it was a disease, really—got the better of him. Krishna got up, as casually as he could manage, and strolled over to the one-way glass wall that overlooked the waiting area. He peered out discreetly, fully expecting to see an empty seat. Maybe she had left. Maybe she was angry. Maybe she had gone to hug another random guy.

But no.

There she was.

Sitting like she had no deadlines, no wrath, no history of glaring at him for merely existing. She was dangling her legs from the waiting room couch like a child on a park bench, her heels kicking the air lazily. Her eyes were roaming the room, amused by a motivational poster on the opposite wall, head tilting slightly to read it better.

She looked... completely unaffected. And that—that—bothered Krishna more than any anger ever could.

He narrowed his eyes. Was she pretending? Was this a psychological war?

No. That would be his move.

Why wasn't she stomping in and yelling at him like before?

Krishna folded his arms and muttered under his breath, "She's really just going to sit there? Like that?"

He pulled away from the glass, pacing a bit. His ego was now dangerously close to holding a board meeting of its own.

"She should be the one to come to me," he declared to himself, firmly. "She's the one who came here, after all. I didn't invite her. I didn't ask her to—hug some guy and then walk into my building like nothing happened."

He sat down at his desk again, eyes flicking toward the door every few seconds. But still—nothing.

It was a silent standoff. A battle of pride with no obvious winner yet. And Krishna, despite all his logic and calm... was losing it one leg-dangle at a time.

The city outside had sunk into evening, a wash of violet and amber lights spilling through the glass walls of Krishna's office. The usual buzz of the business district had quieted to a subtle hum, and inside, Krishna sat in eerie stillness, tapping a pen against his desk, eyes flicking occasionally to the door—still waiting, still pretending not to care.

That was until Ram barged in, as always, with a smirk that meant trouble.

"You know," Ram said, flopping into the chair across from him, "if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were hoping she'd get tired and leave. But alas, the goddess of patience is dangling her legs in your waiting area and humming some ancient war song, I think."

Krishna didn't look up. "She can wait. She's good at it, apparently."

Ram raised an eyebrow. "Are you punishing her for hugging someone?"

"I'm not punishing anyone," Krishna replied smoothly, though the pen in his hand snapped in two with a clean crack.

Ram chuckled. "Right. Then I'm sure you won't mind me asking your PA to let her in, since you're not punishing anyone."

Krishna sighed, shoulders stiff. "Fine. Tell him to send her in. But I'm very busy."

Ram stood, still grinning. "Busy being dramatic?"

"Busy running a company," Krishna said coolly, but the slight flush on his cheeks betrayed him.

As Ram left, Krishna sat up straighter, rolling down his sleeves, adjusting the stray button on his cuff. One deep breath later, the door creaked open.

Rukmini walked in.

She wasn't angry. She wasn't smug. She was just—herself. Focused. Poised. Her dark hair was pulled back, a few strands framing her face, and she wore a deep blue top that matched the stormy dusk outside. In her hands, she carried a folder, and Krishna told himself to look at that, not her. But his eyes betrayed him again.

She moved with her usual confidence, and when she spoke, it was with that unwavering tone that often knocked the breath out of him before the words even registered.

"I found something," she said, placing the folder on his desk and flipping it open. "Someone who worked at a government office ten years ago just suddenly reappeared. Guess where? Jarasand's PR team. No digital record of him for an entire decade, then bam—new identity, new job, same face."

Krishna blinked.

What was it about the way she spoke? She didn't add dramatic flair. She just delivered facts like they were gospel. But he heard everything in slow motion—every syllable. Even the way she tapped the folder was oddly captivating.

Focus.

He mentally shook himself and leaned forward. "You think this guy is the key?"

"I think he's a thread. If we pull it, we'll unravel something. Could be useful," she said, her voice lower now, almost thoughtful.

Krishna nodded slowly, still studying her—her lashes casting faint shadows under her eyes, the soft curve of her lips when she paused to think. His thoughts were no longer his own, and it irritated him. He was supposed to be above all this.

