34. GUILT
The scene replayed in Vivan's mind again and again — like a loop refusing to break.
Even if he wanted to forget it, he couldn’t.
Her startled eyes.
The tremor in her breath when he leaned in.
And then the way she froze when he stepped back.
Vivan let out a rough sigh, dragging a hand through his hair before gripping it in frustration.
“That’s why Kiara’s feeling so insecure,” he muttered under his breath. “And me, being a fool, couldn’t even understand it.”
He wanted that to be the reason — wanted to believe this chaos was just guilt.
But guilt for what?
For Kiara… or for Aarvi?
Because every time he closed his eyes, it wasn’t Kiara’s voice that echoed.
It was Aarvi’s silence.
Meanwhile, Aarvi sat in her cabin, still trying to process what had just happened.
Her hands trembled against her lap, her breath uneven.
The office felt too quiet — too still — as if even the walls had seen what she wanted to forget.
She didn’t know what she was feeling.
Was she hurt?
Flustered?
Or simply… confused?
All she knew was that when he’d come closer, her heart had raced in a way she didn’t understand.
And when he’d stepped back — that same heart had fallen.
She pressed her palm against her chest, as if that would slow it down.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” she whispered to herself, trying to sound convincing.
But the warmth on her cheeks said otherwise.
Vivan leaned back in his chair, eyes fixed on the ceiling.
Maybe he was just tired. Maybe it was all just a moment.
But deep down, he knew the truth — and that’s what scared him.
Because no matter how hard he tried to steady his mind, it wasn’t Kiara’s face that lingered there.
It was Aarvi’s.
And yet, in this storm of thoughts, there was still only one thing that could calm him —
or so he kept telling himself.
Kiara.
The days followed passed in a blur of silence.
At the office, Aarvi kept her eyes fixed on her screen, answering only what was necessary. Vivan, too, buried himself in work — his tone clipped, his words strictly professional.
Their conversations, once hesitant but human, turned mechanical again, filled with nothing but instructions and acknowledgments.
At home, the distance was worse. They shared the same table, the same room — but not the same air.
Vivan would come late, long after everyone had finished dinner, and Aarvi would pretend to be asleep on the couch, even when she wasn’t.
The unspoken tension hung between them like a glass wall — fragile, see-through, yet impossible to break.
They weren’t fighting.
They were avoiding.
And somehow, that felt heavier than anger itself.
Everyone came back from the work and is setting for dinner.
Dinner was quiet.
Too quiet.
The clinking of spoons against plates was the only sound in the Singhania mansion that evening.
Aarvi sat beside Vivan — not too close, not too far — her eyes fixed on the food she wasn’t really eating.
It had been days since that moment in his cabin.
Since the closeness. Since the distance that followed.
They had learned to coexist in silence — careful, distant, almost strangers again.
And just when peace began to feel fragilely possible, Pragya broke it.
“You both should plan a honeymoon soon,” she said cheerfully, unaware of the invisible tension slicing through the air. “You’ve been married for weeks, and—”
Her voice trailed off as the air shifted.
Aarvi’s fork froze midair. Vivan’s jaw tightened instantly. His hand clenched under the table.
Everyone looked at him — waiting for his reaction.
He exhaled sharply, set his spoon down, and looked up — his tone calm at first, but his eyes… his eyes were burning.
“What do you think of my life, Ma?”
Pragya blinked, confused. “Vivan—”
“I can’t do everything you say,” he cut her off, his voice low but trembling. “You told me to marry her. I did. But now this honeymoon thing?”
He let out a humorless laugh, one that sounded closer to breaking.
“Please,” he said, joining his hands slightly, his pride slipping away just enough for everyone to feel the ache beneath. “Don’t force us to be together. At least not me.”
And before anyone could stop him, he pushed his chair back and walked away — his footsteps echoing up the stairs like slammed doors.
Silence fell again. But this time, it was heavy.
Aarvi sat frozen, eyes wide, the sound of his words still ringing in her ears. Every word had landed like a stone — right in the middle of her chest.
She swallowed hard, trying to steady her voice. “M-maybe he’s exhausted,” she said, forcing a weak smile, “because of work.”
But her eyes were already glossy.
Everyone at the table was looking at her — some with pity, some with confusion, and some with unspoken questions she had no strength to answer.
And that’s when the doorbell rang.
Aarvi quickly got up, desperate for an excuse to escape.
“I’ll check,” she said, her tone trembling slightly.
The servant opened the door before she could reach it — and a cheerful, familiar voice filled the room.
