Chapter 11 Congratulations, It Hurts
Every news channel and fashion magazine buzzed with excitement- Rū by Iva x Agnivanshi was finally launching. A groundbreaking collaboration between two iconic labels: the modern minimalism of Iva Fashion House and the rooted opulence of Agnivanshi Fashions.
The launch event was set for the evening at a private venue in Andheri, followed by an exclusive dinner at the Agnivanshi Palace in Colaba.
On Divya's insistence, the guest list sparkled with every Bollywood fashionista and Mumbai's crème de la crème.
It was a calculated move-these were the people who set trends and shaped desires.
Iva's international partners and elite clientele had flown in as well.
This wasn't just an event-it was a declaration of arrival.
In the vanity room, Raha stood dressed in a stunning Indian silhouette reimagined with a modern twist-an ensemble that echoed both heritage and innovation. But her pacing betrayed her nerves.
Her hands trembled slightly as she adjusted her outfit again for the hundredth time. She was scared. This wasn't just Iva's launch-it was her own first major moment in the spotlight.
Then the door clicked open. Iva entered, observing her pacing with quiet understanding. "You'll be fine," she said calmly. "It's your moment, Raha."
"I'm just... scared," Raha confessed, trying to steady her breath. "What if I mess up? This could make or break everything."
Before Iva could respond, the door swung open again.
Adwait walked in, casual and confident-as if the room, the event, even the pressure, belonged to him. He didn't flinch at anyone's presence. Raha's eyes lit up. She ran to him and did a quick spin. "How do I look?"
He smiled warmly. "Bahut pyaari lag rahi ho," he said, his gaze soft. Iva caught the subtle compliment too. After all, the design was hers. But then Adwait tilted his head, his brows knitting slightly.
[You look very lovely]
"Something's missing," he said, scanning her thoughtfully.
Iva stiffened. Her designer's instincts flared. What did we miss? Was it the styling? The makeup? The hair?
She moved closer, checking Raha carefully. "What is it?"
Raha looked into the mirror, confused. "I thought everything was done..."
Without answering, Adwait walked over to her vanity kit, rummaged briefly, and pulled out a small velvet packet.
"Bindi ke bina shringar adhura hota hai.," he murmured, placing the delicate bindi gently on her forehead. The transformation was instant-her look became complete, elevated.
[Without a bindi, adornment feels incomplete.]
Iva blinked, silently impressed. He was right.
Raha hugged him gratefully. "Thank you!"
Smiling, Adwait took out a small bar of chocolate, unwrapped it, and held it out. "Kuchh meetha ho jaye?"
[Shall we have something sweet?]
Raha took a bite and then made him eat a piece too. "Bhaiya, it's all Iva's effort. I just wore it."
Just then, someone knocked. Raha's name was called.
She waved a final goodbye and left.
The room grew quiet again.
Iva stood by the mirror, arms folded. She hadn't asked for chocolate. Not after what he had said the last time. That one word-"forbidden"-still echoed, sharp and aching. Congratulations, It Hurts.
Adwait hesitated, then walked toward her and offered the chocolate silently. She didn't take it. Instead, she simply opened her mouth slightly, her chin tilted up.
"Can't dirty my hands now," she said smoothly, deflecting emotion with attitude.
He smiled faintly, unwrapped the chocolate, and fed her a bite.
"Thanks," she said quietly, chewing.
She turned to leave.
But suddenly-her back strap gave way. She froze.
Her hands reached behind, fumbling, but the design was complex. She heard his voice behind her.
"Main kar deta hoon."
[Let me do it.]
She nodded, turning her back to him.
"Take the right strap and button it on the left side, near the waist. Then take the left and cross it to the right," she whispered instructions.
She could feel him behind her. His fingers brushed against her bare back-light, cautious. He moved deliberately, pulling the strap across her waist and securing it.
Involuntarily, her eyes closed. She leaned back slightly, the air between them heavy. His fingers lingered a moment longer than necessary as he secured the second strap.
"Ho gaya," he said, voice low and husky. As if words were too much.
[Done.]
Her phone rang, loud and insistent, snapping the moment. She opened her eyes and met his gaze in the mirror. His expression was unreadable-calm, distant, familiar.
"Puri duniya bahar aapka intezaar kar rahi hai," he said softly. "Woh aapki duniya hai. Aur uss duniya ka hissa main nahi hoon."
["The whole world is waiting for you outside," he said softly. "That is your world. And I'm not a part of it."]
And with that, he walked out.
Something inside her snapped. That sentence. That tone. That detachment.
CRASH.
Her right fist smashed into the mirror, shards falling like glittering rain. Her hand bled-but it didn't hurt as much as her heart did.
The door burst open-Maya and Rudra rushed in.
"Iva!" Maya gasped, seeing the blood. "What happened?"
