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The Verma house felt smaller tonight, as if the walls themselves were leaning in to listen to the small, fractured family inside. In the dim sitting room, Disha Verma ( Aany's mom )  sat with her hands trembling, her face wet with quiet tears. Beside her, Dev Verma  ( Aanya's dad ) sat like a man carved from granite—stiff, exhausted, trying to be the anchor she clung to but failing at every word.

"Please, Disha, don't cry like this," he begged, voice rough. "How long will you let this break you?"

She looked up through tears, accusing and raw. "Why did you do this?" she asked, voice cracking. "To save one child, you tossed the other into the lion's mouth. Why, Dev? Why did you choose like that?"

Dev hesitated, the guilt heavy in his shoulders. He had made the choice that had set everything in motion — a decision he had convinced himself then was the only option.

"I had no choice  left," he said quietly. "It seemed right at the time. If I had not agreed to Aanya's marriage to Ishaan, ishaan would have been taken anyway — married off or bound into something worse.

 You know Ishaan, Disha. He is a calm man, but he has a storm in him. I thought I was protecting at least one child."

Mrs. Verma's voice broke. "You went to the Mehra mansion and still did not bring Aanya back. You let her stay there."

"I couldn't even see her. He wouldn't allow me near her," Dev answered, each word a small wound. "How was I supposed to bring her home when I was never allowed in?"

"Then do something, Dev. Please — bring my Aanya back. I'm terrified... what if Ishaan does something wrong? Please, Dev — take her away." Her pleading turned to hysterical sobs.

Dev took her trembling hands. "She will be safe. Ishaan can't harm her. You know our girl — she is no fragile doll. She's a fighter. If she wanted, she could bring Mehra Corporation down in a day. The fact that she hasn't  done it.  it's means she doesn't yet have the sources  . If there's any way to free Aransh, it's because Aanya can find leverage. That's how we'll get Aransh out."

Disha glared at him with a fury sharpened by months of bitterness. "You never stood by her. You always listened to the boys — to Aransh. When she wanted to do something else, when she wanted to leave the family plan and create her own path, you told her to study, to follow the family line. You never supported her. And now you speak like you are proud of her?"

Dev's face was soft with a man trying to be honest with himself. "I am proud of her, Disha. I wanted her in the business because she is brilliant — she could have doubled our success. But she chose another way. I was wrong in how I handled it."

They sat in a brittle silence; the house hummed with old regrets. Mrs. Verma's sniffles were the only sound until she spoke again, quieter now.

"Dev..."
"Yes?" he answered.

"I want to go see Mrs  Ishwari. Take me to the hospital." Her voice trembled with the plea of a mother who could not stand still any longer.

Dev drew in a breath, torn. "Do you think Ishaan will let us anywhere near his family? Do you think he'll permit us a single step?" 

Her fear, raw and sudden, flared again. "Aransh has been taken by him; Aanya is kept in their mansion. I'm afraid he'll do something to her." mrs verma said.

"He will not," Dev said, too quickly, almost pleading with himself. "You know Ishaan; 

yeah i know him before nisha's death but after  Nisha's death he has changed. On aanya's wedding day I saw a hatred in his eyes — a hatred violent enough to level everything that hurt him.  mrs verma  said.

Don't be afraid. I'll make this right." mr verma said. 

Disha's voice pushed back, laced with a mother's disbelief. "Are you sure?  what If Aransh truly betrayed Nisha...what  if he destroyed their company for his own gain...she said.

 Do you really think it's possible? Could Aransh do this to her? He loved her—he would never harm her, would he?" mr verma  said.

Dev's voice hardened, but his words were careful. "Disha, things may not be as they seem. This might be a conspiracy — someone is working to destroy the Vermas and Mehra alike. I don't know yet. We will find the truth."

She swallowed, eyes hollow. "I only hope you are right."

Dev squeezed her hand as if to anchor them both. "Don't worry. I will fix this. I will not let anything happen to Aanya or Aransh."

They sat a long moment longer, two figures braced against an uncertain storm — a father promising action, a mother praying for safety. Outside, the house held its breath.

Morning light spilled through the heavy curtains of Ishaan's room, warm and golden, yet it did nothing to soothe the pounding ache in his skull. His body stirred restlessly before he finally groaned, dragging a limp hand across his face as though it could wipe away the exhaustion. He pushed himself upright, head hanging low, palms clutching his temples.

"God—why does it hurt this much?" he muttered under his breath, voice hoarse. "I need to stop drinking... seriously stop drinking."

The words were more of a plea than a promise. He blinked against the haze clouding his vision and forced his eyes open. The familiar outlines of his room met him, and a sigh of relief escaped his lips. At least I'm home. But almost instantly, confusion followed.

Wait. How did I get here?

Fragments of the night before flickered in his memory — laughter, clinking glasses, Arav's voice pulling him into another drink. And then... nothing. Just a blur swallowed by darkness. He rubbed his forehead, frustration rising. Maybe Arav dropped me back. Yeah, it must have been him.

Reaching for the alarm clock on the side table, he squinted at the glowing digits. His eyes widened. "What the—ten fifteen?" He shot upright too quickly, only for another wave of pain to slam into his head, leaving him clutching at his temples again. Dizzy, unsteady.

"Perfect," he muttered bitterly. "Late for the office and half-dead."

