Chapter 1
Armaan
I was kneeling on the floor of my own building's elevator, giving CPR to a complete stranger.
This was not how I had planned to start my morning.
The woman in my arms was incredibly fragile.
She felt like a feather, so light that for a moment I worried whether I was holding her correctly.
Her entire body trembled against mine, her breathing shallow and erratic.
I tilted her head back carefully, positioned my mouth over hers, and blew air into her lungs.
"Breathe," I said firmly, pulling back to watch her chest rise and fall. "Come on. Breathe."
Her eyelids fluttered. A soft, gasping sound escaped her throat as oxygen finally seemed to reach her lungs properly.
The terrible pallor that had overtaken her face began to fade, replaced slowly by a hint of color.
Her fingers, which had been clutching my jacket in a death grip, loosened slightly.
I stayed exactly where I was, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other steadying her shoulder. I watched her carefully, tracking every breath, every flutter of her eyelashes. She was coming back. She was going to be fine.
Then her eyes opened fully.
They were dark and wide and completely disoriented. She blinked up at me, confusion clouding her features for several long seconds. I could see the exact moment reality came crashing back into her awareness. The moment she realized where she was, how close I was, what position we were in.
Her entire body went rigid. Then she sat up so abruptly she nearly headbutted me in the process.
I pulled back just in time, giving her the space she clearly needed.
She scrambled backward until her back hit the elevator wall, her hands flying up to cover her mouth.
Her face had gone from deathly pale to bright red in the span of a heartbeat.
"Are you alright?" I asked, keeping my voice calm and even.
She nodded quickly. Too quickly. Her eyes darted everywhere except toward me, as though looking directly at me might cause her physical pain.
I got to my feet and pulled my phone from my pocket, dialing security without breaking eye contact with her. She was still sitting on the floor, her knees drawn up slightly, her breathing finally beginning to stabilize. The call connected after one ring.
"Security."
"This is Armaan Khanna," I said, my tone leaving absolutely no room for questions. "The elevator somewhere between the twelfth and fifteenth floors is stuck. I need to know what happened and I need it fixed. Now."
There was a beat of silence, followed by the rapid clicking of keys.
"Yes, Mr. Khanna. We are checking the system now. It appears to be a minor electrical issue. The backup systems are already engaging. The elevator should be operational again within the next minute."
"See that it is," I said, then ended the call.
I looked down at the woman again. She was still staring at her hands, which were twisted together in her lap. She looked mortified. Completely and utterly mortified, as though passing out in an elevator was somehow the worst thing she could have possibly done.
The elevator gave a sudden jolt. The lights brightened back to their normal intensity, and the smooth mechanical hum resumed. The digital display above the doors flickered back to life and began counting upward. Thirteenth floor. Fourteenth floor.
The woman pushed herself to her feet quickly, smoothing down her clothes with trembling hands. She clutched a manila folder against her chest like it was some kind of shield. She still refused to look directly at me.
The elevator chimed softly. Fifteenth floor. The doors slid open with a quiet whisper.
She moved toward the opening immediately, clearly desperate to escape. But just as she stepped over the threshold, she paused. She glanced back at me, just for a second, her voice barely louder than a breath.
"Thank you."
Then she was gone, disappearing into the hallway beyond.
The doors closed. The elevator continued its smooth ascent toward the thirtieth floor. I stood there alone, staring at the brushed metal doors, my mind still replaying the last ten minutes in vivid detail.
I could still feel her weight in my arms. The way her hair had felt beneath my palm, soft and slightly tangled. The faint scent of something floral that had clung to her clothes. The way her entire body had trembled when she could not breathe.
I shook my head slightly, forcing myself to refocus. I had a company to run. I had meetings to attend. I did not have time to stand in an elevator thinking about a woman whose name I did not even know.
The elevator doors opened on the thirtieth floor.
I stepped out into the familiar hallway, my shoes clicking against the polished marble as I made my way toward my office.
Meera, my personal assistant, was already waiting near the glass doors.
She had her tablet in hand and that crisp, efficient expression she always wore when she had a long list of things to tell me.
"Good morning, Mr. Khanna," she said, falling into step beside me as I walked.
"Your ten o'clock with the development team has been rescheduled to eleven thirty.
The quarterly financial reports are already on your desk.
You have a video conference with the London office at two, and the marketing team wants to know if you are available for a brief this afternoon. "
I pushed open the door to my office and walked inside. The space was exactly the way I preferred it. Clean. Minimal. No unnecessary clutter or distractions. Floor to ceiling windows offered a panoramic view of the city below, but I had learned long ago not to let the view pull my focus.
"Tell marketing I will give them fifteen minutes at four," I said, moving around my desk. "What else?"
Meera hesitated. That was unusual. She was normally direct and precise, never one to pause or second guess herself.
"Your grandmother called this morning."
I stopped, my hand halfway to loosening my tie, and looked at her.
"What did Dadi want?"
Meera's fingers moved across her tablet screen.
"She asked me to clear your schedule for next Friday. She wants to visit the Mehra residence to meet with Miss Avija's parents."
Of course she did. I should have seen this coming.
I sat down behind my desk, leaning back in the leather chair.
Dadi had been planning this for months now.
Ever since I had introduced her to Avija at that family gathering last year, she had been obsessed with the idea of seeing us married.
She was terrified that I would end up like my father. Alone. Broken. Lost in grief.
