Aryan drove through the winding streets of the city until he turned into a narrow, bustling gully (alleyway).

The lane was too cramped for the Mercedes to pass, so he parked outside near the main road.

Anjali's eyes lit up the moment she saw the colorful shops and the crowded walkways.

 A nostalgic smile played on her lips as they got out and started walking hand-in-hand into the heart of the alley.

"Yahan mili thi tum mujhe pehli baar," Aryan said, looking around at the familiar corners.

"Yaad hai? Tum itni jaldi mein thi ki mujhse takra gayi aur seedha meri white shirt pe ink gira di thi."

Anjali chuckled, remembering the look of pure horror on his face that day.

"Aur tum kitna natak kar rahe the! 'Do you have any idea how expensive this shirt is?'" she mimicked his deep, arrogant voice from back then, making him burst out laughing.

"Expensive toh thi!" Aryan defended himself, pulling her closer so a passing cycle wouldn't hit her.

"Upar se mera ek bohot important event tha. Maine socha tha ki pata nahi kaun badtameez ladki hai jo dekh ke nahi chalti."

"Badtameez?" Anjali raised an eyebrow, nudging him with her elbow.

"Maine toh sorry bola tha na? Par tum toh sunne ko taiyaar hi nahi the. Tumhare 'ego' ko chot jo pahunchi thi."

"Par phir maine tumhari aankhein dekhi," Aryan's voice softened, his tone turning from playful to intense as he stopped walking and looked at her.

"Pata hai, us din shirt toh kharab hui thi, par mera dil bhi wahi ruk gaya tha. Maine usse pehle kabhi kisi ko itne gusse mein itna khoobsurat nahi dekha tha."

Anjali blushed, looking down at their intertwined fingers. 

"Tum hamesha aise hi baatein ghumate ho. Pehle ladte ho, phir makkhan lagate ho."

"Makkhan nahi laga raha, sach bol raha hoon," Aryan whispered, leaning down a bit.

"Aaj bhi jab hum is gully se guzar rahe hain, mujhe wahi purani wali feeling aa rahi hai. Wahi darr ki kahin tum phir se mujhse takra kar gayab na ho jao."

Anjali smiled and squeezed his hand firmly. 

"Ab nahi jaungi, Mr.taneja . Ab toh tumhe jhelna hi padega."

"Isse pyari saza aur kya hogi?" he teased, before pointing to a small old library nearby.

Anjali moved his face away, her cheeks burning a deep red. 

"Pagal... chalo!" she whispered, a shy smile playing on her lips. 

She didn't wait for his reply; she just grabbed his wrist and pulled him deeper into the narrow lane.

They stopped in front of a small, weather-worn door with a faded sign: The Old Archive Library.

It was a place they hadn't visited in years, a quiet sanctuary hidden away from the noisy market.

 As they stepped inside, the smell of old paper and vanilla filled the air.

The moment Anjali saw the towering shelves of books, her eyes lit up like a child's.

 She completely forgot she was holding Aryan's hand and let go, heading straight for the fiction section.

 She started browsing the titles, her fingers dancing over the spines of the novels.

She pulled a book from the shelf, holding it up to her face to read the blurb, while on the other side of the same shelf, Aryan was watching her through the gaps between the books. 

He was just gazing at her, mesmerized by how the soft library light hit her face.

Anjali pulled the book away from her face and turned around, but Aryan quickly ducked.

 He frowned, wanting to tease her back, and decided to circle around the shelf to surprise her.

 But when he reached the aisle, it was empty. She was gone.

He looked around, confused. "Anjali?"

"BOO!"

Anjali jumped out from behind a heavy velvet curtain, laughing at the way he jumped. 

But before she could run away, Aryan's hand shot out. He grabbed her by the waist and pulled her back, pinning her gently but firmly against the wooden bookshelf.

He placed a finger on her lips to stop her laughter, his gaze turning dark and intense. 

He leaned in, his chest brushing against hers, and whispered in her ear.

"You think it's funny to play games with me in a place this quiet?" he murmured, his voice velvety and deep.

 "Do you have any idea how long I've waited to have you trapped like this? Just you, me, and a thousand stories... but right now, the only story I care about is the one happening between us."

Anjali's breath hitched.

 "Aryan... koi dekh lega," she whispered breathlessly.

"Let them look," he replied, his eyes dropping to her lips before meeting hers again.