Dragging himself into the bathroom, he let the cold shower jolt life back into his body. By the time he descended the stairs, dressed and outwardly composed, the mansion was already alive with quiet activity. Staff hurried about their duties. Somewhere deeper inside, the clatter of utensils echoed faintly.

And then he saw her.

Aanya stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, carefully focused on something at the counter. As though she felt the weight of his gaze, she turned. Their eyes met for a fleeting moment — hers steady, his unreadable. He was the first to look away, moving toward the dining table without a word, his footsteps heavy with deliberate indifference.

Settling into his usual seat, he noticed her approach. She placed a bowl in front of him — not the crisp toast or fruits he expected, but something steaming, with a sharp, unfamiliar aroma. He frowned.

"What is this?"

"Your hangover drink, sir," she replied gently, but with a certain firmness in her tone. "It will ease your headache."

For a moment, he only stared at her. She looked back without flinching, as though daring him to challenge her care. Finally, he tore his gaze away, eyes falling on the soup. 

She knows I was drunk last night. Heat rose to his ears. Did she see me? Did I say something? Damn it. This is embarrassing.

Hesitantly, he lifted the spoon, brought it to his lips — and nearly gagged. His face twisted into a comically pained expression. "Ugh—what is this? Are you planning to kill me."

From the corner of his eye, he saw her stop, turn, and walk back to him. "It's supposed to taste like that," she explained, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips. "Strange, maybe. But it works. It didn't kill you, Drink it all, Mr. Upside-Down. I'll bring you your breakfast."

Her words, light and teasing, hit him like an unexpected gust of wind. He blinked, staring at her retreating figure. Upside-Down? Did she just call me that?

"What the hell does that mean?" he muttered, baffled. "Why would she—" He shook his head, irritated. Everything about this morning felt off. And yet, he downed the soup in one go, as though proving something to himself.

When Aanya returned with his breakfast, she set the plate down with quiet grace. "Your breakfast, sir," she said, this time accompanied by a soft smile.

And something inside him stuttered. Her smile was small, fleeting, but it felt disarming, unsettling — too gentle for the armor he always wore. His heart betrayed him, quickening, and before he could stop himself, the words slipped out, raw and unguarded:

"Your smile is... pretty."

Aanya blinked, then giggled lightly, the sound as bright as morning sun. "Thank you, sir."

Only then did reality slam back into him. He realized he had spoken aloud, not in thought. Embarrassment burned through him, and he immediately averted his gaze, forcing his attention onto the food as though nothing had happened.

But she didn't move. She lingered there, watching him with quiet amusement. He clenched his jaw, his pride refusing to let her have the last word. "What now?" he said sharply, not looking at her. "Will you feed me too? Stop hovering. Do your work."

The softness in her expression faltered at his harsh tone. "Sorry... Ishaan. I mean, sir." Her voice dipped. She turned to leave, but not before tossing a parting shot under her breath, just loud enough.

"Mr. Rude Upside-Down. Does it cost him anything to smile?"

The words were meant for herself — but Ishaan's sharp ears caught them. He froze, fork halfway to his mouth. She called me rude. And... upside-down. Again.

Her steps faded down the hall, leaving him staring at the untouched breakfast. For reasons he couldn't explain, the echo of her giggle and her quiet defiance clung to him more stubbornly than the pounding in his skull.

Ishaan drove to the office with his usual crisp suit, expensive watch glinting at his wrist, and an expression carved in stone. From the outside, he looked like the same cold, untouchable Ishaan everyone knew. But inside, the morning clung to him like a shadow he couldn't shake.

Mr. Rude Upside-Down... does it cost him anything to smile?

Her words repeated like an echo, slipping into his thoughts no matter how many times he tried to drown them under business calls and meetings. His subordinates noticed his distraction; his replies were shorter, his temper sharper. Yet the irritation wasn't about them. It was about her.

Why did she say that? What did she mean by "Upside-Down"? Was she mocking him? Or worse — did she see through him, see the mess he hides beneath the polished exterior?

And then there was the slip of his own tongue. He could still hear his voice — embarrassingly raw, unguarded: Your smile is pretty. Just remembering it made him clench his jaw in frustration. He never let people see weakness, let alone compliment someone so openly. Yet with her... his guard had cracked.

By afternoon, he was restless. Papers sat untouched on his desk, his pen tapping against the table in irritation. No matter what he did, he couldn't shake the memory of her smile — soft, unassuming, the kind of smile that made something inside him falter.

That night, Ishaan returned late. The mansion was quiet, most lights dimmed, but he noticed a faint glow from the kitchen. Curiosity drew him in, and there she was again — Aanya, standing by the counter, arranging something neatly for the next morning.

She didn't see him at first. And for a rare moment, Ishaan let himself just look at her — not the servant, not the quiet girl bustling about the house, but Aanya. Simple, unguarded, humming softly to herself.

Something tightened in his chest. His mind whispered again: Your smile is pretty.

He exhaled sharply and turned away before she could notice, retreating to his room with his usual heavy footsteps. But in the silence of his night, when he finally lay down, the image of her lingered stubbornly.

Her teasing voice. Her soft smile. Her eyes that seemed to see more than he allowed anyone to see.

And for the first time in a long while, Ishaan found himself asking a question he had never asked before — not about business, not about power, but about her:

Why does this girl affect me so much?
That's it for today! Thank you so much for reading.

  Bye-bye, take care! :D