Dadi was the woman who raised me. My mother died shortly after I was born. Complications during delivery. The doctors tried everything, but in the end, there was nothing they could do. I never got the chance to know her. Never heard her voice. Never felt her hold me.
But my father knew her. My father loved her with the kind of intensity that most people only read about in novels.
When she died, something fundamental inside him shattered.
He could not stay in Rajmer anymore. Every street reminded him of her.
Every building held a memory. Every sunset was another moment they would never share.
So he left. He moved to the United States and built an entirely new life there, thousands of miles away from the ghosts that haunted him.
He left me with Dadi.
I did not resent him for it. I understood, in an abstract sort of way, that grief could destroy a person.
That love, when ripped away, could leave wounds that never truly healed.
But I also could not fathom loving someone that deeply.
Loving someone so completely that losing them would break you beyond all repair.
I liked Avija. I had met her at a business networking event about two years ago. She was beautiful, intelligent, ambitious. She ran her own fashion design business and came from a respectable family. We got along well. We understood each other. Our relationship made sense on every practical level.
But did I love her the way my father had loved my mother? I honestly had no idea. Maybe that kind of love was rare. Maybe it was something most people never actually experienced.
"Mr. Khanna?"
I blinked, refocusing on Meera.
"Sorry. You were saying?"
"Your grandmother also mentioned that she is bringing her astrologer with her next Friday. She wants to finalize an auspicious wedding date as soon as possible."
I exhaled slowly. Of course she was bringing the astrologer.
Dadi had become intensely superstitious after my mother's death.
She consulted astrologers about everything.
Business decisions. Travel plans. What color sari to wear on festival days.
She believed in kundalis and planetary alignments and auspicious timings with the kind of unwavering faith most people reserved for religion.
I did not believe in any of it. I believed in logic.
In data. In hard work and careful planning.
But I also knew better than to argue with Dadi about matters like this.
She had already lost her daughter in law.
She was terrified of losing anyone else she loved.
If consulting astrologers gave her peace of mind, I could tolerate it.
"Clear my schedule for next Friday," I told Meera. "Make sure everything urgent is handled before then."
She nodded, making notes on her tablet.
"Of course. Also, Mr. Randhawa is waiting for you in Conference Room A. He said you have a joint venture proposal to discuss."
I stood, buttoning my suit jacket.
"Tell him I will be there in five minutes."
Meera nodded and left, the door closing softly behind her.
I walked over to the windows and looked out at the sprawling city below.
From up here, everything looked so orderly.
So manageable. Roads arranged in neat grids.
Buildings standing in precise rows. People moving like tiny pieces on a vast chessboard.
My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and glanced at the screen.
Avija.
I answered.
"Good morning, baby," her voice came through, bright and warm.
I checked my watch.
"It is already afternoon, Avija."
She laughed, that light, carefree sound she made when she was in a particularly good mood.
"Well, good afternoon then. When are you and Dadi coming to my house? Mom keeps asking me."
"Next Friday," I said. "Dadi wants to meet with your parents. She is bringing her astrologer to set the wedding date."
Avija let out an excited squeal that made me pull the phone slightly away from my ear.
"Oh my god, finally! I have been waiting forever for this. I am going to start planning everything right now. The venue, the guest list, my outfit. This is going to be absolutely perfect, Armaan. I cannot wait."
She made a loud kissing sound into the phone, then hung up before I could respond.
I stared at the phone for a moment before slipping it back into my pocket.
Perfect. She had said it would be perfect.
I turned and walked out of my office, making my way down the hallway toward the conference room.
Through the glass walls, I could already see Aryan lounging in one of the leather chairs with that cocky grin he always wore.
His assistant, Anuj, was setting up a presentation on the large screen at the front of the room.
I opened the door and stepped inside. Aryan looked up immediately, his grin widening.
"Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with his presence. I was starting to think you forgot about our meeting."
I ignored the jab and took my seat at the head of the table.
"I had something to deal with."
Aryan raised an eyebrow, clearly curious, but I offered no further explanation. He shrugged and leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table.
"So. I heard through the grapevine that someone is finally going to get hitched. Congratulations, man. It is about time you settled down."
I gave him a slight smile.
"It is time. Dadi has been pushing for this, and Avija is ready. It makes sense."
Aryan studied me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
"You make marriage sound like a corporate merger."
"Maybe it is," I said evenly. "Compatibility. Shared goals. Mutual respect. What else is marriage supposed to be?"
Aryan shook his head, but he was still smiling.
"If you say so, brother. Good for you anyway."
Anuj cleared his throat politely.
"Shall we begin, Mr. Khanna?"
I nodded.
"Go ahead."
Anuj clicked something on his laptop, and the screen lit up with the first slide of the presentation. He began talking, walking us through projected revenue streams, market analysis, risk assessments, timelines. His voice was clear and professional. The data was well organized.
But I was barely listening.
My mind kept drifting back to the elevator. To the woman who had collapsed into my arms. To the way she had looked at me with those wide, frightened eyes before whispering a thank you and vanishing into the hallway.
I could still feel her. The weight of her fragile body. The softness of her hair beneath my fingers. The way her breathing had finally steadied when I held her close.
I shook my head slightly, forcing myself to focus on Anuj's presentation. He was pointing at a graph now, explaining something about quarterly growth projections. Aryan was nodding along, asking the occasional question.
This was important. This was business. I needed to pay attention.
But even as I tried to concentrate, the image of her stayed with me. Lingering at the edges of my thoughts like something I could not quite shake loose.