Author's POV:

The morning brought no clarity, only a sharper sense of regret.

Inside the high-tech sanctuary of his studio, Veer was struggling. The strings of his guitar, which usually felt like an extension of his own soul, now felt like cold, unforgiving wire. 

Every time he closed his eyes to find a melody, he saw Vani's face—not the smiling girl from the cafe, but the girl in the hotel lobby, her eyes reflecting a shattered reality.

He struck a chord. Discordant. He tried again. A sharp screech.

"Veer, this is the 30th time you've messed up the transition. What's wrong?" the music producer asked through the intercom, sounding frustrated.

Veer didn't answer. He couldn't. He placed the guitar on its stand with a heavy thud.

 "I need a break," he muttered, walking out before anyone could protest.

He headed straight for the rooftop of the studio building. 

The Mumbai wind was humid, but he didn't care. He pulled a cigarette from his pocket and lit it, the smoke swirling around his face as he stared at the horizon. 

Kaise sorry bolu?  The question was a repetitive loop in his mind.

"Aise hi khada rahega ya phir kuch karega bhi?" 

Veer didn't need to turn around to know it was Rudra. He stayed silent, taking a long drag.

 Rudra came to stand beside him, leaning his elbows on the railing.

"Kya karu, Rudra? Voh toh mujhe dekhna bhi nahi chahti," Veer said, his voice laced with defeat.

Rudra sighed, patting Veer's shoulder. 

"Toh woh kar jisme tu mahir hai. Stalk kar use... chote-chote gifts de." 

Veer turned to him with a deadpan, "done" face. 

"Tujhe lagta hai main use stalk karta hoon?" 

Rudra chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. 

"Are nahi mere bhai, mera woh matlab nahi tha! Dekh, tu Vani ko sorry bolna chahta hai par tu janta hai ki woh itni asani se nahi manegi. Toh choti-choti cheezon se start kar na use manane ki."

Veer flicked his cigarette away, looking intrigued despite himself.

 "Kaise?" 

"Jaise filmon mein karte hain!" 

Veer looked at Rudra with a blank stare. 

"Tu janta hai main movies nahi dekhta." 

Rudra rolled his eyes.

"Tujhe koi movie dekhne ke liye nahi keh raha hoon, bhai. Tujhe bas use ye dikhane ke liye kah raha hoon ki tu kitna guilty hai jhoot bolne ke liye aur yeh dikhane ke liye ki tu timepass nahi kar raha tha."

Veer nodded slowly, the gears in his head finally turning. Rudra patted his back one last time, encouraging his friend to fight for what he loved.

Whereas;

The atmosphere was much quieter across town.

 Vani was curled up on the sofa, mindlessly munching on a bowl of chips. 

Usually, chips were her comfort food, but today they tasted like cardboard. 

Her heart felt heavy, like a weight was pressing down on her chest.

Noor sat down beside her and gently tapped her shoulder. 

Vani looked up, her expression dull.

Noor signed gently: "Ek baar baat karke toh dekh le."

Vani huffed, putting the bowl down with a sharp click.

 She signed back, her movements fast and annoyed:

"Tu toh bolegi hi na... woh tera favorite singer jo hai."

Noor sighed, her hands moving to explain. "Nahi yaar, mera matlab—"

But Vani didn't want to hear it. She signed and turned away, her jaw set. 

"Mujhe uske baare mein baat nahi karni."

Suddenly, Vani's phone vibrated. It was a message from Arnav. 

"Tum free ho kal college ke baad? Toh practice ke liye saath chalenge."

Vani typed back immediately: "Haan, okay".

Noor was peeking over her shoulder, curious as ever. When Vani finished, she turned and gave Noor a look of total exasperation. 

Noor just smiled cheekily, shrugged her shoulders, and skipped off into the kitchen.

Vani's POV

I sat in the silence of the living room, my phone still warm in my hand.

 My eyes drifted to the chat history at the top of my list.

Vivaan. No, not Vivaan. Veer. I viewed the last message he sent—

the one where he promised to wait for my forgiveness.

My heart did a painful little tug, but then I remembered the feeling of being a fool. 

I felt like a character in a game he was playing because he was bored of his superstar life.

I tapped on the three dots in the top corner of our chat.

 My thumb hovered over the screen for a long time.

Yahi sahi hai, I thought. Mujhe us 'Vivaan' ki yaad nahi chahiye jo kabhi tha hi nahi.

I clicked 'Block.' The screen flickered, and suddenly, his profile picture—

that small, blurry garden—disappeared. A cold void settled in my stomach. I put the phone face down on the sofa and hugged my knees to my chest.

While the emotional storm brewed in Mumbai, a much more professional—

yet equally electric—tension was rising in Chandigarh.

The Chandigarh High Court

The courtroom was silent, the air thick with the scent of old paper and the hum of the air conditioner. Aishwarya was in her element. 

Clad in her crisp black robes, she stood with the posture of a queen and the precision of a surgeon.

"Your honor," Aishwarya's voice rang out, clear and authoritative.

 "My client, Mr. Mehra, has held the title to this land for three decades. Mr. Ahuja's 'redevelopment project' isn't just an urban plan; it's a systematic land grab disguised as progress."

She began laying out proofs...deeds, historical maps, and witness statements with a sharp, rhythmic flick of her wrist.

 She was back in her full "Lawyer Mode," cold, calculating, and brilliant.

Across the room, Amar Singh Ahuja wasn't looking at the documents.

