Ayaan Malhotra never believed in love. He believed in numbers, in strategies, in control. At 38, he had built his empire from the ground up, turning a failing business into one of the biggest conglomerates in the country. His life was structured, calculated—no room for distractions, no patience for emotions.
Rhea Sharma was the opposite—messy, impulsive, full of heart. At 33, she was a literature professor who believed that love was the only thing worth living for. She read poetry the way some people breathed, found beauty in the ordinary, and had a habit of romanticizing things that had no romance in them.
Their worlds were never meant to collide. But fate doesn’t ask for permission, does it?
It started five years ago. She had been engaged to Rohan, a love story that was supposed to be perfect—until it wasn’t. A month before the wedding, she found out that Rohan had been cheating on her for two years. The betrayal shattered her. But what broke her more was how easily he let her go, as if she was replaceable, as if she had been nothing more than a convenience.
She ran that night. Left everything behind—the dreams of marriage, the home she had imagined, the life she thought was hers. And in her reckless attempt to escape, she crashed—quite literally—into Ayaan Malhotra’s life.
It was past midnight when she stormed into the lobby of the five-star hotel, drenched in rain, mascara running, a suitcase dragging behind her. She had booked the room in a hurry, not realizing the hotel belonged to him.
Ayaan had been in the middle of a business meeting in the lounge when he saw her. He didn’t know why he noticed her—perhaps it was the way she looked like she was about to shatter, the way she hugged her arms around herself as if holding something together. He watched as she argued with the receptionist, her voice shaking.
“The booking was made an hour ago! How can you say there’s no room?”
“Ma’am, there’s been an issue with—”
“Forget it.” She grabbed her suitcase and turned away, but before she could walk out, Ayaan spoke.
“Give her the penthouse suite.”
The receptionist straightened. “Sir, that’s—”
“I said, give it to her.”
Rhea turned, confused. Their eyes met for the first time. She should have questioned why a stranger was offering her a luxury suite, but she didn’t care anymore. She was too exhausted to care.
That night, she slept in a bed too large for her, in a room that smelled unfamiliar, staring at a ceiling that wasn’t hers. And for the first time in weeks, she let herself cry.
She thought that was the end of it. Just a moment in a stranger’s life. But fate had other plans.
A few months later, they crossed paths again—this time, at a business event where she was a guest speaker. He wasn’t supposed to be there, but a last-minute change had brought him in.
She was talking about literature, about how words had the power to heal, when she spotted him at the back of the room. She stumbled on her words for the first time in her career.
After the event, he approached her.
“You don’t believe a word of what you said up there, do you?”
She blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You spoke about healing, but you haven’t healed,” he said, studying her like she was a puzzle he was trying to solve.
Rhea bristled. “And you’d know that because…?”
“Because I know what a broken person looks like.”
She hated him instantly. Hated his arrogance, his certainty, the way he looked at her like he could see through her.
So of course, life kept throwing them together.
They met at social events, at mutual friends’ gatherings, at places where neither expected the other. Each time, they clashed—his practicality against her idealism, his cold logic against her chaotic heart.
And somewhere in between those arguments, something shifted.
It was slow. Subtle. Ayaan, who never stayed past a business dinner, found himself lingering at events just to talk to her. Rhea, who had sworn off men like him, found herself intrigued by the way he listened, the way he noticed.
Then came the night that changed everything.
It was a friend’s wedding. Rhea had no intention of attending, but she went anyway. Maybe to prove something to herself, maybe to prove that she was okay. But the moment she saw Rohan there—with his new fiancée, looking as if she had never existed—she felt the ground slip.
She turned blindly, needing air, needing space—and walked straight into Ayaan.
He didn’t say anything. Just looked at her, then at Rohan, and something in his expression shifted.
“Come with me,” he said.
She followed without thinking. They ended up on the terrace, the city lights stretching below them.
She gripped the railing, breathing heavily. “I should be over it by now.”
Ayaan leaned against the wall, watching her. “Why?”
“Because it’s been a year. Because I’m supposed to be strong.”
“Strength isn’t about pretending something didn’t hurt.”
She looked at him then, really looked at him. “Why are you even here?”
He hesitated, then exhaled. “Because I know what it feels like to have someone walk away.”
It was the first time he had ever admitted it. That once, long ago, he had loved someone. And that someone had chosen to leave.
