•| SEVEN |•
“Oh my god… baby the stain is not going,” Riya said for the fifth time, her voice filled with both worry and frustration as she rubbed the edge of your blue anarkali with a damp tissue again.
You stood there stiffly in the restaurant washroom, fingers clutched tightly around the fabric, watching helplessly as the muddy brown stain refused to fade.
Tears burned at the back of your eyes.
“Riya… do something na,” your voice cracked despite your effort to sound normal. “Please try again… it was… it was a gift from dad.”
Riya paused mid-rub and looked up at you through the mirror.
Your eyes were glossy now, lower lip trembling slightly as you tried to hold yourself together.
“Hey… don’t cry,” she said softly, immediately throwing the tissue aside and holding your shoulders. “We’ll fix it, okay? Maybe dry cleaning will remove it.”
You shook your head slowly.
“No… you don’t understand,” you whispered, voice breaking further. “He gave it to me on my last birthday… he saved money for weeks to buy this. He knows I love blue.”
Your throat tightened.
“I didn’t even wear it much… I was saving it.”
Riya’s expression softened with guilt and anger at the same time.
“God… that stupid man,” You muttered. “I swear Riya, if I ever see that uncle again na, I’ll literally scratch his car myself.”
“I’ll sue that uncle,” you said suddenly, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. “Riya please try something… anything.”
Riya sighed, picking up another tissue and dabbing at the stain again, even though both of you knew it was useless now.
“I tried everything I know, Samira,” she said helplessly. “Water, soap, tissue… even handwash from the dispenser. It’s not going.”
You stared down at the dark blotch spreading across the delicate fabric.
It looked worse now that it had dried slightly.
Your chest felt heavy.
“God… I hate that man,” she muttered again.
You exhaled shakily, wiping the remaining tears from your cheeks before they could fall.
“Leave it,” you said finally, your voice quieter now — defeated.
Riya watched you turn away from the mirror.
“I’m going home.”
“So soon?” she asked gently. “At least eat something first… we just ordered.”
You shook your head again.
“I’m not in the mood anymore.”
Riya hesitated, then nodded slowly, understanding.
“Okay… I’ll come drop you.”
“No,” you said quickly. “You stay… you had plans too. I’ll go by bus.”
“Samira—”
“I’m fine,” you forced a small smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “Really.”
Riya studied your face for a second, knowing you weren’t fine at all.
Still, she nodded reluctantly.
“Text me when you reach.”
“I will.”
You adjusted your dupatta carefully, trying to hide the stain as much as possible before stepping out of the washroom.
But as you walked out of the restaurant…
Krish sat behind his large mahogany desk, sleeves rolled slightly above his wrists, eyes scanning the documents spread neatly before him. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the otherwise silent cabin, the glass walls reflecting the sharp lines of his cold, composed face.
He flipped a page… but his eyes weren’t really reading anymore.
Instead, an image flashed in his mind—
A girl in a blue anarkali… glaring up at him with fire in her eyes… lips moving rapidly as she called him uncle with full offense.
A low chuckle escaped his lips before he could stop it.
“Dumb kid,” he murmured under his breath, leaning back in his chair. “Was looking like an angry bird.”
He shook his head slightly, scoffing at the memory—yet the faint curve on his lips betrayed his amusement.
Just then—
“Someone is in a good mood I guess?”
Krish’s expression dropped instantly, amusement vanishing as he looked up.
Leaning casually against the cabin door was his best friend—Mr. Aarav Khanna—arms crossed, a knowing smirk plastered across his face as if he had just caught Krish doing something illegal.
“You know how to knock?” Krish said dryly, raising an eyebrow.
Aarav rolled his eyes dramatically before walking inside without permission, as usual.
“Oh come on,” he said, pulling the chair in front of the desk and sitting down comfortably. “I’m your dude-bro. I don’t need permission.”
“Yeah, yeah… whatever,” Krish muttered, looking back down at his file, though his focus was already broken.
Aarav leaned forward, elbows on his knees, studying Krish’s face carefully.
“You’re smiling alone in your cabin,” he said slowly. “Either you’ve lost a deal… or you’ve lost your mind.”
Krish ignored him.
But Aarav wasn’t done.
“I came to know,” he continued casually, “that you’re getting married.”
Krish’s pen paused mid-signature.
For a brief second, silence settled heavily between them.
Aarav’s tone softened slightly.
“Finally… you’re coming out of your past.”
Krish exhaled slowly, placing the pen down before leaning back in his chair again.
“Aarav… please,” he said, voice firm but tired. “I’m doing all this for Kiaan only.”
Aarav sighed, as if he had expected that answer.
“I know you are,” he said quietly. “You’re a good father, Krish. No one can deny that.”
Krish’s jaw tightened slightly.
“But,” Aarav continued, “marriage isn’t a charity project. You can’t just bring a woman into your life for your son and keep your heart locked.”