“Hellooo everyone—”
Yuvan’s voice was bright, full of life — but it faded as soon as he stepped inside and felt the tension in the air. His grin faltered slightly, his gaze flicking between everyone seated and the empty chair at the head of the table.
And then his eyes landed on her.
Aarvi froze mid-step. Her heart skipped. What is he doing here?
Her mind started spinning. Why is he here? How does he know this house?
Before anyone could speak, she turned slightly, pretending to busy herself with the plates — anything to not be seen. But then she heard it.
“Hello, Aarvi.”
Her entire body stilled.
The room went silent. Everyone’s gaze snapped between the two of them.
Aarvi’s fingers tightened around the edge of the dining chair. Slowly, she turned — her face pale, her eyes startled. “H-how… how do you know—”
Yuvan raised his brows, a knowing smile tugging at his lips. “We’ve met before, remember? In the office.”
Pragya blinked, looking from Aarvi to him. “You know Aarvi?”
Yuvan laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. We had quite an interesting meeting. Didn’t we, Mrs. Singhania?”
The word Mrs. Singhania made her freeze.
Aarvi’s lips parted, but no words came out.
She laughed nervously, shaking her head. “Oh, um—you mistaken it. I’m… I’m Aarvi Sisodiya. I work in—”
But Yuvan’s amused smile softened. He could see the confusion in her eyes — the way she was pretending, trying to hold onto the boundary Vivan had drawn around her.
He took a step closer, voice lowering. “You think I don’t know, Aarvi?” he said gently.
Her breath hitched.
“I’m Vivan’s friend,” he continued, meeting her eyes with quiet certainty. “I know everything.”
The room went still again.
Her lips parted, but her voice broke before she could say anything. The shock settled deeper — not because Yuvan knew, but because Vivan told him.
He told someone.
After warning her not to tell anyone. After making her live like she didn’t exist in his world.
Something in her chest twisted painfully.
She smiled faintly, just enough to hide the storm behind her eyes. “Oh,” she whispered, “of course you do.”
And for the first time that night — she wished he hadn’t known.
Vivan stood by the railing upstairs, the faint noise of conversation drifting up from the dining hall. He had been pacing restlessly in his room, still trying to convince himself that his outburst was justified.
But every time he repeated his own words in his head — don’t force us to be together… at least not me — a strange heaviness pressed against his chest.
It wasn’t anger anymore. It was something colder. Uglier.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. “what's happening in my life!,” he muttered under his breath. “everything is too complicated.”
He tried to sound angry — but it came out broken.
He leaned on the railing, trying to calm his mind. But then he heard it.
Yuvan’s voice.
At first, he didn’t pay attention — until he heard his own name in the mix.
He stilled.
Quietly, he walked closer to the edge of the stairs, the conversation below growing clearer.
“I’m Vivan’s friend, Aarvi. I know everything,” Yuvan was saying — his tone soft, but steady.
Aarvi’s reply came after a pause — faint, trembling.
“Oh… of course you do.”
Vivan froze. He couldn’t see her face clearly from where he stood, but her voice…
There was something in it that struck him like a blade — something small, breaking, defeated.
She wasn’t angry. She wasn’t even shocked.
She just sounded… hurt.
Yuvan must’ve seen it too, because his usual teasing tone mellowed. “You thought I didn’t know?” he asked softly. “That you were just… what? Another employee?”
Aarvi didn’t answer. She just smiled weakly, her eyes on the floor.
And that silence said more than any words could.
Vivan’s jaw tightened as guilt began to rise in his throat. She was hiding because I made her feel she had to.
He had drawn that line. He had told her not to tell anyone. He had made her feel like a secret in her own marriage.
And now she was standing there, taking the blame, covering for him — again.
He clenched his fist against the railing. His throat felt dry, his heart pounding painfully fast.
Downstairs, Pragya broke the tension with a forced laugh. “Well, that’s… surprising. Aarvi never mentioned she already met you, Yuvan.”
Aarvi opened her mouth, but Yuvan spoke first — his tone playful again, but his eyes sharp. “Maybe she didn’t think it mattered.”
That line hit Vivan harder than it should have.
For a second, he wanted to go down there — to say something, to explain, to stop the look in her eyes that he couldn’t even see but somehow felt.
But pride chained him to the spot.
He stood there — torn between guilt and anger, between Kiara and the truth, between what he said and what he actually felt.
From below, Yuvan glanced once toward the staircase — eyes flickering.
He knew Vivan was there.
And maybe, that was the point.