Siddharth sat alone in his cabin, his mind consumed by thoughts of how to meet Shruti and explain everything to her. He had been racking his brain for hours, but every idea he came up with seemed flawed. Just as he was about to give up, an idea struck him. He quickly checked his phone to see when the next art exhibition was scheduled to take place, knowing that Shruti always attended them.
"Perfect! It's in two days," he murmured to himself, a sense of determination rising within him.
Two days passed quickly, and Siddharth found himself standing outside the venue of the art exhibition, waiting for Shruti to arrive. He checked his watch for what felt like the hundredth time, his nerves beginning to get the better of him.
Just as he was starting to worry that Shruti might not show up, a car pulled up in front of the venue, and a young, beautiful woman climbed out. It was Shruti. Siddharth's heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of her, his breath catching in his throat.
He composed himself and walked towards her, calling out her name. "Shruti."
She looked up, her eyes locking onto his, and for a moment, they just stared at each other. Then, a flash of anger and hurt appeared on her face, and she turned away, walking in the opposite direction.
Siddharth followed her, trying to talk to her, but she ignored him, her shoulders stiff with anger. He tried again and again, but she refused to listen, her hurt and anger palpable.
As the exhibition drew to a close, Siddharth's frustration reached a boiling point. He pulled Shruti into a quiet hallway, his grip on her wrist tightening. "What are you doing?!" she exclaimed, trying to wriggle free.
Siddharth's patience wore off, and he tightened his grip. "You have to listen," he said, his voice low and urgent.
Shruti winced in pain, and Siddharth realized his grip was too tight. He released her wrist, his eyes filled with regret. "I'm...I'm sorry, Shruti."
But Shruti was having none of it. She held up her hand, her eyes flashing with anger. "Don't!" she warned, her voice trembling with emotion.
Siddharth took a step towards her, but Shruti stood her ground, her eyes blazing with fury. "I said don't!" she stormed, her voice echoing off the walls.
With that, she turned and stormed out of the hallway, leaving Siddharth standing alone, feeling defeated and frustrated. He punched the wall near him hard, his anger and frustration boiling over.
When he arrived at the Rai palace, Roohi's eyes widened in shock as she saw the blood on his hand.
"Bhaiya! What happened to your hand?" Roohi exclaimed, her voice filled with concern as she rushed towards Siddharth.
Siddharth sat down on the sofa, burying his head in his hands, his shoulders slumped in defeat. Roohi's eyes widened as she took in the sight of his bloody hand.
"Did Shruti say something?" Roohi asked, her voice soft with empathy.
Siddharth shook his head, his voice muffled by his hands. "She doesn't even want to listen," he said, his words laced with despair.
Roohi's heart went out to her brother, and she gently patted his head, trying to offer what little comfort she could. She quickly called out to one of the maids, instructing her to bring the first aid kit.
As she applied ointment to Siddharth's hand, he lay back on the sofa, his eyes fixed on the ceiling, lost in thought.
"I don't think she will forgive me," Siddharth said, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes filled with a deep sadness.
Roohi's heart ached at the sight of pain in her brother's eyes. She had never seen him like this before, so vulnerable and broken. She wrapped her arms around him, holding him close, trying to offer what little comfort she could.
"It's going to be okay, bhaiya," she whispered, her voice soft with reassurance. "We'll figure something out. We'll make it right."
As night descended upon the Rai estate, Roohi settled into her bed, her mind racing with thoughts of how to clear the misunderstanding between Shruti and Siddharth. She had seen the pain in her brother's eyes, and she was determined to do something to help him.
As she lay there, a sudden idea struck her. She threw off her covers and got out of bed, rummaging through her drawer for a piece of paper and a pen. She sat down at her desk, her mind racing with thoughts, and began to write a letter to Aryan.
The words flowed effortlessly onto the page as she wrote, her handwriting neat and precise. She wrote that she wanted to meet him, that she had something important to discuss with him. As she finished writing, she felt a sense of determination wash over her.
The next morning, Roohi sent the letter to the Doobay estate, her heart racing with anticipation. She wondered what Aryan's response would be, whether he would agree to meet her.
At the Doobay estate, Aryan received the letter and was taken aback by its contents. He was a little surprised and confused as to why Roohi wanted to meet him. He couldn't think of any reason why she would want to meet him alone.
However, he couldn't bring himself to say no to her request. Saying no to a lady would be inappropriate, and he didn't want to offend Roohi or her family. So, he agreed to meet her, curiosity getting the better of him.
They decided to meet the next day at a cafe at 12 pm. Aryan couldn't help but wonder what Roohi wanted to talk to him about, and he found himself looking forward to their meeting with a mix of curiosity and trepidation.
