58. BEFORE STORM
After the meeting finally ended, chairs scraped softly against the floor as everyone stood up. Files were gathered, pens capped, low professional conversations filling the room.
Aarvi closed her file and stood up calmly—expression neutral, controlled, just like it had been since morning.
Everyone naturally moved behind Vivan as they stepped out of the conference room.
Only the main people walked beside him.
Including Aarvi as she was representative.
She hadn’t looked at him once during the entire meeting.
Not when he spoke.
Not when their opinions aligned .
As they stepped into the corridor, Aarvi’s foot suddenly twisted—her anklet catching awkwardly against the edge of the carpet.
“Ah—”
A soft gasp escaped her.
And before anyone else could react—
“Aarvi.”
Vivan’s reflexes kicked in. He grabbed her arm instantly, steadying her before she could fall.
But the damage was already done.
The moment he loosened his grip, she stumbled again, her foot refusing to bear weight.
A strain.
He realised it immediately.
Without a word, he held her arm again, firmer this time, guiding her toward the nearby bench. Aarvi sat down slowly, wincing.
And then—
Right there, in the middle of the office corridor—
Vivan crouched down in front of her.
People stopped.
Employees from the meeting.
Passing staff.
Eyes followed the scene, curiosity thick in the air.
Aarvi felt it instantly.
“Vivan, it’s—it’s okay,” she said hurriedly, trying to pull her foot back. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t respond.
Didn’t even look up.
Gently, carefully, he held her ankle his fingers warm against her skin, controlled, professional. Aarvi stiffened despite herself.
“Spray,” he said, looking up briefly at one of the staff members standing nearby.
The man blinked, startled, then hurried away.
Vivan’s thumb pressed lightly where the strain was.
Aarvi sucked in a sharp breath.
“Does it hurt here?” he asked quietly, eyes focused on her anklet.
She nodded, cheeks burning. “hmm… little bit.”
He slowly rotated her ankle, steady and precise. Aarvi instinctively held onto his shoulder, more for balance than pain. Her Heart racing for reasons she refused to acknowledge.
People were staring.
And she was aware of how close he was.
He adjusted her foot once more, gentler this time, easing the tension. Aarvi exhaled softly, realising she’d been holding her breath.
The staff member returned and handed him the spray. Vivan took it, sprayed it carefully over her ankle, his touch never lingering longer than necessary.
“There,” he said softly. “Try now.”
Aarvi placed her foot down cautiously.
No pain.
She looked up at him, just for a second.
And that second was enough.
Because his eyes weren’t distant.
They weren’t formal.
They were filled with concern… and something he was trying very hard to keep buried.
“Thank you,” she said quickly, pulling her foot back and standing up.
Her tone was polite.
Controlled.
Distant.
Too distant.
Vivan straightened slowly, his jaw tightening as reality settled in again—how she had been building walls since morning.
“Be careful,” he said quietly. “You should’ve told me you were wearing anklets today.”
She lowered her eyes.
“I didn’t think it mattered.”
And just like that, she walked away.
Leaving behind the silence.
The stares.
And Vivan standing there, fists clenched, heart unsettled.
He went to his cabin.
As soon as he settled behind his desk, a knock sounded.
“Come in,” he said.
His secretary walked in, professional as ever.
“Sir, today is the corporate party hosted by Mr. Rathore. I informed you yesterday.”
Vivan nodded.
“I remember. I’ll attend.”
The secretary nodded back and left.
---
At evening, Vivan stood outside, leaning casually against his car.
Or at least, he tried to look casual.
His eyes kept drifting toward the office entrance.
Aarvi hadn’t come in her car today and that meant one thing—she’d have to book a cab now.
It's 9pm now.
He checked his watch. Then his phone. Then the gate again.
Finally, she appeared.
Vivan straightened instantly, pushing himself off the car, composing his posture. A small smile curved onto his lips before he could stop it.