"Nothing," Iva said coldly, pulling her hand back. "Let's go. The show's about to start."
"But your hand-" Rudra began.
"The show must go on.", she said firmly.
Maya didn't argue. She quietly pulled Iva to the washroom, washed the wound, and wrapped it with Iva's own silk handkerchief.
Iva straightened her posture, adjusted her shirt, dabbed her lips with gloss, and walked out of the vanity-eyes forward, back straight, emotions locked away.
Iva walked into the event with her head held high-wound wrapped, posture perfect, and expression unreadable. Cameras flashed, lights glimmered, and the low hum of whispered awe filled the space. But inside, her heart pulsed with quiet chaos.
She took her seat in the front row, beside her family. Her father gave her a nod of pride. Her twin brothers, Virya and Vayu, looked excited-wearing custom-made tuxedos, already stealing glances from photographers. Across the aisle, the Agnivanshi family sat with regal calm, poised and observant.
The runway gleamed under golden light. Everything was perfect.
And then-Raha entered.
The music dropped. The lights focused. She glided down the ramp wearing a stunning ensemble from the Rū by Iva x Agnivanshi line. She wasn't just walking-she was owning the stage.
Applause started to build. Iva's eyes were locked on her, but her mind had already begun to drift.
Behind her, Maya leaned down and handed her a folded page.
"You need to head to media after this," Maya whispered, then disappeared into the crowd.
Iva opened the paper. At the top, bold letters printed across the media sheet:
Her eyes lingered on the name-Rū. Such a small word. But so full of meaning.
She remembered the moment Raha had casually suggested it in a brainstorming session.
"Rū," she had said. "Short, elegant. Feels like... form and soul, maybe?"
When Iva had asked what it meant, Raha hadn't explained. She'd simply handed her a folded piece of paper.
Iva reached into her clutch now, pulling that very piece out. The handwriting was clean, slanted, almost poetic:
Rū' = form/essence in Sanskrit
That was the moment she had fallen for the name. And now, staring at the familiar pen strokes, she realised something.
This wasn't Raha's handwriting.
This wasn't her word either.
It was his.
Only one person in her world knew Sanskrit with such emotional precision.
Only one person understood the essence behind the essence.
Adwait.
Raha had protected his anonymity. But now Iva knew. He had named her dream.
Her fingers gripped the paper just a little tighter. The ache in her chest wasn't gone-but now, it was laced with something else.
Recognition.
As the spotlight hit Raha in her final pose and the crowd erupted in applause, Iva sat still. Proud. Poised.
As the show concluded with thunderous applause and cameras flashing wildly, Iva was led toward the media bay-poised against a branded backdrop of Rū by Iva x Agnivanshi.
The reporters surged forward, but the security and PR team held them back to maintain decorum. A moderator handed Iva the mic.
The flashbulbs were relentless.
A journalist from a leading fashion magazine asked first.
"Iva, congratulations on a spectacular launch! Can you tell us what 'Rū' means? Why this name?"
Iva gave a faint smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes.
"Rū," she said, her voice calm and measured, "means form or essence in Sanskrit. It's a reminder that fashion is more than fabric. It's identity, emotion, and memory-stitched into form."
Another reporter jumped in.
"Why merge with Agnivanshi for this? Your brand and theirs are so distinct."
Iva nodded. "Because elegance and tradition don't cancel innovation-they complete it. Rū is that balance."
A final question came-slightly bolder.
"Who came up with the name? Was it you?"
She paused. Her eyes flicked to the crowd for a fleeting second-searching, or maybe remembering.
"The name found me at the right time. That's all I'll say."
She stepped back slightly, handed the mic to the moderator, and added coolly:
"No more questions."
Then she walked off-her expression unreadable, her silence louder than any press headline that would follow the next day.
---------
The sprawling garden of the Agnivanshi palace sparkled with fairy lights and soft laughter. Crystal clinks mingled with live jazz, and the aroma of rich Indian-Continental fusion dishes wafted through the cool night.
The Ambani and Agnivanshi families sat together, radiating pride as they watched their daughters being admired by the crème de la crème of Mumbai's elite.
Guests mingled with grace. The elders handled the hosting, and the young-well, they basked in success.
Rudra handed Iva a drink. She gave him a tired but knowing smile.
"Congratulations," he said, clinking her glass gently.
"Same to you," she returned, and they both took a sip.
From a distance, members of the Agnivanshi family watched them together-two powerful presences, bound by unspoken tension and deep admiration.
"It was more than I could imagine," Rudra said, eyes still on her.
Iva smirked. "Iva magic."
"Of course. Even I'm not spared. In fact, no one is. Eyes follow you wherever you go." His voice dipped flirtatiously.
Iva glanced away. "Not everyone."
Rudra blinked, confused. Before he could respond, she excused herself, fatigue now catching up to her.
