Meher woke up and got ready in her usual pant-shirt ensemble.

She opened the door and was shocked to see Maa-sa standing there, her expression unreadable as she scanned Meher from head to toe.

"Is this how you're going to attend the pooja?" her voice was cold, laced with disapproval.

Meher looked down at herself, a mix of annoyance and defiance in her eyes.

"Ya Maa-sa, is there any problem?"

"Yeh pehli Navratri hai tumhari," she stated, her gaze shifting to the tray covered with a velvet cloth that she was holding.

"Dadi-sa ne tumhare liye saare bhji hai."

"Phenke aajana," she added, turning to leave, but Meher's voice stopped her.

"Maa-sa, mujhe saree pehanni nahi aati," she admitted, her tone almost inaudible, a flicker of vulnerability slipping through her tough exterior.

Maa-sa paused, her expression softening as she turned back to Meher.

It was the first time she had seen this softer side of Meher—someone beyond the fierce protector of Aarvi.

"Koi baat nahi. Main tumhe pehnane mein madad kar deti hu," she offered gently, her eyes filled with understanding.

Meher was taken aback by the warmth in her voice. "Really?" she asked, her surprise evident.

"Hmm," Maa-sa replied.

As they walked back into the room together, Maa-sa carefully laid out the saree, rich in color and embroidered with intricate designs, its beauty undeniable.

With Maa-sa’s guidance, Meher gradually learned how to drape the saree.

Once she was finally done, she turned to the mirror and was momentarily awestruck.

The woman looking back at her was not the Meher she usually saw—there was grace, elegance, and a certain ethereal beauty that she hadn't noticed before.

The saree clung to her perfectly, accentuating her features, but there was no joy on her face, no sense of pride in the reflection.

She touched the fabric lightly, tracing the intricate embroidery with her fingertips. "For Aarvi," she whispered softly to herself, a flicker of determination in her voice.

This was not about appearances, not about looking beautiful—it was for Aarvi, for the pooja, for her commitment to the little girl who now meant the world to her.

Maa-sa had already left the room, leaving Meher alone with her thoughts.

Taking a deep breath, Meher adjusted the saree one last time, ensuring everything was in place. Her eyes hardened with resolve.

She wasn’t here to impress anyone, especially not Vikram.

With that thought, she stepped out of the room, her chin held high, and made her way downstairs where the pooja preparations were in full swing.

As she entered the pooja hall, all eyes seemed to fall on her. People paused in their tasks, caught by surprise at seeing Meher in such a traditional outfit for the first time.

And then, there was Vikram.

He was mid-conversation with Dadi-sa when his gaze landed on her, and for a brief moment, he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

Meher, draped in the rich saree, was breathtaking. His heart skipped a beat, though he masked his reaction quickly, straightening his posture and forcing himself to look away.

Meher noticed the fleeting look on his face but chose to ignore it. She approached Dadi-sa, who smiled warmly at her, her eyes brimming with approval at seeing Meher embrace the family’s traditions for once.

Just as the pooja was about to begin, the doors opened once more, and the atmosphere shifted.

A new presence entered the room.

Yug, the youngest son of the Rathore family, strode in confidently, his smile as bright as ever. His energy filled the room instantly.

Meher turned to look at him, her confusion evident.

He stepped forward, giving his greetings to everyone, but when his eyes landed on Meher, they widened Meher turned to look at him, her confusion evident.

Yug stepped forward, greeting everyone with his usual enthusiasm, but when his eyes landed on Meher, they widened in shock.

“She’s... bhabhi, right?” he gasped, a look of disbelief crossing his face.

"Oh my God! I’m your biggest fan! I mean, I totally respect your business skills. Damn, I’m so lucky to have you in the family!"

His excitement was genuine, and for a moment, the tension in the room eased as he showered her with admiration.

Meher smiled softly.

As the pooja continued, Meher’s soft smile lingered in the air, and Vikram, despite himself, couldn’t help but notice.

It was the first time he had ever seen her smile, and something about it tugged at him.

His eyes lingered on her for a moment longer than they should have, before he snapped himself out of it, quickly diverting his gaze.

"What the hell was that…" he muttered under his breath, frustration boiling inside him. He couldn’t afford to be distracted, not by her.

After the pooja, everyone gathered in the living area, the atmosphere warm and festive.

Yug, still buzzing with excitement, couldn't stop talking.

"Bhabhi, you have to give me some business tips! I need to learn from the best!" he said, his tone light and playful.

Meher, still trying to process the sudden attention from Yug, chuckled softly, feeling a bit more at ease. "We’ll see," she replied with a small smirk.

But while the others were engaged in conversation, Vikram remained distant, his gaze occasionally flicking over to Meher.

There was something about her today that was unsettling him in ways he couldn't understand.

Just as things seemed to settle, Vikram's voice cut through the chatter, cold and sharp,

“Yug,stop calling her bhabhi she is not your bhabhi she is just here for aarvi."

The tension in the room thickened instantly. Meher's smile vanished, and her eyes shot to Vikram, narrowing in anger.

"I don’t need you to remind me of my place," she spat, her voice low but dangerous.

Yug, caught off guard, looked between the two, sensing the crackling tension. "Uh...did I miss something?" he asked cautiously.

"Nothing, I'm going to the office," Meher said curtly, her voice devoid of emotion as she grabbed her bag and turned on her heels.

Without waiting for a response, she marched out of the house, leaving behind the tense air and Vikram’s burning gaze.

As she left, Vikram’s eyes followed her retreating figure, his fists still clenched.

There was something about the way she dismissed everything—him, the situation—that ignited his frustration even more.

How could she act so unaffected?