Krish looked away toward the glass wall, his reflection staring back at him—cold, distant.
“I’m not bringing her for me,” he said flatly. “She’ll get a comfortable life. Security. Respect. That’s enough.”
Aarav frowned.
“And love?”
Krish didn’t answer.
Aarav leaned back, crossing his arms now.
“You still hate women that much?” he asked carefully.
Krish let out a humorless scoff.
“Hate is a small word.”
Silence stretched again.
Aarav studied him—really studied him—the bitterness that still lived behind his calm exterior.
“Krish,” he said softly, “not every woman is like your ex-wife.”
Krish’s eyes darkened instantly.
“Don’t,” he warned quietly.
But Aarav didn’t stop.
“She cheated on you. She left. She broke your trust. Fine. But punishing someone new for her mistakes isn’t fair.”
Krish’s fingers curled slightly on the armrest.
“I’m not punishing anyone,” he said, voice controlled. “I was clear with Mom. I don’t want this marriage. She forced it.”
“And you agreed.”
“For Kiaan.”
Aarav nodded slowly.
“Then at least try to make it work,” he said. “You deserve a life too, man. You’re what—thirty-two? You’re not finished yet.”
Krish let out a quiet breath, gaze dropping to the desk again.
For a moment… he remembered you again—
Your furious eyes.
Your refusal to take his money.
The way you demanded a sorry instead.
A faint smirk tugged at his lips again before he could stop it.
Aarav caught it instantly.
“There!” he pointed. “That smile again. Who is she?”
Krish frowned immediately.
“No one.”
“Liar.”
“It’s nothing.”
Aarav leaned forward mischievously.
“Office girl? Client? Or…” he narrowed his eyes playfully, “…future wife?”
Krish shot him a sharp glare.
“Shut up, Aarav.”
But Aarav only laughed, raising his hands in surrender.
“Fine, fine. I’ll stop.”
He stood up, adjusting his blazer.
“But listen,” he added seriously before leaving, “if you’re marrying… don’t do it half-heartedly. Either accept her… or don’t ruin her life.”
Krish didn’t respond.
Aarav walked to the door, then paused.
“And yeah,” he smirked, “whoever made you smile alone in your cabin… she’s dangerous.”
The door shut behind him.
Silence returned.
Krish leaned back slowly, eyes drifting again to nothing in particular.
Dangerous…?
Krish was still leaning back in his chair, gaze fixed somewhere far beyond the glass walls of his cabin, lost in a chain of thoughts he himself didn’t want to acknowledge.
Your angry face… your trembling voice… the way you refused his money…
It was ridiculous how his mind kept replaying that brief roadside encounter as if it held some significance.
He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly.
“Focus, Krish,” he muttered to himself, straightening slightly and pulling a file closer again.
But before he could read even a single line—
His phone buzzed loudly against the desk, vibrating nonstop.
Annoyance flickered across his face.
Without even checking the caller ID, he picked it up and answered flatly—
“Hello.”
“Krish! Where are you?”
He winced slightly, immediately recognizing the voice.
Mrs. Mehra.
“And you know right,” she continued without giving him space to speak, “we’re going shopping today. But before that, we have to go to Mr. Nair’s place to pick them up.”
Krish closed his eyes briefly, already feeling a headache forming.
He leaned back deeper into his chair, rubbing his temple.
“Mom…” he said slowly, trying to keep his voice calm, “cool. I can’t come shopping.”
“What?” she snapped instantly from the other side.
“I have meetings lined up. Important ones,” he added, though his tone carried more disinterest than urgency. “I’ll tell Patel to go with you guys.”
There was a brief silence on the call—
The kind that meant she was glaring at the phone.
Krish could literally imagine her expression right now—
Eyebrows furrowed… lips pressed… silently cursing her stubborn son.
“Krish,” she said again, slower this time, “this is your wedding shopping.”
“I know.”
“Then behave like a groom at least once.”
He exhaled impatiently.
“Mom… please. You and Kiaan go. Buy whatever you want. I trust your choice.”
“That’s not the point,” she argued. “The girl’s family will be there too.”
Krish’s jaw tightened slightly at the reminder.
He stood up from his chair and walked toward the window, staring down at the city traffic below.
“I said I can’t come,” he repeated, firmer this time.
Another pause.
Then—
“Fine,” Mrs. Mehra said curtly. “Don’t come… hmm.”
The tone carried clear displeasure.
Before he could say anything else—
She cut the call.
Krish lowered the phone slowly, staring at the blank screen for a second.
Then he let out a long breath.
Relief washed over him almost instantly.
“Thank God,” he murmured, placing the phone back on the desk.
It felt suffocating.
He loosened his tie slightly, rolling his shoulders as if shrugging off invisible pressure.
“Shopping…” he scoffed under his breath. “Ridiculous.”