Iva wandered into the dimly lit corridor and stopped short.
In a quiet corner, Maya was sitting on the floor, plate in hand, talking to Adwait, who sat beside her on the edge of a low seat.
Her eyes narrowed. She walked toward them.
"Hypocrites," she said coldly.
Maya stood immediately, holding her plate like a shield.
"Forbidden, huh?" Iva added with venom, her gaze burning into Maya.
Maya looked down. "I'm not the icon, Iva." Her voice was low. And with that, she quietly left.
Iva didn't spare Adwait a glance. She walked right past him.
In her room, still in her silk nightshirt, Iva scrolled through Instagram. Her phone was buzzing-her designs had gone viral.
A knock.
She opened the door to find Martin holding a tray.
"Not this side, Martin," she said flatly, about to shut the door.
"Adwait sir sent this," he said, handing her a small dried leaf.
She stared at it, confused. Before she could respond, Martin added calmly:
And please-no smoking near Adwait sir. That stopped her.
"Why?" she snapped. "Give me one reason and I'll go meet him."
Martin didn't blink. "Look at his right wrist. You'll know." Then he turned and walked away.
Iva made her way through the palace, down to the old garden on the west side - That west wing garden.
There he was. Adwait, sitting on the same bench as before. Dinner laid out. Quiet. Waiting.
She approached and sat at the opposite end, expecting him to speak. He didn't.
Annoyed, she stood to leave. But then-
"Abhi dost bhi nahi bane aur itna dard? Socho agar kuch hote toh kitna dard hota..."
[We're not even friends yet and it already hurts this much? Imagine how much it would've hurt if there was something between us]
His voice cut through the silence like a whisper of truth. She froze.
"Bina kisi rishte ke itna khoon, itni takleef. Agar rishta hota, toh yeh sab... bojh ban jata. Na duniya ko bata paate, na khud se juda ho paate. Chhupte chhupate ek din thak jaate. Jaise kabhi kabhi Raha thak jaati hai-iss chhupe rishte ke bojh se."
[So much blood, so much pain-without even having a relationship.
If there was a relationship, all of this.
.. would've become a burden. We wouldn't be able to tell the world, nor walk away from each other.
Hiding it every day, we'd grow tired eventually.
Just like Raha sometimes breaks down-under the weight of this hidden bond]
He still didn't look at her.
Iva blinked. "So you can speak normally," she muttered.
He looked at her-speechless, caught off-guard.
She came back and sat again, placing her legs on his lap like before.
"I hate it when people decide things for me,"she said firmly.
"And for this," she raised her injured hand, "you're not responsible."
She picked up her plate, began eating with her left hand. It amazed her how this man, this so-called forbidden, made her feel so visible, so heard.
"Thanks for the label name," she added casually between bites.
Adwait chuckled, fingers unconsciously playing with her toes.
"Raha spilled," he murmured.
"She didn't. I figured it out. Sanskrit. You. Caveman."
She smirked. Then remembered Martin's words.
Pulling a cigarette from her purse, she offered, "Wanna smoke?"
He flinched. The smile vanished.
"I don't smoke." His voice was calm-but the shift was clear.
Iva noticed. She pulled her legs away. Adwait stood, ready to walk.
But then-she held his hand.
She slowly brought it close, revealing his right wrist.
Sacred red threads wrapped around it.
Her fingers carefully untied them. And that's when she saw them.
Cigarette burn marks. Scars.
She gasped. So that's why Martin had warned her.
Her bandaged hand was still in his.
He looked down at her cut. She looked at his wrist.
Then-he whispered her name.
"Ivikaa."
Not Iva. Not Icon. Just Ivikaa.
Her eyes welled up
The way he said it... it cracked something open inside her. A voice that could shatter armor.
She stared, silent tears slipping down. He raised his hand to wipe them-
But she moved first.
She hugged him.
Hard. Clutching his t-shirt like it was the only stable thing in her spinning world.
"Adwait," she whispered into his chest, voice trembling.
One of his hands wrapped gently around her. The other still held her wounded one carefully.
Minutes passed.
No words.
Just breath, warmth, and a sense of quiet surrender.
Then she mumbled into his chest,
"I told you-hugs, kisses, and sex are casual in my world."
Adwait gave a small, bittersweet smile and his eyes seemed to say without words.
"You should tend your wound," he finally said gently.
They broke the hug.
A knock on the gate. Adwait called out, "Come in."
Martin entered, placing a tray of medical supplies, and quietly took the food tray away.
Iva sat on the bench again. Adwait knelt in front of her and started tending to her wound.
She watched him. Smirking.
"Bloody friendship."
Adwait looked up, lips curled into that rare, quiet smile-dimples and all.
Note to self: never fall for a man who doesn't smoke but still manages to burn you.
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