"Anything else?" he asked, pretending to jot down notes when really, he was just trying to distract himself.

"Yes," she said, snapping the folder shut. "I'm going to talk to him."

That made his eyes jerk up. "Alone?"

Rukmini shrugged casually, already turning to leave. "He won't speak if he knows you're involved. But I have a way."

"Wait—" Krishna started, standing halfway, "why not just wait until I'm free? I can come along. You don't need to go alone."

But she was already at the door, flashing him a brief smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "I've got it, Krishna. Just trust me."

And before he could protest, she was gone.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Krishna standing there with too many questions and a heart that beat a little too fast for comfort.

She came in like a storm.

And left like a secret.

The door clicked shut behind Rukmini, and for a moment, Krishna stood frozen in place, her voice still echoing faintly in his ears. Then, as if the air itself had gotten heavier, he slumped into his chair with a frustrated sigh, hands dragging down his face. He barely had a second to gather himself before Ram strode in, one eyebrow raised and mischief practically oozing from his expression.

"Well, well," Ram drawled, folding his arms. "That looked intense. Did she declare war on your ego again?"

Krishna didn't respond. He just sat there, eyes blank, face unreadable, lips pressed into a firm line.

Ram's teasing smile faded a little. "You're doing it again."

"Doing what?" Krishna muttered, voice muffled behind his hand.

"Brooding like you lost a chess match to a five-year-old. You're being ridiculous, and you know it."

Krishna dropped his hand and stared at the ceiling like it held answers. "I'm not in love, Ram."

Ram let out a low laugh and moved closer, dragging the chair opposite him. "You say that every time, and every time, you look more and more like a heartbroken poet."

Krishna gave him a tired look.

Ram leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Okay, let's rewind. At the party, remember that guy Rukmini was laughing with? The one from the legal team? You spent the whole night downing black coffee like it was whiskey and snapping at anyone who looked at you funny. And now? She hugs some guy in broad daylight, and you suddenly forget how to breathe."

"She didn't even tell me who he was," Krishna muttered under his breath.

"Exactly!" Ram pointed a finger at him, triumphant. "And ever since she stopped talking to you properly, you've been a walking storm cloud. Don't you see it? Everything in your day—your mood, your temper, your restlessness—it's all tied to her. You don't even realise how much Rukmini influences you."

Krishna leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "That doesn't mean I'm in—"

"Fine," Ram cut him off with an eye-roll. "Let's do this the simple way. Tell me what you feel when you see her. Not just today. Every time."

Krishna hesitated. For a moment, he looked like he might snap back or brush it off. But then, something shifted in his expression. He stared ahead, fingers fidgeting against his arm.

"When I see her," he began slowly, "it's like... my brain goes quiet. But everything else feels loud. She walks into a room, and suddenly the air changes. She talks and I... I catch myself smiling even if the words aren't meant to be funny. When she's mad at me, it ruins my day. When she's sad, I feel it. And when she laughs..." He trailed off, eyes distant now. "It's like I'd do anything just to hear it again."

Ram smirked. "You're so doomed."

Krishna blinked. "What?"

"That," Ram said, gesturing to him like he was the answer to a riddle, "that's love, my friend. That's exactly how I feel about Revati. The pull, the ache, the stupid smile—you've got all the symptoms. Stop fighting it."

Krishna turned his head slowly, frowning. "You're comparing this to what you feel for Revati?"

"Yup." Ram grinned. "Exactly the same. Which means you're in love, whether you want to admit it or not."

Krishna looked away, jaw tense. Silence stretched between them for a moment.

Then Ram added softly, "And if you love her, don't let her go alone. Not after everything. She's your Rukmini. Your home, even if you're too stubborn to call it that."

Krishna stared at the door Rukmini had disappeared through just minutes ago, her presence still lingering like a scent he couldn't place but couldn't forget.

And for the first time, he didn't argue.

He just stood up.

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