The soft clinking of cutlery and the faint aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the Mehra mansion's grand dining hall. Morning sunlight streamed through the tall windows, painting warm streaks across the long marble table where the family sat.

Mr. and Mrs. Mehra were seated at the head, calm and poised as always. Across from them sat Jay and Jiya — Jay quietly buttering his toast while Jiya scrolled through her phone, pretending not to listen to the light chatter.

A few minutes later, Ishaan entered — dressed sharply in a black shirt, his sleeves rolled up, a phone in one hand and other in the pocket.
"Good morning," he said politely, taking his seat beside mr mehra.

Everyone responded with brief greetings before settling back into silence. Ishaan began scrolling through his emails, sipping his coffe in between short exchanges with Mr. Mehra about work.

For a while, it was a perfectly ordinary morning. Until—

"Aanya!" Mrs. Sikha's cheerful voice broke through the calm.

Everyone's gaze lifted — toward the entrance.
Aanya stood there, wearing a soft pastel kurta, her hair loosely tied back. She froze for a moment, her eyes darting nervously as every pair of eyes turned to her — including Ishaan's.

He looked at her only for a second, his expression unreadable, before returning to his phone.

"G-Good morning, aunty," Aanya said softly, offering Mrs. Sikha a small smile. Then she turned quickly toward the kitchen.

But Mrs. Sikha's voice stopped her.
"Where are you going, Aanya? Come here — join us for breakfast."

Aanya blinked in shock. "Me?" she asked, pointing at herself, confused.

"Yes, you. Why not? You haven't eaten, right?" Sikha asked warmly.

"No, aunty, I—I'll eat in the kitchen," Aanya stammered.

Mrs. Sikha frowned playfully. "Why would you eat in the kitchen when breakfast is right here? Come and sit."

Aanya froze, her heart pounding. How can I sit with everyone? It'll be so awkward... what if they mind?

Her gaze flickered to Jay — he looked back for just a moment, his expression unreadable, almost sad. Is he... angry with me? she wondered. Then she glanced at Jiya, who was glaring at her from the corner of her eye.
Oh God, Aanya thought nervously. She looks like she's about to swallow me whole.

Finally, she looked toward Ishaan — who was already watching her. His expression was blank, calm, giving nothing away.
What do you want, Ishaan? Should I sit... or leave?

Mrs. Sikha caught the silent exchange and raised a brow. "Oh, I see. You're scared of Ishaan, huh?"

"Aunty, no—" Aanya began, but Sikha didn't let her finish.

"Ishaan!" she said, turning to him. "Tell her she can sit with us. In fact, tell her she'll be eating with us every day from now on."

Ishaan blinked. "Me?" he asked, almost startled.

"Yes, you," Sikha replied firmly.

"Aunty, really—it's fine, I'll eat—"

"Quiet, Aanya," Sikha said with mock sternness. "Ishaan, say it."

Ishaan sighed, set his cup down, and finally looked at Aanya.
"Come, Aanya," he said calmly. "You'll eat with us from now on. No need to eat in the kitchen with the maids."

Aanya froze, her breath caught in her throat. But after a moment, she nodded faintly and walked toward the table.

She began to sit beside Mrs. Sikha, but Sikha stopped her.
"Not there, dear. Sit next to your husband," she said, smiling mischievously.

Aanya's heart skipped. "W-what?" she whispered.

"Go on," Sikha insisted, gently nudging her.

With hesitant steps, Aanya sat down beside Ishaan — close enough that their shoulders brushed. Both of them immediately tensed, neither daring to move or even breathe too loudly.

Jiya's side-eye glared sharper than knives, while Jay quietly focused on his plate, his jaw tight.
Mr. and Mrs. Mehra began eating again, pretending not to notice the tension that sat heavy at the table.

Aanya stared awkwardly at the plate in front of her. Just eat something, she told herself. She reached toward the basket of bread in the center, but it was too far. After a moment, she gave up and just poured herself tea.

Ishaan noticed. Without a word, he reached for the basket and the eggs, placed a slice of bread and an egg onto her plate — still not looking at her.

Aanya's eyes widened in surprise. She looked up at him just as he spoke under his breath, only for her to hear:
"What? I know I'm handsome, but you don't have to eat me with those doe eyes. Eat your food."

She choked on her tea immediately, coughing.

"Aanya, what happened? Are you okay?" Sikha asked in concern.

"Y-yes, aunty, I'm fine," Aanya said quickly, still red-faced. She glanced sideways at Ishaan, who was now sipping his coffee like nothing had happened, eyes on his phone.

What is wrong with him? Is he bipolar or something? she thought, hiding a small, helpless smile behind her cup.

The table went back to its quiet chatter — but under it all, Aanya could still feel Ishaan's quiet presence beside her, steady, unreadable... and confusingly human.

The glass doors of Mehra Industries slid open as Ishaan Mehra stepped inside, his expression sharp and composed. The staff greeted him politely as he walked toward his office — the entire floor reflecting sleek modern design, glass walls, and the quiet hum of efficiency.