They didn’t speak after that. They just stood there, two people carrying wounds they didn’t talk about, finding an odd kind of comfort in the silence.
Something changed after that night. The arguments softened. The distance closed. They still fought—God, did they fight—but there was something underneath it now.
And then, one evening, Ayaan showed up at her door.
“I have a proposition,” he said.
She raised an eyebrow. “Should I be scared?”
He smirked, then grew serious. “Marry me.”
Rhea stared. Then laughed. “Oh, that’s funny.”
“I’m not joking.”
Her smile faded. “Ayaan, what the hell are you talking about?”
“You don’t believe in arranged marriages. I don’t believe in love. But we’re both tired of people expecting things from us.”
She blinked. “So this is… what? A business deal?”
“Call it what you want. But it makes sense.”
Rhea crossed her arms. “You want to marry me because it makes sense?”
“Yes.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And you’re thinking about it.”
She hated that he was right. Because as ridiculous as it was… it wasn’t the worst idea.
“So what happens if one of us falls in love?” she asked, arms still crossed.
Ayaan held her gaze, his expression unreadable. “Then we walk away.”
She should have said no. She should have slammed the door in his face.
Instead, she whispered, “Okay.”
And just like that, they were engaged.
Two people who didn’t believe in love.
Two people who had no idea that love had already started creeping in.
The first few weeks of their engagement were a strange mix of routine and avoidance. Rhea moved into Ayaan’s sleek, modern apartment—more glass and steel than warmth—but they existed alongside each other rather than together. Their schedules barely overlapped, their conversations remained polite but distant. They ate dinner at opposite ends of the long dining table, and when their hands accidentally brushed while reaching for something, they both pulled away too quickly.
Ayaan had thought this would be easy. A simple arrangement. He wasn’t expecting… this. The way Rhea’s presence made the empty spaces in his apartment feel smaller. The way her books, scattered across the coffee table, made the house feel different. The way he caught himself noticing her laughter when she was on a call with her students or the way she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear when she was lost in thought.
He wasn’t expecting any of it. And yet, here he was—watching her more than he should, feeling more than he wanted to.
One evening, he stood at the balcony, lost in thought, staring at the city skyline. He didn’t hear her approach, but he felt her presence beside him. She stood there quietly, the cool night air playing with her hair, waiting.
“You’re still thinking about it, aren’t you?” she asked, her voice quiet.
Ayaan took a slow drag of his cigar. “Thinking about what?”
“About how this is a mistake.”
Her words were so calm, so certain, that they cut straight through him.
He exhaled, watching the smoke dissolve into the night. “You don’t know me.”
“And you don’t know me.” There was no anger in her voice, just something… softer. Something that made his chest tighten.
He finally turned to face her, really looked at her. And for the first time, he asked himself—was this a mistake?
“Is it?” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.
Rhea let out a small, bitter laugh. “Maybe. But maybe we’re just two people too afraid to take a chance. Maybe we’re both too scared to really feel anything.”
Something shifted in Ayaan. Something terrifying, something thrilling.
She stepped closer, the breeze lifting a strand of hair from her face. “I don’t believe in easy solutions. And I don’t believe in love that you can control, Ayaan. Maybe that’s why this is all so complicated.”
His gaze softened, and for the first time, he let himself admit that he wanted something from her. Something he wasn’t sure he knew how to ask for.
“I’m not good at this,” he said. “I’m not good at… emotions.”
Rhea studied him for a long moment before responding, her voice quieter now. “I know. But maybe that’s the point. Maybe we’re supposed to learn how to be good at it together.”
And that was it. The moment where something unspoken passed between them. Where the walls between them cracked, just a little.
The next few months were a slow, hesitant unraveling. They met in the middle. Rhea started introducing him to the books she loved, and in return, Ayaan took her to places he never had time for—art galleries, late-night drives, hole-in-the-wall cafés where no one knew his name. They still fought, still pushed each other, but now, there was something underneath it. Something softer.
Ayaan started noticing things about her—how she hummed under her breath while reading, how she got lost in thoughts so deeply that she didn’t hear him call her name the first time. Rhea, in turn, found herself drawn to the way he listened when she spoke, the way he never interrupted, the way his eyes softened—just a little—when he looked at her.
Neither of them called it love.
Neither of them wanted to.