She didn’t notice him.
Her attention was fixed on her phone as she walked, typing something quickly.
“Aarvi.”
She stopped.
Turned.
Her eyes widened in shock.
She glanced around instinctively, checking if anyone was watching, before walking toward him, still stunned.
“Don’t you have to leave at eight for the party?” she asked. “Why are you still here?”
Vivan nodded calmly, the smile still lingering.
“How’s your foot now?” he asked instead.
That irritated her.
“It’s fine,” she snapped lightly. “You didn’t answer my question. Why are you still here? Aren’t you late?”
Instead of replying, he moved toward the car.
He opened the passenger-side door and looked at her, grin widening just a little.
“Get in. I’ll tell you on the way.”
Aarvi sighed and got inside.
Once she was seated, Vivan circled the car and took the driver’s seat. He started the engine, that same smile refusing to leave his face.
Silence settled between them as the car pulled onto the road.
A few minutes passed before Aarvi finally spoke.
“So? Why were you standing there?”
Vivan closed his eyes for the briefest second.
She’s not letting this go, he thought.
“The party is all night,” he said carefully. “I can leave whenever I want. Plus, I had a lot of work today. Didn’t feel like wasting time there.”
She turned to look at him.
His grip tightened slightly on the steering wheel.
Did I overdo it?
Did she catch it?
He kept his eyes firmly on the road.
After a moment, she nodded.
And only then did he breathe.
They drove on in silence again.
After some time, Vivan spoke, voice quieter now, hesitant.
“Will you… come with me to the party?”
Aarvi snapped her head toward him.
He didn’t look at her, eyes still fixed ahead, but every part of him was listening.
She didn’t answer.
The silence stretched.
His chest tightened.
He let out a small, humourless chuckle.
How stupid, he thought. What made me think she’d say yes?
He didn’t ask again.
Didn’t push.
Just drove on, the city lights blurring past as they headed home—his heart heavier than before, her silence louder than any refusal.
They reached home.
Without saying much, both of them went straight to their room.
Vivan went into the bathroom.
When he came out, he was already dressed for the party.
A crisp black tailored suit, hugging his broad shoulders perfectly. The white shirt underneath slightly open at the collar, no tie, effortlessly elegant. His sleeves rolled just enough to show his watch resting against his wrist. He looked… unreal.
And Aarvi noticed.
She was sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, staring blankly ahead. When she felt his presence, she looked up for a second and quickly looked away.
Vivan sighed softly.
He really wanted her to come with him. He thought. And walked toward the mirror, fixing his hair, running his fingers through it, more to calm himself than to actually fix anything.
When he was done, he turned—
And froze.
Aarvi was standing right behind him.
“Whoa—” he flinched slightly, genuinely startled. “You scared me.”
She didn’t look at him.
Didn’t even smile.
“What’s the party theme?” she asked quietly.
For a second, his brain stopped working.
“…What?” he asked, unsure if he’d heard her right.
She finally lifted her eyes, not at him, but at their reflection.
“Maa told me she didn’t make dinner for me,” she said, a small pout forming on her lips.
“She thought I was going with you to the party.”
A pause.
“And now I actually have to go.”
His heart skipped.
He swallowed, forcing his face to stay neutral.
“Oh,” he said casually, like it didn’t matter. Like his chest wasn’t exploding right now.
“Then… you have to go.”
But Inside his head he thanked his mother.
“You get ready,” he added, turning away quickly before his smile betrayed him.
“I’ll wait outside.”
She nodded.
As he stepped out of the room, he paused and added, almost as an afterthought.
“By the way… the theme is black.”
Aarvi sighed softly inside the room.
Outside, Vivan leaned against the wall.
And finally,
He smiled.
Heat crept up his neck, to his ears, to his cheeks.
She’s going with me.
The thought alone made his chest tighten.
For a moment, just one reckless moment, he imagined walking beside her, introducing her, standing close.
