FOUR

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AUTHOR'S POV

Isha’s eyes were fixed on the grand entrance, her breath caught somewhere between anticipation and curiosity. And then… he appeared.

VEER SINGH RATHORE

He walked through the towering doors like he owned the very ground beneath him—and maybe he did. Tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in effortless perfection, there was something dangerously magnetic about him. His presence alone demanded attention—no need for words, no need for theatrics. He was the silence that made everyone else quiet.

His dark eyes scanned the space, sharp and unreadable, like they saw more than they let on. There was no warmth in them—only calm calculation, a storm that refused to show itself unless it wanted to. It wasn’t just his looks—it was the way he carried himself. The way his tailored shirt clung to his frame, sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal veins that tensed every time he clenched his fists.

His jaw was strong, his face sculpted like it had been carved with precision. Not flawless in a soft, charming way—but rugged, real, the kind of handsome that makes you forget how to breathe for a second. And yet, there was a certain coldness that lingered around him. Like walls built high, like shadows that followed him everywhere he went.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

With every step he took, the air grew heavier—charged with something raw, something untouchable. A living contradiction: quiet but powerful, distant but impossible to ignore.

And in that moment, standing under the golden light of the chandelier, Veer Singh Rathore looked less like a man…and more like a storm that had simply chosen to walk on two legs.

Veer walked in through the front door with the same quiet confidence he always carried — tall, composed, and entirely unbothered by the buzz of conversation filling the hall.

He didn’t spare a single glance in her direction.

Not even a flicker of acknowledgment.

As if she didn’t exist.

Instead, he walked straight past her like a ghost brushing shoulders with the wind — and made his way toward Dadu.

Bending slightly, he touched Dadu’s feet with respect and then stood to hug him tightly. A rare softness passed across his otherwise stoic face in that moment — one reserved only for the old man who had raised him like his own.

Rajesh, standing beside them, smiled and patted Veer’s back warmly.

“How are you, young man?” he asked, his voice gruff with affection.

Veer nodded, his tone calm and steady. “Better now, Uncle.”

And still… not even a glance in her direction.

Isha stood there, frozen in place, a polite smile still lingering on her lips — one she didn’t remember putting on. Her heart, however, thudded loudly against her chest.

She hated how it bothered her.

She hated even more than she noticed.

Among the many faces in the room, Isha was the only one looking at him with a mixture of confusion and quiet disbelief. She wasn’t expecting a grand gesture or attention — but to be completely ignored? That stung a little more than she liked to admit.

Shivanya, ever observant, caught the flicker of confusion in Isha’s expression. A soft, knowing smile played on her lips as she made her way toward Veer, who was now casually talking to Rajesh, still not acknowledging the girl standing just a few steps away.

She gently placed a hand on his arm to get his attention.

“Veer,” she said, with a cheerful nudge, “ye Isha hai — Anaya aur Suresh ji ki beti.”

(“Veer, this is Isha — Anaya and Mr. Suresh’s daughter.”)

Veer finally turned his head slightly, eyes flickering toward Isha for the first time. But there was no warmth, no smile, not even the polite charm he reserved for acquaintances.

He just… nodded. A single, emotionless nod.

And then turned back to the conversation as if the introduction had never happened.

Isha blinked, caught off guard by the coldness.

Wow. That was... something.

The room moved on. The conversations continued. But for her that one silent, dismissive nod lingered far longer than it should have.

HER POV

I blinked, finally snapping out of my thoughts, and looked at him again.

He had just nodded…

That’s it? Just a nod?

Ohh God…

Was I looking that bad today?

Haan, tabhi toh inhone meri taraf bas ek baar dekha — wo bhi shayad galti se.

The overthinker in me instantly went into panic mode, replaying every second since he walked in. My hair, my outfit, my face — I suddenly felt like I should’ve changed twice more before coming downstairs.

Before my mind could spiral further, I heard Mom’s voice calling out from the kitchen, snapping me out of my pity party.

“Isha, kitchen mein zara aana beta!”

I quickly turned and headed toward the kitchen, pushing away the ridiculous thoughts as best as I could. She was standing near the counter, arranging plates.

“Isha, tu ye chai ki tray leke jaa, main nashta leke aati hoon,” she said, her tone brisk but gentle.

(“Isha, you take this tray of tea, I’ll bring the breakfast.”)

I nodded silently and picked up the heavy tea tray carefully, balancing it with both hands. The warmth from the cups seeped into my palms — oddly comforting in that moment of inner chaos.

And as I walked out of the kitchen toward the hall… one thought stubbornly refused to leave my mind:

Just a nod? Really?

With great difficulty, I balanced myself with the heavy tray in my hands and stepped into the hall. Every step felt like a challenge, but I kept my smile intact — the perfect host, the obedient daughter. One by one, I handed out the cups of tea, offering each with a polite nod and a soft “Please.”

And then, finally, I reached him.

Veer.

I extended the last cup toward him, the tray now lighter, but my heartbeat is impossibly heavier. He looked up — straight at me — and for a moment, everything stilled.

His gaze wasn’t just a look. It had weight — intense, unreadable, and far too sharp for my liking. My fingers almost trembled, and I wasn’t sure if it was from the heat of the cup or the sudden shift in the air between us.

He was about to say something — I could see it in the way his lips parted slightly — but before a single word escaped, Shivanya aunty’s voice cut through the tension.

“Actually, beta, Veer chai nahi peeta. Woh black coffee peeta hai,” she said with a small, apologetic smile.