 He wasn't even looking at the Judge. He sat in the mahogany chair, leaning back, his eyes locked onto Aishwarya. 

He watched the way her eyes sparked with fire when she made a point, the way her lips curved into a triumphant line when the opposing counsel stumbled.

To him, this wasn't a property dispute. It was a performance. And she was the star.

"Ahuja Sahab, aap sun rahe hain?" the Judge asked, noticing Amar's distraction.

Amar smiled slowly, his gaze never leaving Aishwarya. 

"Ji, Mylord. ye bole aur mai na suna aisa ho sakta hai kya"

Aishwarya stiffened, her pen pausing mid-air. 

She shot him a look that could have killed a lesser man, but Amar only winked.

The session ended in a stalemate, but Aishwarya knew she had the upper hand.

 She returned to the defense table, frantically packing her files into her briefcase.

She was so focused on her papers that she didn't hear the footsteps. Suddenly, the sunlight was blocked out. 

She felt a "tower" rising behind her—a solid, warm presence that made the hair on her neck stand up.

She spun around in a hurry. "Listen, I told you—"

THUD.

Her forehead slammed directly into a wall of firm, expensive wool and muscle.

"Ouch!" Aishwarya gasped, stumbling back and rubbing her forehead. 

She looked up, wincing.

Amar hadn't moved an inch. He stood there like a mountain, his hands tucked casually in his pockets, looking down at her with a mix of amusement and something much deeper.

"Aram se, Lawyer Sahiba,chot toh nhi lagi" Amar murmured, his voice like velvet.

Aishwarya stopped rubbing her head and glared at him. 

"Lagi bhi ho toh aapko kya neta ji..aur hatiye mere raste se mujhe bahut kaam hai"

Amar leaned in, closing the gap until she could feel the heat radiating from him. 

"Kaam toh hota rahega. Par aapne notice kiya? Aaj aapne mera naam 14 baar liya court mein. Itna yaad karti hain mujhe?"

Aishwarya's breath hitched. The physical tension between them was so thick it felt like the air was vibrating. 

She adjusted her collar, trying to regain her professional shield.

"Woh 'yaad' nahi tha, accusation tha," she snapped, though her voice lacked its usual bite.

"Kanoon ki kitaab mein aapka naam 'criminal' ki list mein aata hai, romantic novels mein nahi."

Amar chuckled, a low, vibrating sound.

 He reached out, his fingers hovering just inches from the stray strand of hair near her ear.

"Criminal toh main bachpan se hoon, Lawyer Sahiba... par pehli baar kisi ne mera jurm (crime) itni khoobsurti se pesh kiya hai."

Aishwarya's heart hammered against her ribs, the sound echoing in her ears like a drum. 

She was trapped between the heavy mahogany table and the sheer magnetic force of the man in front of her. 

She went to open her mouth to deliver a stinging rebuttal, but the words died in her throat.

Amar didn't back away. Instead, he leaned in further, his shadow completely enveloping her.

 Aishwarya flinched, her eyes fluttering shut for a split second as she felt his warmth move closer. She expected a taunt, a whisper, or a challenge.

Instead, she felt the ghost-light touch of his fingertips against her cheek. Her eyes snapped open. 

Amar wasn't grabbing her; he was focused on a single, stubborn strand of hair that had caught on the corner of her lipstick.

 With agonizing slowness, his thumb brushed the edge of her lip, tucking the hair behind her ear.

"Ghabraiye mat, Lawyer Sahiba," Amar murmured, his voice dropping to a low, intimate vibration. 

"Main kanoon todta zaroor hoon, par itni khoobsurat cheez ko nuksaan pahunchane ka jurm main kabhi nahi karunga."

The touch sent a jolt of electricity through Aishwarya that made her knees feel like water.

 For a heartbeat, she forgot the court, the files, and the land grab. She only saw the dark, intense hunger in his eyes.

Then, the "Lawyer Mode" kicked back in with a vengeance. 

She regained her senses and shoved his chest with both hands.

"Door rahiye mujhse!" she snapped, her face flushed a deep crimson partly from anger, partly from the heat he had ignited.

"Aap bhul rahe hain ki hum dushman hain, Neta ji. Yeh filmy dialogues apne voters ke liye bachakar rakhiye."

Amar stumbled back a step, but he didn't look offended. He looked like he was having the time of his life. 

He smoothed out his waistcoat, his eyes dancing with mischief.

"Dushmani mein bhi toh ek rishta hota hai, lawyer sahiba," he said, using her name for the first time. 

The way it rolled off his tongue made her breath catch.

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a heavy, gold-embossed card. 

He didn't hand it to her; he placed it slowly on top of her briefcase.

"Kal raat mere farmhouse par ek choti si mehfil hai. Chandigarh ke bade log honge... aur unke beech ek criminal aapka intezar karega."

He stepped closer one last time, his voice a silken trap.

"Aaiyega zaroor. Suna hai court ke bahar aap aur bhi zyada khatarnak lagti hain. Main dekhna chahta hoon ki aap sirf kanoon se ladti hain, ya dil se bhi."

He gave her a slow, lingering look that felt like a caress before turning on his heel. 

His bodyguards fell into step behind him, their footsteps echoing through the empty courtroom.

Aishwarya stood there, frozen, staring at the gold card. 

Her fingers were still tingling from where she had pushed him. 

She grabbed the card, intending to tear it up, but her eyes caught the elegant script.

"Pagal hai ye," she whispered to the empty room. "Bilkul pagal."