Meanwhile;

Veer paced the length of his living room, the expensive Italian marble floor feeling cold beneath his feet. He finally stopped, his fingers trembling as he opened Instagram.

 He needed to explain. He needed to tell her how sorry he is.

But when he tapped on her profile, the screen stayed blank. No posts. No followers. Just a hollow, white void where her world used to be.

He refreshed the page. Once. Twice. Ten times.

"Fuck! No... no, no, no!" Veer yelled, the phone almost slipping from his sweat-slicked palm. Panic, raw and suffocating, clawed at his throat.

 It felt like the air in the penthouse had suddenly been sucked out.

Being ignored by millions of fans was nothing, but being shut out by this one girl felt like a death sentence.

He lunged for his phone and dialed Rudra's number. 

"Sun... sun, jaldi aa flat pe! ABHI!"

He hung up without waiting for a reply. Five minutes later, the door burst open.

Rudra came sprinting in, huffing and clutching his chest, his face flushed.

"Ky-kya h-hua?" Rudra wheezed, doubling over to catch his breath.

"Security breeched? Paparazzi outside? Terrorist attack?!"

Veer looked at him, his eyes wide and frantic. 

"Usne mujhe block kar diya, Rudra. Instagram se block kar diya."

Rudra froze. He slowly straightened his back, his breathing returning to normal as he stared at Veer with a look of pure, unadulterated disbelief.

"Sirf yahi?" Rudra asked, his voice flat.

"Haan toh? 'Sirf' matlab kya hai tera?" Veer snapped, running a hand through his messy hair.

"Mujhe laga kuch important hoga! I thought the house was on fire!" Rudra sighed, walking over to the couch and collapsing onto it.

He grabbed a glass, poured some water, and drank it in one go while watching Veer pace like a caged tiger.

"Oh, important hi hai yeh!" Veer shot back.

"Tu samajh nahi raha hai, it was the only way I could talk to her!"

Rudra wiped his mouth and looked at him skeptically. 

"Instagram se toh block kiya hai na? WhatsApp pe message kar de. Simple."

Veer stopped pacing. He looked down at his feet, his shoulders slumping.

Rudra's eyes narrowed as he sensed the silence.

 "Yeh mat boliyo... ki tere paas uska number nahi hai?"

Veer slowly shook his head, looking like a scolded child.

Rudra let out a long, loud groan, throwing his head back against the sofa. 

"Email? Snapchat? Facebook? Linked-In?"

"Kuch nahi hai," Veer whispered.

Rudra stood up, throwing his hands in the air.

"Abe gadhe! Maine apni poori zindagi mein pehla aisa ladka dekha hai jo ek superstar hai, jiske peeche poori duniya deewani hai, lekin usne ek ladki se dosti ki aur uska number tak nahi liya! Tu digital era ka Majnu hai ya stone age ka?"

Veer looked absolutely miserable, his head hanging low as he stared at the blank Instagram screen.

"Tab zaroorat nahi padi thi, Rudra. Hum wahan baat kar lete the... it felt enough. I didn't want to push her or make her uncomfortable. "

"Haan, par ab toh phas gaya na..." Rudra remarked, crossing his arms.

Veer slumped down on the couch beside him, his shoulders heavy with defeat.

"Toh isiliye toh tujhe bulaya hai. Please, mujhe bata main kya karu? I'm losing my mind here."

Rudra looked at him, a slow, mischievous smirk spreading across his face. 

"Main bata toh doon... par mujhe kya milega?"

Veer rolled his eyes, let out a frustrated huff. 

"Ab tujhe kya chahiye? Just name it."

Rudra's grin widened into something truly predatory. 

"Zyada kuch nahi... bas, teri hone vali madam ki us teekhi dost ka number."

Veer turned to him with a completely "done" expression, gesturing wildly at his empty phone screen.

"Yahan mere paas Vani ka number nahi hai, aur tu keh raha hai main uski dost ka number doon? Waah!"

Rudra shook his head dismissively. 

"Na, na! Abhi nahi maang raha hoon. I know the situation is dry right now. Main tab ki baat kar raha hoon jab sab sort ho jaye. It's a long-term investment."

Veer sighed, realizing he had no other choice. 

"Theek hai, done. Ab madad kar meri."

Rudra stood up, his playful demeanor shifting into "Mastermind Manager" mode.

 He began pacing the room, pointing a finger at Veer to emphasize his points.

"Dekh, meri baat dhyan se sun. Number nikalwana mere liye do minute ka kaam hai, lekin. Agar tu achanak uske WhatsApp pe tapak gaya, toh it will look more creepy. Use lagega tu stalker hai. Aur kya pata vaha se bhi block kar de ."