The moment he entered, his secretary Sunny stood up from his desk.
"Good morning, sir."

"Morning, Sunny," Ishaan replied, setting his briefcase down. "What's the update?"

Sunny quickly handed him a tablet. "Sir, it's about the new company launch — Mehra Tech Co. The final groundwork has begun. 

"Mehra Tech Co." was Nisha's dream project. She always wanted to open a technology company under the Mehra Group — a company that would focus on innovation and future technology. The project was already in its early working stage, but after Nisha's death, all progress came to a stop.

Now, Ishaan has decided to restart that dream and bring Mehra Tech Co. to life again.

Their first major project was supposed to be with the Singh Group, a powerful domestic partner. A meeting had taken place two months ago, but due to that file exchange incident, the entire deal was canceled.

Sunny continued, "We've already completed the structural and legal groundwork — registration, product blueprint, and initial R&D setup. 

"And the investors?" Ishaan asked, checking through the documents.

"The investors have arrived in India this morning. The meeting is scheduled for 11 a.m. at the conference hall. These are the same people who showed interest two months ago, before the deal fell through due to the... file exchange mishap."

Ishaan's eyes narrowed slightly. "Ahh. That mistake cost us the Singh deal."

"Yes, sir," Sunny said carefully. "But this time, everything is double-checked. All presentations, data models, and projections are ready. No room for error."

Ishaan leaned back in his chair. "Good. This deal is crucial, Sunny. If we close it, Mehra Tech can finally begin production. I don't want any mistakes — not this time."

"Understood, sir. Everything is ready."

"Check again," Ishaan said firmly, standing and adjusting his suit jacket. "This project is not just business, it's personal. We have to make it work — for Nisha."

Sunny nodded. "Yes, sir."

 The Meeting — 11:00 a.m.

The large glass-walled conference room gleamed under soft white lights. The Mehra Industries logo shimmered on the screen as the investors — two men and one woman from a UK-based tech firm — entered.

Ishaan and Mr. Mehra, his uncle, stood to greet them warmly.
"Mr. Williams, Ms. Turner — welcome to India," Ishaan said, shaking hands.

After formal introductions, everyone took their seats.

Sunny dimmed the lights slightly and began the presentation on the screen.

"Mehra Tech Co. aims to develop next-generation AI-integrated systems for industrial automation," he explained. "Our goal is to create smart, sustainable solutions for logistics, healthcare, and finance sectors. The company's first project focuses on AI-driven data analysis software that will integrate predictive algorithms with human decision-making models."

The investors listened attentively as graphs, prototypes, and financial forecasts appeared on the screen.

Ishaan took over midway through, his voice calm but confident.

"Unlike most start-ups, we already have the infrastructure and technical team in place. What we need is international partnership — not just for funding, but for global expansion. Mehra Tech is built to scale — from India to Europe and the U.S. within three years."

Mr. Mehra added, "And with our combined experience in manufacturing and finance, this project has the foundation and vision to become one of the most profitable ventures in the sector."

The investors exchanged approving glances.

After the final slide, Ishaan concluded, "We believe in creating technology that remembers its human purpose. That was my sister's vision — and it's what drives this project today."

A brief silence followed — then Mr. Williams smiled and stood.
"Mr. Mehra, this was impressive. We'll discuss the details internally, but you can expect a positive response. Our team will contact you soon for contract signing."

Ishaan stood as well, shaking hands firmly. "Thank you. We look forward to partnering with you."

As the investors left, Mr. Mehra turned to Ishaan, smiling with quiet pride.
"You handled that perfectly, Ishaan. Nisha would've been proud."

Ishaan looked toward the screen that still displayed the words "Mehra Tech Co. — Building the Future."
He exhaled deeply. "She will be, uncle. I'll make sure of it."

It was past midnight—12 a.m. sharp.
The Mehra mansion had gone silent after dinner, which had ended around nine. Everyone had retreated to their rooms—except Ishaan, who hadn't returned home yet.

And Aanya? She wasn't in her small, cozy servant's room anymore.

No.
She was in her husban's room.

Yes, she had officially shifted in the afternoon.
On Mrs. Sikha's strict instructions, the maids had moved all her belongings to Ishaan's room. Sikha even offered to have the closet cleaned and Aanya's clothes arranged neatly inside. But Aanya had quickly refused.

"It's okay, aunty, I'll handle it myself," she'd said nervously.

Of course, she hadn't "handled" anything.

Her small travel bag—still sat untouched near the table. Inside it were only a few clothes, her skincare essentials, and some books. That was all.

And now, Aanya sat anxiously on the chair near the study corner, glancing every few seconds at the clock... then at the door... then back at the clock.

She knew it was only a matter of time before the storm named Ishaan Mehra walked in.
And when he did—BOOM.

She'd been sitting there since 10 p.m., waiting for the inevitable explosion.

