Chapter 25
Reyansh
My fingers curl into a tight fist as Amyra withdraws her hand from mine.
Before the moment can linger, I hear my family calling my name, forcing me to regain my composure and walk toward them.
I plaster on an instant smile as I reach the corner sofa where my parents sit alongside Amyra’s parents, Aditi, Sanchi, and her father.
“You all did great, Reyansh. We are proud of you,” Neelima aunty says warmly.
“Thank you, Aunty,” I murmur, my gaze drifting to my mother, waiting and hoping for her to say something about my achievement. She studies me for a long second before finally speaking.
“Good job, and congratulations, Reyansh.” A faint smile curves my lips.
It’s enough for now. At least she didn’t ignore my existence.
At least she acknowledged my success. One forgotten promise wrecked my entire life.
I didn’t just lose the warmth in my parents’ eyes; I also ended up playing with another person’s feelings by entering a relationship without realizing I was already in love with Amyra.
I’m pulled back to the present when I feel a tug at my sleeve. Aditi grabs my hand and makes me sit beside her, a wide smile lighting up her face.
“You killed it, Reyansh, especially the speech! I’m so proud of being your girlfriend.” She rests her head on my shoulder, hugging my arm tightly. Awkwardness settles in my chest. I’m still leading her on in a relationship that means nothing to me.
“Thanks, Aditi,” I say quietly.
The past month has been relentless, our days consumed by work on the project, leaving me barely any time to meet her.
Somewhere along the way, I made up my mind to confess my disinterest in this relationship and end this once and for all, apologize to her and our families, and try to undo the mess I created.
They may not forgive me immediately, but I’ll wait for their hearts to soften.
What I did was almost a sin, playing with people’s emotions simply because I wasn’t honest with myself.
I deserve whatever punishment they choose for me.
And when it comes to Aditi, I’m her biggest culprit.
I’ll wait for her forgiveness, even if it takes years.
But none of my mistakes stops me from wanting Amyra in my life.
I already wasted half of it, misinterpreting my deep love for her as friendship.
Now, I can’t stay away from her. The urge to express my affection, to show her how much she means to me, consumes my thoughts so much that I sometimes have to restrain the instinct to cage her in my arms. Worse are the thoughts I try not to indulge in, imagining her lips against mine, my hands settling at her waist.
Even today, the moment I saw her, my breath hitched.
She carries the red outfit effortlessly, the bodycon dress clinging to her like a second skin, accentuating every curve in a way that drives me insane. She radiates quiet authority: elegant, self-assured, every inch the businesswoman who owns both her space and the moment.
I ache to call her mine, to show the world that I am her boyfriend. But before that—
I need to clean the mess I’ve spread across too many lives.
“Congratulations, Reyansh,” a female voice says from behind. I turn to find Sanchi, Amyra’s friend, smiling at me. I return it politely.
“Is Amyra talking to that man’s father you keep mentioning?” Neelima aunty asks suddenly. My brows knit in confusion, but when I follow her gaze, understanding dawns in my mind.
“Yes,” Harsha Uncle replies, and instantly the parents’ expressions shift with curiosity.
“Then that must be Karan’s Dad,” Mom says, her tone thoughtful.
“Yes. Rajiv Mahajan—our old investor and a reputed industrialist,” Dad adds, his voice firm, as if the name alone carries weight.
“Look how comfortable Karan and Amyra are,” Mom says excitedly. “He even wanted to introduce her to his father. That says a lot about their closeness.” I can already sense where this is all heading, and my blood begins to simmer.
“That’s exactly why we proposed him as a suitable partner for our Amyra,” Harsha uncle continues, animated.
“They clicked in no time, led the employee engagement campaign together successfully, and worked together again on this new product line. Even Karan’s father is positive if we want to take this forward.”
“I agree, Uncle,” Sanchi chimes in from behind. “Amyra rarely feels comfortable with anyone.” I shoot her a glare, but she only raises an eyebrow at me, unapologetic, as if daring me to object.
“And the interesting part,” Harsha uncle adds, oblivious to the tension, “is that Karan had feelings for Amyra in the past. She turned him down then. Now that their studies are over, she might see things differently and give him a chance.” The words hit harder than they should.