Veer nodded slowly, listening intently.

"Tujhe genuine banna padega," Rudra continued.

"Voh sab toh theek hai par..Address nikal jayega na?" Veer asked, his voice filled with a desperate hope.

"Bhai, address nikalwaunga, abhi mila nahi hai! Sabar rakh," Rudra barked.

"But i am telling you. No sudden calls, no weird stalking. We do this my way so she realizes you're serious, not just some celebrity playing a game. Tab tak, tu apne emotions control kar."

Veer leaned back, staring at the ceiling. As rudra made a call to someone,his voice was calm, authoritative—the voice of a manager who knew exactly which strings to pull.

"Yes, I understand the privacy concerns, but this is for an official outreach program from Stellar Arts... yes, the student's name is Vani. Business Management, second year. Just the hostel wing and room number for the records. Thank you."

After sometime,Rudra pulled the phone away and tapped a few notes into his screen.

Veer was practically hovering over his shoulder, his eyes wide and pleading.

"Mil gaya," Rudra said, turning around.

Veer almost jumped at him, his hands reaching for the phone like it was a lifeline.

"Kahan? Hostle? Rudra, bol na!"

Rudra held up a hand, pushing Veer back a couple of inches.

"Aram se, Majnu! Hostle ka address mil gaya hai. South Mumbai ka hai, zyada door nahi hai. But listen to me carefully—tu wahan nahi ja raha hai."

"Kyun nahi?" Veer's voice rose in frustration.

"Tujhe andaza bhi hai Hostel ke bahar kitni ladkiyan hongi. Tu vaha uski sorry mangne jayega bhi toh no usee" Rudra countered, his voice steady.

Veer slumped back onto the sofa, his head in his hands. 

"Toh main kya karu? Pagal ho raha hoon main."

Rudra sat down beside him, his expression softening. 

"Hum purana tareeka istemal karenge. Choti-choti cheezein. Flowers se start karte hain."

Veer looked up, his eyes flickering with a bit of hope. 

"Flowers? Theek hai... par use kaunse pasand hain?"

Rudra raised an eyebrow.

 "Wahi toh main tujhse puch raha hoon. Tu uska 'Vivaan' tha itne dino se. Itni baatein ki tumne, tujhe pata nahi use kya pasand hai?"

Veer paused, his mind racing back through thousands of messages. 

He remembered every "Good morning," every complaint about her assignments, every little emoji she used. Suddenly, a memory clicked.

"Lilies," Veer whispered, a small, sad smile touching his lips. 

"Usne ek baar kaha tha ki use lilies pasand hain... white lilies. Kyunki woh peaceful hoti hain. Bilkul uski tarah."

"Theek hai," Rudra nodded.

As rudra was about to call the famous florist..Veer shouted as he remebered something

"Rudra, rukh! " grabbing Rudra's hand before he could hit dial.

"Phool nahi bhej sakte. She's allergic. Agar asli phool hostel gaye toh usse manane ki jagah main use hospital pahuncha dunga."

Rudra stared at him, holding his phone in mid-air. 

Veer winced. 

"No, chocolates are even worse. She's allergic to those too. God, why is everything so complicated?"

He began pacing again, his mind whirring. He didn't want to just send some expensive jewelry or a gadget—that felt like "Rockstar Veer" trying to buy her forgiveness.

He wanted something that felt like Vivaan. Something quiet.

Something that took effort.

"Main khud banaunga," Veer whispered, his eyes lighting up.

"Kya banaega?" Rudra asked, confused.

"Paper flowers. Origami," Veer said, already pulling out his laptop.

"Agar usse asli lilies se problem hai, toh main aise lilies banaunga jo kabhi nahi murjhayenge aur jinse use allergy bhi nahi hogi."

Rudra looked at the most famous singer in the country and sighed.

"Tu pagal ho gaya hai. Kal teri recording hai, brand meetings hain..."

"Sab cancel kar de, Rudra. Mujhe ye karna hai."

Rudra looked at Veer for a long moment, seeing the stubborn set of his jaw and the quiet desperation in his eyes. 

He realized there was no point in arguing.

If Veer wanted to turn into a craft student in the middle of the night, that was his call.

"Jaisi teri marzi..." Rudra sighed, finally giving in. He stepped forward and placed a steadying hand on Veer's shoulder.

"Theek hai, karle jo karna hai. Main chalta hoon, kuch apartment ka kaam pending hai. Par sun, agar koi zaroorat ho toh call me, okay? Pareshan mat hona."

Veer just nodded, his mind already miles away. 