(“Actually, dear, Veer doesn’t drink tea. He prefers black coffee.”)

I turned to her politely, but not before I caught that he was still looking at me.

Of course he was. Now that I have finally turned away.

I quickly shifted my gaze and offered a soft smile to Aunty.

“It’s okay, Aunty. Main abhi coffee bana ke laati hoon,” I said warmly.

And before anyone else could offer or protest, I turned and walked back toward the kitchen.

My footsteps are faster now. Not rushed, but definitely flustered. I didn’t want to admit it, but something about that look — his look — had completely shaken me.

I reached the kitchen, set the tray down, and began preparing the black coffee. My hands moved automatically, but my mind? It was stuck on a pair of eyes that had looked through me like they knew far more than I was ready to show.

Agar unhe mere hath ki coffee achi nhi lagi toh ,

Agar wo mujh par sabke samne gusse me chillane lage toh..

Par mujhe itna fark kyu pad rha h ne to unhe itna jaanti bhi nhi hu....

("What if he doesn’t like the coffee I make?

What if he starts yelling at me in front of everyone?

But… why does it even bother me so much? It’s not like I know him that well...")

I came out of my thoughts just in time to see the coffee was ready. The aroma filled the kitchen, rich and strong — just like the man it was meant for. I poured the hot black coffee into a clean mug, placed it carefully on the tray, and walked back to the hall.

But the spot where he was sitting earlier? Empty.

“Beta, he’s in the garden,” Shivanya aunty said, noticing my confused expression. “Use ek important call aa gaya tha. Laao, do, main usi coffee de deti hoon.”

(“Beta, he’s in the garden. He got an important call. Give it to me, I’ll take the coffee to him.”)

Before I could reply, Mom stepped in.

“Arey aap baith jaiye, Isha de degi,” she said with a smile.

(“Oh, please, have a seat. Isha will give it to him.”)

Aunty looked at me questioningly, and I quickly gave a small nod.

“I-It’s okay, Aunty… main de dungi,” I mumbled.

{"It's okay I'll give him"}

She nodded back, and I turned to leave.

With slow, hesitant steps, I walked into the garden. The cool night breeze brushed against my skin, carrying the soft rustle of leaves. And then, I saw him.

His back was facing me, broad and still. He wore a crisp white shirt tucked neatly into black pants. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, and the top two buttons of his shirt were undone. His arms were tense, veins prominent, the light from the garden lamps highlighting the sharp lines of his frame.

I stopped a few steps behind him, heart drumming loudly in my chest.

“Coffee,” I said softly, almost questioning if I should’ve spoken at all.

He turned, ending his call with a short, clipped tone. His gaze fell on me immediately, sharp and unreadable.

I extended the cup toward him. He took it without a word, fingers brushing mine for the briefest second and yet it felt like a spark passed through me.

I turned around quickly, ready to escape this awkward tension, but then—

“Thanks for the coffee.”

His voice stopped me in my tracks.

It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t warm.

It was dark. Intense. Cold.

And yet… somehow, it stirred something in me.

I turned slightly, meeting his gaze — only to find he was already looking at me. I swallowed nervously, then whispered, “W-Welcome.”

And before I could embarrass myself further, I practically ran back inside the mansion.

Oh God… why was I stuttering?

He literally just said three words  Thanks for coffee.

That’s it.

I shook my head, forcing the thoughts away as I entered the hall again. Laughter and chatter filled the space. Everyone seemed so relaxed, so happy.

I took a seat quietly, trying to blend into the background, but his sister suddenly leaned toward me with a sweet smile.

“Can you give me your number?”

Omg. She was adorable — and those dimples! I couldn’t help but smile back, gently pulling her cheeks.

“Of course,” I said with a grin.

We exchanged numbers and, in a matter of minutes, were chatting like old friends. She had this bubbly charm that made it impossible not to like her.

Time passed quickly in that warmth — conversations, teasing, laughter, dinner.

Eventually, they left, smiling and waving their goodbyes. The house slowly returned to quiet.

And as for him — after the coffee moment, I didn’t see him again.

He had already left.

Some urgent work, apparently.

But his voice… his eyes…

They stayed.

AT NIGHT:

I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling as the silence of the night wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket.

The room was dim, peaceful  everything I should’ve needed to fall asleep.

But sleep…

Sleep was nowhere near me.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t shut my eyes without seeing his face.

Veer.

The way he looked at me.

The coldness in his voice.

That unspoken something in his eyes.

Again and again, his face flashed before me, making my chest tighten with something I couldn’t name — confusion, irritation, or maybe something deeper I wasn’t ready to admit.

I turned to one side… then the other…

Pulled the blanket over me… then pushed it off again.

Nothing helped.

Frustrated, I finally sat up with a sigh and switched on the tiny lamp beside my bed. The soft golden glow filled the space, making everything feel more real — more awake.

I reached for the drawer of my nightstand and pulled it open slowly.

The bottle of sleeping pills sat right there, untouched for weeks.

But tonight, I couldn’t fight it.

I popped the lid open with shaky fingers, took one pill, and gulped it down with the glass of water sitting nearby.

My head hit the pillow again.

And this time, I didn’t even realize when the heaviness settled in.

My eyes closed slowly…

And the last thing I remembered was the image of Veer — silent, unreadable, yet hauntingly unforgettable.

And then — nothing.

Darkness.

Sleep.

Finally.

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