The next day, at the cafe, Aryan was sitting on a plush couch, waiting for Roohi to arrive. As he heard the sound of the door opening, he turned his head, and his heart skipped a beat as he took in the sight of her. A young woman, so beautiful, standing in a bright yellow dress that seemed to radiate sunshine.
Roohi walked towards him, her heels clicking on the floor, and sat down opposite him, a determined look on her face. "Mr. Doobay?" she asked, her voice snapping Aryan back to reality.
"Huh? Oh...yes?" Aryan stuttered, still trying to process the sight of Roohi's beauty.
Roohi's eyes sparkled with amusement, but she quickly composed herself. "You must be wondering why I called you here to meet me," she said, her voice confident and assertive.
Aryan nodded, intrigued by the mystery surrounding their meeting. "Actually, I want to tell you something very important," Roohi continued, crossing her hands across her chest.
"What is it?" Aryan asked, leaning forward, his curiosity piqued.
"Shruti and my bhaiya love each other," Roohi said, her voice filled with conviction.
Aryan's expression didn't change, and he replied, "Yes, I know that."
Roohi's eyes widened in surprise. "You know that?!" she exclaimed, her voice rising in pitch.
Aryan nodded calmly. "Then...then why are you marrying her?" Roohi asked, her voice laced with annoyance.
"Because she doesn't want to marry your bhaiya," Aryan replied, his expression neutral.
Roohi's face scrunched up in frustration. "She does!" she insisted.
Aryan raised an eyebrow. "Then tell me, why is she marrying me?" he asked, his voice tinged with amusement.
Roohi's face fell, and she looked down, her voice barely above a whisper. "That's because of a misunderstanding."
Aryan leaned back in his chair, relaxing himself, and crossing his legs. "Isn't it your bhaiya's fault that he didn't clear up the misunderstanding sooner?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.
Roohi's eyes flashed with irritation, and she glared at Aryan. "I know that! But...but he is regretting it now, and he wants to apologize for his mistake."
Aryan's gaze softened as he saw the tears welling up in Roohi's eyes. "Hey, hey...I'm sorry," he said, taking out his handkerchief and offering it to her.
But Roohi refused, her voice shaking. "I'm not crying."
Aryan chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. "Okay, okay," he said, composing himself. "Why are you laughing?" Roohi asked, her eyes narrowing.
Aryan's face straightened, and he replied, "No, I'm definitely not."
Roohi looked up at him, her eyes searching for answers. Aryan's expression softened, and he said, "Don't cry, Miss Rai. I'll help you."
Roohi's eyes widened in surprise. "You will?" she asked, her voice filled with hope.
Aryan nodded. "Now, please stop crying. If your bhaiya came to know that I made you cry, he will kill me."
Roohi's face scrunched up, and she chuckled, her tears momentarily forgotten. Aryan took in the moment, struck by her cuteness, and his heart skipped a beat.
"So, what's the plan, Miss Rai?" Aryan asked, his eyes sparkling with amusement.
Roohi raised an eyebrow, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. "How do you know that I have already made a plan?" she asked, her voice teasing.
Aryan chuckled, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "Well, aren't you a master of it?" he said, his tone light and playful.
Roohi's smile grew wider, and she looked sheepish, knowing that he was referring to the trip. She stood up and sat down beside him, their thighs touching as they sat together on the couch.
"So, here's the plan," Roohi began, but Aryan wasn't listening. He was too busy staring at her beautiful face, his heart racing from their close proximity. His breath caught in his throat when their knees touched, and he felt a jolt of electricity run through his body.
Roohi seemed oblivious to the tension between them and continued to explain her plan. "Did you get it?" she asked, turning towards him, which made their faces come closer together.
Their faces were just an inch away, and for a while, they both got lost in each other's eyes. The air around them seemed to vibrate with tension, and Aryan felt like he was drowning in the depths of Roohi's eyes.
The sound of the door clicking snapped them out of their trance-like state, and they both looked away, embarrassment written all over their faces.
"I...I'm sorry," Roohi stuttered, her cheeks flushing pink.
"It's...it's okay," Aryan replied, his voice low and husky.
Roohi stood up, her movements hurried. "I...I'll send you the plan through a letter," she said, her voice still shaking slightly.
Aryan nodded, still feeling the effects of their close proximity. "Oh, okay."
Roohi bowed slightly, her eyes avoiding his. "See you then."
With that, she stormed out of the cafe, leaving Aryan feeling bewildered and confused. He chuckled to himself, still trying to process what had just happened.
As he sat there, he couldn't shake off the feeling that he had just experienced something special, something that he couldn't quite put his finger on.