He exhaled slowly, trying to calm himself.
And then he waited.
Patiently.
Still smiling, soft, stupid, unguarded like the world had finally decided to be kind to him for once. Anyone watching would think he had lost his mind, smiling at nothing.
But there was a reason.
Aarvi.
The sound of footsteps made him straighten instinctively.
And then she appeared.
Descending the stairs slowly, confidently like she wasn’t aware of the damage she was about to cause.
And when his eyes fell on her, he forgot how to breathe.
His gaze locked onto her and stayed there, unmoving, as if his body had forgotten how to function. His fingers curled around the armrest of the sofa so tightly his knuckles went pale, veins standing out beneath his skin.
She wore a black bodycon dress—sleeveless, off-shoulder, mid-thigh, hugging her curves unapologetically.
The fabric clung to her like it was made only for her body, highlighting every line, every movement.
Her hair fell loose over her shoulders, framing her face effortlessly.
No excessive jewellery. No overdoing it.
Just her.
Deadly. Stunning.
As she reached the bottom step, he finally—slowly—stood up.
She stopped in front of him.
Too close.
Her wide eyes met his, uncertain, questioningn almost nervous. He took a step toward her, deliberate, controlled, as if one wrong move would shatter the moment.
Without thinking, without planning, he lifted his hands and cupped her face.
His thumbs brushed her cheeks.
His eyes never left hers.
He leaned in and pressed a soft, quick kiss to her forehead. Nothing lingering, nothing inappropriate.
Yet the effect was devastating.
A shiver ran through him. Goosebumps erupted across his skin. His chest tightened like he’d just done something irreversible.
Aarvi gasped.
She stepped back instantly, as if waking from a trance.
Vivan froze for half a second, then smiled, crooked and helpless.
“I shouldn’t leave you alone at the party,” he said lightly, though his voice wasn’t light at all.
“Someone else might ask you out. I’m damn sure.”
Her lips parted.
“We—we should leave,” she said quickly, already turning toward the door, ignoring his words, his actions.
Vivan watched her walk away, his chest tight, heart racing.
How am I supposed to breathe, he thought, if you look like this?
___
They sat inside the car.
Vivan drove, one hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near the gear—still smiling, that same quiet, unexplainable smile that had been there since the moment she agreed to go with him.
Aarvi noticed it.
Once. Twice. Thrice.
Her brows knit together in irritation. Why was he smiling like that?
She turned her face toward the window, jaw tightening.
Vivan glanced at her from the corner of his eye. The smile on his lips faltered, just a little. Her sudden silence didn’t go unnoticed.
Is her mood off? he wondered.
“Are you upset?” he asked, eyes still fixed on the road, voice careful.
She turned to him briefly, then smiled, a tight, practiced smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “No. I’m not,” she replied.
His brows creased. He wasn’t convinced. But he didn’t push. He nodded slightly and continued driving, though the unease had already settled somewhere in his chest.
Soon, they reached the venue.
The moment they stepped out of the car, the noise hit them.
The party was grand—luxurious lights cascading from crystal chandeliers, soft golden hues reflecting off glass walls.
Well-dressed businessmen, politicians, industry leaders, and familiar elite faces filled the space, laughter and conversations overlapping in controlled chaos.
Servers moved around with champagne trays, the air buzzing with status and power.
Aarvi’s steps slowed.
She took it all in—the crowd, the stares, the confidence dripping from the room. She had never been to parties like this. Not like this. Her fingers curled slightly at her sides, nervousness creeping in before she could stop it.
Vivan noticed immediately.
Without thinking, he reached for her hand.
His fingers slid into hers, firm, grounding. Her palm fit into his like it belonged there.
She looked at him, startled.
He met her gaze and gave a small smile, not teasing, not playful. Reassuring.
Her shoulders relaxed just a little.
They walked in together.
He talked to people, businessmen, investors, familiar faces, but never once did he let Aarvi feel alone.