“Is that true, Uncle?” Aditi squeals beside me. “I always felt he liked Amyra di, but I didn’t know it was serious. Karan really seems like the perfect choice for her.” Her excitement makes her squeeze my arm tightly, and the urge to snap back rises dangerously in my throat.
“After hearing all this, I feel the same,” Neelima aunty says thoughtfully.
“What do you think, Reyansh?” Mom’s sudden question catches me off guard, leaving me wordless.
“Leave him out of this, Meenal,” Dad cuts in. “He’s not in the best position these days to judge what’s right or wrong as far as personal decisions are concerned, though he excels in business decisions.” Though his words spare me from answering, the judgment stings my heart badly.
The bitterness my parents carry toward me just because I failed to keep a promise reveals how deeply they once wanted Amyra as their daughter-in-law.
And now, watching them genuinely wish the best for her, even if it means pairing her with another man, only highlights how long she’s been part of our family.
I was a fool not to see it sooner. A fool to miss my own feelings for her until it was too late.
I need to stop this before it spirals further, before it damages everything beyond repair. Because nothing is more unsettling than watching your own family actively try to marry off the woman you love to someone else.
I wish to stand up and scream that I love her, but no. Not yet.
“Look, they’re coming this way,” Aditi squeals again. I look up to see Karan and Amyra walking toward us, broad smiles on their faces. Just then, Karan halts mid-step and turns back, as if someone had called him. He excuses himself and retraces his steps while Amyra continues toward us alone.
She walks with measured composure, soft confidence marking every stride, standing out even in a room filled with overlapping conversations and clinking glasses, everything exactly as it should be. Then something goes wrong.
A waiter stumbles near the edge of the stage, just a second of imbalance, but my eyes catch the tall crystal décor behind Amyra tilting, slipping, about to fall.
Too close. I don’t think. My legs just move.
I step straight into her space, grip her arm, and pull her back as my body turns instinctively toward the falling glass. The impact comes hard and fast. The sound is deafening.
Glass shatters violently, shards exploding across the marble floor. A collective gasp ripples through the crowd, but all I feel is her against me, her body pressed to my chest, my arm locked around her as if letting go might undo what I just prevented.
I don’t move. Not until the last shard hits the ground.
“Are you hurt?” I ask immediately, my voice low and urgent, my eyes scanning her face, her shoulders, her hands. “Did it hit you?” She shakes her head, stunned, her breathing uneven. Only then do I exhale.
The room surges back to life, security rushing in, staff apologizing, executives panicking about optics, but it all sounds distant.
I loosen my hold carefully, take her wrist, and check for even the smallest scratch, my fingers steady despite the sharp sting spreading through my palm. Her gaze drops.
“Rey,” she says softly, an alarm creeping into her voice. “You’re bleeding.” I follow her eyes to my left hand. Blood drips from my palm, dark against the marble.
“It’s nothing,” I say at once, as if that settles it. My attention shifts right back to her. “You’re okay. That’s what matters.”
Someone steps closer. “Sir, you need medical attention.”
“Get her some water first,” I say without hesitation.
My family rushes in, especially my mother, guiding me aside, wrapping my palm, and insisting I sit on the nearby sofa.
I let them treat my injury as the venue staff brought the first-aid kit.
My eyes scan to see Amyra being led away, unharmed, safe.
As my mother tends to the wound, the unexpected affection warms my chest. Then, I feel the weight of the eyes on me, of my family, Aditi and Karan.
The room has fallen into a different kind of silence.
I catch the shock on their faces, especially Aditi’s.
Hurt and disappointment flicker in her eyes.
At the same moment, I see Amyra rushing back toward me, her eyes brimming with fresh tears, fixed on my injured hand.
Her silent weeping breaks into quiet sobs as she wraps her arms around my waist from the side.
“Y-you’re hurt because of m-me,” she whispers, her voice muffled. I cup her face with my free hand, lifting it gently until she meets my gaze.
“Look at me,” I murmur. “I’m safe. I’m fine. Don’t waste your precious tears on me.” I hate the sight of her crying, especially because of me. Only then do I realize everyone is watching us, still trying to process what I did without thinking… and how Amyra is breaking into tears over my injury.
I didn’t plan it. I didn’t weigh the consequences. I just knew one thing with frightening clarity that if that glass had hit her, nothing else tonight would have mattered to me. I would never have forgiven myself. And that truth hurts far more than the cut in my hand.
Love really is a dangerous kind of magic.