"Haan, theek hai. Bye."

As soon as the front door clicked shut and the penthouse was silent, Veer didn't waste a single second. He lunged for his phone on the coffee table.

He sat cross-legged right there on the rug, surrounded by luxury but feeling like a nervous teenager.

He opened YouTube, his thumb hovering over the search bar for a second before he typed: 

"How to make paper lilies."

A dozen videos popped up—"Easy Origami for Beginners," "Realistic 3D Paper Flowers," "DIY Paper Lilies Step-by-Step."

He clicked on the most detailed one and leaned forward, his eyes glued to the screen.

"Okay... square paper... fold it diagonally..." he whispered to himself.

He grabbed some premium white stationery from his desk—the kind he usually used to jot down song lyrics—and a pair of scissors.

The Rockstar, who could sell out stadiums in minutes, was now squinting at a video, trying to figure out how to make a "squash fold."

His first attempt was a disaster. The paper tore, the edges were uneven, and it looked more like a crushed napkin than a lily.

He hissed in frustration, crumpled it into a ball, and threw it across the room.

"Phir se," he muttered.

He rewound the video. He watched the woman's fingers move slowly on the screen.

He tried again. And again. His living room, which was usually spotless, was slowly becoming a graveyard of crumpled white paper.

But he didn't stop. He couldn't.Every time he felt like giving up, he remembered Vani's face.

The hours ticked by, and the silence of the penthouse was only broken by the soft voice of the YouTube instructor and the constant crinkle-crinkle of paper.

Veer's eyes were drooping, the exhaustion of the last few days finally catching up to him.

 His head would bob, his chin hitting his chest as he drifted into a light doze for a few seconds, only to jerk awake with a start.

"Nahi, nahi... lily... fold..." he mumbled in his sleep, his fingers still twitching as if they were chasing a crease.

He'd shake his head, rub his face vigorously to chase away the sleep, and hit 'replay' on the video for the fiftieth time.

 His hands were sore, and he had a small paper cut on his thumb, but he didn't care.

The floor around him was a literal sea of white scraps—dozens of "mutated" flowers that looked more like crumpled tissues than elegant lilies.

 at around 4:30 AM.

He followed the fold—the tricky 'petal fold' that had been defeating him all night.

He tucked the corners, smoothed the edges, and gently curled the petals outward using a pencil, just like the video showed.

He held it up to the dim light of the floor lamp.

It was perfect. It was crisp, white, and unmistakably a lily.

"Oye! Ho gaya!"

Veer jumped up from the rug so fast he knocked over his cold coffee.

He started hopping around the living room like a little kid who had just won a gold medal.

He was grinning from ear to ear, holding the tiny paper flower aloft as if it were a precious diamond.

"Rudra! Dekh! " he shouted, before remembering Rudra had left hours ago.

He didn't care. He did a little victory lap around his kitchen island, laughing to himself.

For a man who had won International Music Awards, the sight of this one paper flower gave him a bigger rush than any trophy ever had.

"Vani... ye aapke liye hai," he whispered, his voice soft and full of a strange, new hope.

He sat back down, his fatigue completely gone, replaced by a surge of adrenaline.

He didn't just want one. He wanted a bouquet.

He spent the next two hours in a trance, his fingers moving with the grace of a musician, folding apology after apology into the shape of a flower.

By the time the sun started to turn the Mumbai sky into a pale blue, twelve perfect paper lilies sat on his coffee table.

Next morning;

The sun peeked through the massive glass windows of the penthouse, hitting Veer right in the eyes. 

He let out a massive yawn, his neck cracking from the awkward position he'd been sitting in all night. 

His eyes were burning, and his fingers felt stiff, but as he looked at the coffee table, a tired smile spread across his face.

There they were. Twelve paper lilies. They weren't perfect—some edges were a bit wonky, and one had a tiny smudge of ink—but they were real. They were honest.

He knew he couldn't just send them through a delivery app. That felt too cold. He wanted to be there, even if he couldn't show his face. 

He wanted to make sure they actually reached her hands.

"Theek hai, Veer. Let's do this," he muttered to himself.

He carefully placed the flowers in a plain white box and tied it with a simple string. 

He threw on a generic oversized hoodie, a pair of sunglasses, and a black mask.

 In this get-up, he just looked like any other tired college student or a guy running an errand.

He drove down to Vani's college, his heart thumping against his ribs the entire way. 

He parked a block away and walked toward the campus gates, feeling like a secret agent. 

The air was filled with the usual morning chaos—students rushing to classes, the smell of canteen chai, and the constant chatter.

He spotted Vani from a distance. She was sitting on her usual stone bench, looking pale and tired, her eyes fixed on her lap. 