His hand never left hers.
Not even for a second.
He listened, nodded, replied when needed, but every few moments his thumb brushed against her knuckles—subtle, grounding. A silent I’m here.
Until—
“Vivan… see Yuvan.”
He stopped mid-conversation.
His gaze followed where she pointed, her index finger lifting slightly.
And there he was.
Yuvan.
Walking in with his usual easy confidence, dressed sharp, scanning the room.
Aarvi tugged at Vivan’s hand lightly.
“Leave my hand. I’ll talk to him. I’m getting bored in your business talks,” she said, half-smiling, half-serious, trying to slip her fingers out of his grasp.
For a moment, Vivan hesitated.
Then he nodded.
He loosened his grip, letting her go.
As she walked toward Yuvan, he watched her retreating figure.
A small smile lingered on his lips.
But it didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Aarvi?” Yuvan’s face lit up the moment he saw her. “You?”
She laughed. “Yes, me.”
His gaze swept over her outfit, unfiltered appreciation flashing across his face.
“Whoa. Lady… you look gorgeous.”
She rolled her eyes and playfully slapped his arm.
“Shut up.”
They started talking, easy, familiar, laughter slipping between sentences. Too comfortable. Too natural.
And they didn’t notice the eyes on them.
Vivan’s focus had narrowed now.
The noise of the party faded into a dull hum.
“Your girlfriend looks more happy with Mr. Yuvan.”
Vivan turned.
Mr. Rathore—host of the party—stood beside him, swirling his drink casually, a knowing smirk playing on his lips.
Vivan’s jaw tightened just a fraction. He kept his expression neutral.
“They’re friends,” he replied calmly.
Mr. Rathore chuckled.
“You’re innocent, Mr. Singhania,” he said, leaning slightly closer. “If they’re just friends, then why aren’t they talking in front of you?”
Vivan glanced back at Aarvi.
She was smiling. Laughing.
Mr. Rathore continued, voice dropping.
“I’m just saying… you should get a grip. Your woman should be with you, not roaming around with random men at the party.”
That did it.
Vivan turned fully toward him—slowly, deliberately.
A smile curved his lips.
Not polite.
Not angry.
Controlled.
“My woman?" He said, his brows raised slightly, as he added " She isn't a property,” he said evenly. “She’s her own person.”
Mr. Rathore blinked.
“And I don’t get a grip on people,” Vivan continued, voice calm but sharp enough to cut.
“I trust her. If someone chooses to stand beside me, it’s because they want to, not because I demanded it.”
A pause.
“And just for clarity,” he added, eyes flicking briefly back to Aarvi before returning to Rathore, “ I don’t cage what I care about.”
Mr. Rathore’s smirk vanished.
He straightened awkwardly, clearing his throat.
“I was only advising you… for your own good.”
Vivan inclined his head slightly.
“Thanks for the concern,” he said coolly. “But I’m capable of deciding what’s good for me.”
Without waiting for a reply, Vivan turned away.
Mr. Rathore lingered for a second—then walked off stiffly, irritation written all over his face.
Vivan’s eyes found Aarvi again.
She was still talking to Yuvan. Laughing.
And for the first time that night, the smile on Vivan’s face faded completely.
Not because he doubted her.
But because he was losing the battle with himself.
He exhaled slowly and walked toward the bar counter.
The lights were dimmer here, softer, casting long shadows over polished glass and expensive liquor bottles. He pulled out a high stool and sat.
His eyes fixed on her.
On them.
He ordered a drink without even looking at the bartender, fingers tapping once against the counter as if trying to ground himself. The glass was placed in front of him. He lifted it, brought it close to his lips—
And then—
“Vivan? You here?”
He froze for half a second.
Then turned his head slightly to see one of his business associates standing beside him, smiling.
“Alone?” the man asked, glancing around. “Didn’t you come with your girlfriend?”