"How did this become my life? I came here as a bride and became a maid... and now they call me Mrs. Mehra."
"But the truth is... I'm still a stranger in this house. Especially to him."

By 1 a.m., the door finally clicked open.

Ishaan entered, exhausted from work, rolling his shoulders. As soon as he stepped in, a faint fragrance hit him.
He paused, eyes closing briefly, inhaling the scent.

The only word come out from his mouth is-
"Rose...?" he murmured. "Why the hell does my room smell like rose?"

Frowning, he switched on the lights and turned toward the study table—
—only to freeze.

There, slumped over the table, fast asleep, was a girl. Her face was hidden, her hair a messy cascade across the desk.

He blinked.

"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered.

The bag slipped from his hand and hit the floor with a thud.

The sound made Aanya stir. She half-opened her eyes, still half-asleep, and mumbled,

"Let me sleep, Mom..."

Ishaan stared at her, completely baffled.

Mom?

He exhaled in disbelief and muttered,

"What on earth is she doing in my room?"

He walked closer and gently shook her shoulder.

"Hey—wake up."

But Aanya only groaned and mumbled again,

"Mama, please... just ten more minutes..."

This time, Ishaan couldn't help but smile, amused despite himself.

He bent down slightly, close enough to hear her soft breathing, and said quietly,

"Aanya, get up."

Still half-asleep, she giggled.

"Nice try, Mom. But pretending to sound like Dad won't work this time. I'm not falling for it. Let me sleep some more..."

Ishaan rolled his eyes, straightened up, and said dryly,

"It's not your mom, Mrs. Mehra. It's your husband. Now get up."

That did it.

Aanya's eyes snapped open. She froze, finding Ishaan's face just inches away from hers.
She screamed, jumping to her feet in shock.

"WHAT THE HELL! What are you doing in my room!?"

Ishaan arched a brow.

"Your room?" he repeated. "seriusly you should" maybe take a good look around before making that claim."

Aanya blinked, realizing with horror that he was right.
This was his room.

Her lips curled into an awkward, guilty smile.

"Uh... hi, Mr. Mehra..." she said, scratching her head sheepishly.

Ishaan crossed his arms.

"Hello, Mrs. Mehra. Would you care to explain why exactly you're sleeping on my table like a burglar caught mid-nap?"

Aanya looked down, fidgeting.

"Aunty... told me to shift here..." she mumbled, barely audible.

Ishaan blinked again.

"She what?"

The silence that followed was thick—and then, Ishaan slowly exhaled, muttering under his breath,

"Of course. Of course she did..."

He looks at her suitcase, then at her face.
"So, sikhu Mom told you?" he asks flatly.

Aanya swallows hard. "Yes... she said I should stay here. In your room."

He lets out a humorless chuckle, stepping aside. "ohh then you should, Mrs. Mehra."

The sarcasm in his voice cuts through her like ice.

She steps inside — slowly. The room smells faintly of rose and aftershave, sharp and masculine mix with her scent.  Everything in its place — neat, distant, controlled, just like him.

Aanya puts her suitcase near the corner. She doesn't look at him.
"I can sleep on the couch," she says quietly.

Ishaan glances at her — his expression unreadable.

"Do whatever you want," he replies, moving towards  the bathroom, about ten minutes later, he came out freshly showered, dressed in his night suit. Then he sat down on his bed, opened his laptop, and began typing.

The silence between them stretches — heavy, fragile.
Aanya stands awkwardly, clutching the edge of her dupatta. The faint glow from the lamp highlights the exhaustion in her face, the hurt she's trying to hide.

Finally, she exhales softly. "I didn't ask for any of this, Ishaan. You know that, right?"

He doesn't look up. "Neither did I."

The coldness of his tone makes her chest tighten.

"I lost everything because of you," she says bitterly, her voice trembling.
"My home, my name, my peace... and still, I'm the one everyone sees as guilty."

Ishaan's fingers freeze on the keyboard.
He looks up slowly, his eyes meeting hers — burning yet tired.
"And what about me, Aanya? You think I wanted to marry the sister of the man who destroyed my sister's life?"

Aanya's eyes glisten.
"You think punishing me will bring her back?" she asks softly.

He slams the laptop shut.
The sound echoes like thunder in the quiet room.

"No," he says sharply, standing up.
"But it'll remind him of what he did — every single day. Through you."

Tears slide down her face, but her voice doesn't break.
"Then fine," she says. "If that's what you want, use me. Hate me. Do whatever makes you sleep at night."

She turns away, wiping her tears.
"But someday, Ishaan... when the truth comes out — when you see what really happened — it won't be me you'll hate."

Her words hang in the air, sharp and haunting.
She walks toward the couch and sits down, her back turned to him.

Ishaan seat frozen — anger in his eyes, but guilt in his heart.
He runs a hand through his hair and exhales, looking at her silhouette in the dim light.
She looks so small, so fragile — yet somehow unbreakable.

He whispers under his breath, barely audible —

"Why do you make it so hard to hate you, Aanya..."

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