And then, one night, Rhea’s past came crashing back.
She had been reading when her phone rang. The moment she saw the name on the screen, her entire body tensed.
Rohan.
Her fingers hovered over the decline button, but then—she answered.
“I need you to leave,” she said immediately, her voice shaking. “I can’t do this anymore, Rohan. Please, just stop. I’m done.”
A long pause.
And then—
“Are you?” His voice was quiet, calculated. “Or are you just pretending?”
Rhea gritted her teeth. “You have no right to say that.”
“I know you, Rhea.”
“No, you don’t.” Her voice broke, and she hated that he could still do this to her. “You never did.”
She ended the call, her hands trembling as she dropped the phone onto the couch.
Ayaan had been watching from the doorway, silent.
He stepped forward, his voice steady. “You should’ve told me.”
Rhea closed her eyes, exhaling shakily. “I didn’t want you to think I was… unfinished.”
Ayaan didn’t respond right away. Instead, he crossed the space between them, took her hand in his.
“You’re not unfinished, Rhea.” His voice was quiet, but there was something fierce in the way he said it. “You never were.”
And for the first time in years, she believed it.
After that night, something changed.
The distance between them disappeared, replaced by something neither of them wanted to name. Ayaan started coming home earlier. Rhea found herself waiting for him, without meaning to. They weren’t just coexisting anymore. They were something more.
And then came the gala.
Ayaan had invited her, casually, but when the night arrived, he found himself waiting for her in a way he never had before. And when she stepped into the room, wearing a deep red dress, hair cascading over her shoulder—he felt something dangerously close to awe.
The night was long, filled with introductions and polite conversations, but Ayaan found himself gravitating toward her. At one point, she was standing alone, adjusting the thin strap of her dress, and he walked up to her, handing her a glass of champagne.
“You look beautiful,” he said, his voice lower than he intended.
Rhea raised an eyebrow. “I didn’t think you’d care about what I wore.”
Ayaan smirked, the glint in his eyes making her pulse quicken. “I care more than you think.”
Before she could respond, someone called his name. He turned, and Rhea watched as the business version of Ayaan slipped back into place.
As the night drew to a close, one of his business rivals walked up to him, eyes flickering between him and Rhea with amusement.
“So, Ayaan,” he said, “you actually settled down? Didn’t think you had it in you.”
Rhea braced herself for Ayaan’s usual indifference, the kind of dismissive response he gave at events like this.
But instead, Ayaan looked at her—really looked at her—and then turned back to the man with quiet confidence.
“Yes,” he said simply. “And it’s the best decision I’ve made.”
Rhea’s breath caught in her throat.
The man raised an eyebrow, surprised. “Didn’t think you were the sentimental type.”
“I’m not.” Ayaan’s voice was firm, unshaken. “But Rhea isn’t just someone in my life. She is my life.”
Rhea’s heart pounded so loudly she barely heard anything else.
Later that night, when they got home, she turned to him, her voice barely a whisper. “Why did you say that?”
Ayaan studied her for a moment before responding. “Because it’s true.”
Rhea took a shaky breath. “Ayaan—”
“I don’t know what this is,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I know that I don’t want to lose it.”
Rhea stepped forward, her fingers brushing his.
And just like that, they stopped running.
Ayaan wasn’t a man of poetry. He didn’t believe in grand declarations or sweeping gestures. But in that moment, standing in the dimly lit hallway of their home, he had said something that felt more profound than anything Rhea had ever read in the pages of her beloved books.
I don’t know what this is, but I know I don’t want to lose it.
It was raw. Honest. And it was enough.
Rhea had spent so much of her life waiting for love to be perfect, for it to arrive in a way that felt like the stories she taught in class. But maybe love wasn’t about the perfect moment—it was about the real ones. The unspoken glances, the quiet reassurances, the slow unraveling of two people who had spent too long guarding their hearts.
She didn’t reply that night. Instead, she simply placed her hand over his, her fingers tracing the lines of his palm, memorizing them like a verse she wanted to keep forever. Ayaan didn’t pull away.
Neither of them needed to say anything else.
Days passed, then weeks. Something between them had shifted, but neither of them rushed to define it. It was in the way Ayaan lingered at the breakfast table a little longer, even after he had finished his coffee. In the way Rhea waited up for him on nights when work kept him out late. In the way their silences became less about distance and more about comfort.