Vivan’s jaw tightened.
His eyes drifted back to the place where Aarvi and Yuvan were standing—talking, laughing, too close for his comfort.
“Hm,” he replied quietly, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s with her friend.”
No smile this time.
Just a flat statement.
The man nodded, and walked away, leaving Vivan alone again with the glass in his hand and something sharp twisting in his chest.
He took another sip. Slower this time.
His gaze never left them.
Across the floor, Yuvan noticed it.
Noticed the stare.
Noticed the tension.
And his lips curved, just a little.
As if he’d been waiting for this.
Yuvan turned toward Aarvi and, without hesitation, extended his hand toward her. An open invitation.
“Dance?” he asked casually, like it meant nothing.
And Vivan clenched the glass tightly, watching Yuvan extending his hand towards Aarvi.
Aarvi blinked, startled. Her eyes flicked to his hand, then back to his face.
“I—actually, I’m not in the mood,” she said politely, a soft refusal.
For a split second, Vivan’s shoulders loosened.
But Yuvan didn’t step back.
“Ah, come on,” he said easily, already closing the distance. “It’s normal. Nothing big.”
And before she could react—
He took her hand.
Not forcefully.
But confidently.
And guided—no, pulled her toward the dance floor.
The glass in Vivan’s hand creaked.
His fingers tightened so hard around the glass, it almost shattered.
His body leaned forward instinctively, feet already shifting as if to move—
He stood up.
One step.
Then stopped.
They were already on the dance floor.
Music swelled—slow, sensual, heavy with bass. Lights shifted. The crowd closed in.
Yuvan placed a hand at Aarvi’s waist.
Not inappropriate.
But close.
They started moving.
Not exaggerated.
Not dramatic.
Just… easy.
Natural.
As if their bodies already knew the rhythm.
It sliced through Vivan’s chest.
His jaw clenched so hard it ached. His tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth, tasting bitterness instead of alcohol.
He watched Yuvan lean slightly closer, say something near her ear.
Watched Aarvi tilt her head toward him so she could hear better.
Watched her relax.
Smile.
Move.
The music slowed.
Their steps synced.
Yuvan’s hand slid a fraction higher—not wrong, not scandalous—but intimate enough to make Vivan’s vision blur at the edges.
His breath turned shallow.
His chest burned.
His grip on the glass tightened again.
If he squeezed any harder, it would shatter.
And right now, so would he.
And at Yuvan’s next move, Vivan lost his control.
Yuvan lifted Aarvi effortlessly, his hands settling at her waist as the music surged. The crowd cheered, unaware of the shift that happened in that single second.
Aarvi froze.
Her breath hitched—not from excitement, not from joy—but from the sudden awareness that this didn’t feel like a friendly dance anymore. Her eyes searched instinctively, and that’s when she saw him.
Vivan.
Standing there. Still. Burning.
His eyes were dark, furious, something raw flashing in them—something she had never seen directed at her before. Her heart skipped painfully. Whatever was written on his face made her chest tighten.
Something inside her snapped.
She immediately tapped Yuvan’s shoulder, urgent this time. “Put me down.”
Yuvan sensed it too. The shift. He complied instantly, setting her back on her feet just as the music slowed to a stop.
Before anyone could clap. Before anyone could speak.
Vivan walked forward.
Straight through the crowd.
Each step deliberate. Controlled. Dangerous.
Aarvi stood frozen, unsure whether to move or stay. Her pulse thundered in her ears. When he reached her, he didn’t look at her first.
He looked at Yuvan.
“Hey bro—” Yuvan started with an easy grin.
Vivan ignored him completely.
He stepped closer to Aarvi, close enough for her to feel the heat rolling off him, and grabbed her hand—firm, possessive, not hurting, but not leaving room for refusal either.
And he walked.
Pulled her out of the party, past stunned faces, past whispers, past music that resumed behind them like nothing had shattered.
~?~