Seeing her like that—so quiet and lonely—made a knot form in his throat.

He saw a young student walking toward the garden area. Veer stepped into his path, pitching his voice low.

"Excuse me, bhai... ek help chahiye thi," Veer said, keeping his head down.

The guy stopped, looking confused. "Haan, bolo?"

Veer handed him the white box and a fifty-rupee note. 

"Wo wahan jo ladki baithi hai na, pink suit mein? Can you just give this box to her? Bas kehna ki koi bahar dekar gaya hai. Please?"

The student looked at the box, then at Veer's mask, and shrugged.

 "Theek hai, de deta hoon."

Veer stepped back behind a large pillar, his breath hitching as he watched the guy walk toward Vani. He stayed in the shadows, his eyes locked on her.

Vani looked up when the student approached her. She looked confused, her hands moving in a small, questioning gesture.

 The guy said something, handed her the box, and walked away.

Veer watched as Vani's fingers slowly untied the string.

He saw the exact moment she opened the lid.

 He saw her shoulders stiffen, then slowly relax as she realized they weren't real flowers.

She picked one up, turning it over in her hands, her thumb brushing the paper petals he had spent six hours perfecting.

From his hiding spot, Veer saw her bite her lip. She didn't throw them.

She didn't look angry. She just stared at them with a look of pure, quiet disbelief.

"Please don't hate me, Vani," Veer whispered under his mask, his chest aching.

He wanted to run to her. He wanted to take off the mask and tell her everything. 

But he stayed rooted to the spot, watching her hold his "apology" like it was something fragile.

Vani's POV:

I was sitting on the college bench, wrapped in my own world of silence. The morning air was slightly cold, the kind of chill that makes you want to pull your sweater tighter. 

I was just waiting for Noor, staring at the ground, trying to push thoughts of him out of my head.

But then, a guy walked up to me. He showed me a message on his phone saying someone had left a parcel for me.

I took the box, my mind racing. Who would send me something here? I looked around the campus, my eyes searching the crowds, but everything looked normal.

My heart started beating a little faster.

I slowly pulled the string and opened the box.

I looked down and saw a bouquet of lilies made entirely out of white paper.

They weren't perfect; I could see the tiny creases and the places where the paper had been folded over and over again.

Someone had spent hours on these.

Then I saw the note.

"I know I did wrong... but please, just once, listen to me."

The moment I read those words, it felt like my heart dropped straight into my stomach. My breath hitched. even if it was just on paper.

It was him. Veer.

He remembered. He remembered I was allergic to real flowers. 

He remembered that lilies were my favorite.

He had made these with his own hands just to avoid hurting my health, even while he was hurting my heart.

I looked at the paper petals and felt a painful lump in my throat.

Part of me wanted to crush them and throw the box in the trash. He lied to me.

He made a fool out of me. But another part of me—the part that still missed Vivaan—felt a tiny, unwanted spark of warmth.

I gripped the box tighter. Why won't you just leave me alone, Veer? I thought, my eyes stinging. Why do you have to make it so hard to hate you?

Veer watched from the shadows, his pulse racing as he saw Vani staring at the flowers.

For a split second, he allowed himself to hope. He thought he saw her expression soften.

He thought the hours of frustration and the paper cuts on his fingers had finally paid off.

But then, her face went cold.

Vani stood up abruptly. There was no hesitation in her movement.

She didn't look back, and she didn't look around.

She walked straight to the large green dustbin at the edge of the garden and, with a sharp flick of her wrist, dropped the entire box inside.

The sound of the cardboard hitting the bottom of the bin felt like a physical blow to Veer's chest.He stood frozen behind the pillar, his breath hitching.

He watched her walk away, her back straight and her head held high, leaving his hours of effort in the trash.

It wasn't just paper in that bin; it was his apology, his vulnerability, and his last shred of "Vivaan."

His chest ached with a dull, heavy pain. A part of him wanted to turn around, get in his car, and never look back.

He was Veer Singh Rathore—he didn't have to beg.

He didn't have to stand in the shadows of a college garden watching his heart get thrown away.

But as he watched her disappear into the building, his sadness turned into a quiet, burning determination. 

He adjusted his mask and tightened his grip on the strap of his bag.

"I deserved that," he whispered to himself, his voice thick with emotion.

He looked at the dustbin one last time, then back at the door where she had vanished.

"I lied to you for months, Vani. I can't expect one box of paper flowers to fix that. But I'm not giving up. I'm not going anywhere until you see that I'm still the same guy you talked to every night. Throw away as many flowers as you want... I'll just keep making them."