And then, just when they had started to believe in the fragile, delicate thing they were building—life threw them a curveball.
It started with a call.
Rhea had been in her study, lost in grading essays, when Ayaan knocked on the door.
“There’s something I need to tell you.”
His voice was controlled, but there was an edge to it, something tight beneath the surface. Rhea looked up, setting her pen down. “What is it?”
He hesitated. A beat too long. And in that beat, she knew.
“It’s about Rohan.”
The name was a punch to the gut. A name that belonged to a past she had tried so hard to bury.
Ayaan sat across from her, elbows resting on his knees, his gaze steady. “He reached out to me.”
Rhea felt her breath catch. “Why?”
“He wants to meet you.”
The words settled between them, heavy and suffocating.
Rhea shook her head, her fingers tightening into fists. “I have nothing to say to him.”
“I know,” Ayaan said gently. “And I wasn’t going to tell you. But he insisted. Said he owed you a conversation.”
Rhea let out a bitter laugh. “Now he wants a conversation?”
She stood, pacing to the window, arms wrapped around herself. Ayaan watched her for a moment before standing too, closing the distance between them. “You don’t have to meet him, Rhea. But if this is something that still weighs on you, maybe—”
“I don’t need closure, Ayaan,” she snapped, whirling to face him. “I don’t need to hear his excuses, his apologies. I don’t need—” Her voice broke.
Ayaan exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. “Then say no.”
She should have. She should have shut it down immediately. But the truth was—she was curious. Not about what Rohan had to say, but about what she would feel if she saw him again. Would she still hurt? Would she still be angry? Or would she finally realize that he was nothing more than a shadow in her past?
So, she agreed.
And two days later, she found herself sitting across from Rohan in a quiet café, Ayaan’s presence an unspoken weight at her back. He had offered to wait outside, but she knew he wasn’t far. And somehow, that made it easier to breathe.
Rohan looked the same. But something was different. Or maybe she was.
“I never got the chance to explain,” he began.
“You never tried,” she countered, her voice even.
He sighed. “You were right to leave, Rhea. I was a coward. I didn’t know how to love you the way you deserved.”
She stayed silent, waiting.
“But I did love you,” he said, his voice quieter now. “I just didn’t know how to be the man you needed.”
Rhea stared at him, trying to feel something. Anger, sadness, regret. But all she felt was… nothing.
She had spent so long believing that Rohan’s betrayal had broken her. That it had ruined her faith in love. But sitting here now, listening to him, she realized something—he wasn’t the reason she had built walls around herself. She was.
She had let one person’s betrayal define how she saw love. She had let one heartbreak dictate her future. And for what?
Rohan was a chapter she had already closed.
She took a deep breath, pushing back her chair. “I hope you find happiness, Rohan.”
His eyes flickered with something—relief? Regret? She didn’t care.
She walked out of the café, the weight she had been carrying for five years lifting with every step. And the moment she stepped outside, she saw him.
Ayaan. Standing by his car, hands in his pockets, waiting.
The moment their eyes met, something inside her settled.
Without thinking, she walked straight to him, her heart thudding against her ribs. “Take me home.”
Ayaan didn’t question it. He just nodded, opening the door for her.
The drive home was quiet, but not the heavy kind of silence. It was the kind that felt like the closing of one door and the opening of another.
And when they finally reached their apartment, Ayaan turned to her, his gaze steady. “Are you okay?”
Rhea let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. Then she smiled—a real, freeing smile.
“Yes.”
Ayaan studied her for a moment before nodding. “Good.”
And just like that, it was done.
But later that night, as they stood on the balcony, watching the city lights blink below them, Rhea turned to him, a different question on her lips.
“What are we, Ayaan?”
He looked at her, his expression unreadable. “What do you want us to be?”
Her heart pounded. She wasn’t sure. She only knew that she didn’t want to run anymore.
So she stepped closer, the space between them vanishing, her voice barely above a whisper.
“I want this.”
Ayaan’s gaze didn’t waver. “Then this is what we are.”
And when he reached for her, when she leaned into him, when their foreheads touched in the quiet of the night—there were no more questions.
Because sometimes, love wasn’t about grand confessions. Sometimes, it was about the moments in between—the quiet ones, the certain ones, the ones where no words were needed.
And this?
This was everything.
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