 "I've spent four years looking at a ghost. Now that you're real, I'm not letting you go that easily. You look so beautiful under these dim lights, it's actually making me lose my mind. I don't care about the books, Anjali. I just want to read every expression on your face until I know you by heart again."

He leaned even closer, his nose brushing against hers. 

"So, tell me, Mrs. Taneja... should I punish you for scaring me, or should I just kiss you until you forget your own name?"

Anjali bit her lip, her heart hammering against her ribs. 

"Tum sach mein... bohot bade badmash ho gaye ho."

"Only for you, jaan," he whispered, his thumb grazing her lower lip. 

"Only for you."

Aryan leaned in, his lips meeting hers in a kiss that started slow and agonizingly gentle.

 It was as if he was trying to memorize the texture of her lips after a lifetime of waiting. 

The tension in the narrow aisle was thick, the only sound being their mingled breaths and the faint ticking of an old clock somewhere in the back.

For a few seconds, he pulled away just an inch, his forehead resting against hers. Anjali gasped, her chest heaving as she struggled to find her voice. 

"Mujhe... saans toh lene do," she whispered, her eyes fluttering open, dark with emotion.

Aryan didn't say a word. He just smirked, a look of pure, hungry devotion in his eyes. 

He didn't give her a chance to recover before he captured her lips again, much more deeply this time.

 The kiss turned intense and demanding, his tongue tracing her lips before pushing inside.

 Anjali's hands flew to his hair, her fingers tangling in the locks as she pulled him closer, completely lost in him.

Slowly, Aryan shifted his focus, his lips trailing down to the sensitive skin of her neck. 

He breathed against her skin, making her shiver, before leaving a lingering, dark mark right on her collarbone. 

Anjali let out a soft moan, her head falling back against the books.

 He was about to go lower, his hands gripping her waist tighter, when a loud, shrill shriek pierced the silence like a siren.

"AYEE! BACCHA LOG! YE TUM DONO KA BEDROOM NAHI HAI!"

The sound was like a bucket of ice water. Both of them jumped, their hearts nearly leaping out of their chests.

"YE CHUMA-CHATI APNE BEDROOM MEIN KARNA! YE HUMARA LIBRARY HAI!"

They whipped their heads around to see the old librarian, Mrs. D'Souza, standing at the end of the aisle. 

She was tiny, hunched over, with a thick wooden walking stick like a weapon. 

Her spectacles were perched on the tip of her nose, and she looked absolutely dangerous.

In their frantic rush to get away from each other, Aryan accidentally bumped his shoulder hard into the heavy oak bookshelf behind him.

 Because the library was ancient, the shelf groaned, wobbled, and then—in slow motion—tilted backward.

CRASH!

The entire shelf tipped over, hitting the one behind it like a row of dominos. 

Books flew everywhere, dust billowed into the air, and the loud thud echoed through the entire building.

Anjali's eyes widened, and Aryan looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him whole.

Mrs. D'Souza's face turned from red to purple.

"OH MY JESUS! Look at this mess!" she screamed, hobbling forward and shaking her stick at them.

"You young people! No control! You come in here looking like a decent couple, and then you start wrestling with the furniture! My 50-year-old shelves! Do you think books grow on trees?!"

"Ma'am, I am so sorry, it was an accident—" Aryan tried to start, smoothing his hair down while his face burned with embarrassment.

"Accident? My foot!" the lady barked. 

"You were too busy being a Romeo to notice the gravity! Now, don't just stand there looking like a statue and a painting. Correct your mess! Pick up every single book! If I find even one page folded, I will call the police and tell them you were doing... doing dirty things in the history section!"

Anjali hid her face in her hands, her ears glowing red. 

"Hum kar rahe hain saaf, sorry aunty..."

"Aunty mat bolo mujhe! Pick up the books!" the librarian huffed, turning around but still muttering loudly.

"Nowadays kids have no patience. In my time, we used to just hold hands and be happy. These two... trying to bring the whole library down for one kiss. Besharam!"

Aryan looked at Anjali, who was already on her knees frantically picking up novels, and he couldn't help it—he let out a stifled snicker.

"Hanste kya ho? Help karo!" Anjali hissed, hitting his leg with a paperback.

"Sorry, Jaan," Aryan whispered, kneeling down beside her, his eyes still twinkling with mischief. 

"But admit it... that was worth the mess."