The room smelled of stale coffee and printer ink. Shadows pressed into the corners, kept at bay only by the harsh, bluish rectangle of the laptop screen.

On the desk, photographs lay scattered like puzzle pieces. A blurred street. A car window rolling down. A profile caught in low light.

The stranger leaned forward, elbows resting on the wood. His thumb brushed the edge of a glossy print—Reyhaan and Aria, standing on a curb. Unguarded. Reyhaan's head was tilted toward her; Aria's expression was soft, unaware of the lens.

It wasn't just a picture. It was leverage.

He picked up a pen, the scratch against the notepad loud in the quiet room. He didn't need to invent a story; he just needed to frame it. The "reclusive star" and the "mystery girl." It wrote itself.

On the screen, the headline waited, the cursor blinking like a heartbeat.

Exclusive First Look.

He dragged the photo into the layout. It snapped into place.

His hand hovered over the trackpad. A moment of hesitation—not moral, but aesthetic. His thumb stalled anyway, pressing harder than necessary, as if the pressure could quiet something that had nothing to do with the image.

He adjusted the crop, tightening the frame until the intimacy between the two figures was undeniable.

Then, he hit save.

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The elevator doors parted with a tired mechanical sigh. Cool, conditioned air rushed out, carrying the metallic tang of concrete and exhaust.

Reyhaan adjusted his bag, stepping into the underground lot. The fluorescent strips overhead buzzed a low, insect-like hum, fracturing light across the polished hoods of the cars. It was a sterile, soundproofed world down here, separated from the city above by tons of steel and cement.

"Feels like we live in a bunker," Lucian muttered, adjusting his sunglasses despite the subterranean gloom. "People will think we run a syndicate, not a band."

Reyhaan's lips curved faintly. "You'd get bored too fast."

"True. I like my chaos sunlit."

They fell into step, footsteps echoing against the pillars. Their manager trailed behind, thumb scrolling rapidly across a tablet.

Lucian leaned closer, voice dropping. "Speaking of timing—yours is uncanny today. Her message came through the second we stepped into the elevator, didn't it? Waiting by the exit."

The comment was offhand, but it landed with precision. Reyhaan kept his face neutral. "You're observant."

"I'm cursed," Lucian corrected, smirking. "I notice patterns. She's got your rhythm, Rey. That's dangerous."

Reyhaan didn't answer. His hand slipped into his pocket, thumb brushing the cool glass of his phone. Near the exit. I'll wait. Don't rush.

He had planned to finish at the studio, then drive to her. But she was already here.

"Security's been tighter since that incident near your friend's place," the manager said, looking up briefly. "Keep your eyes open."

Reyhaan nodded. Two weeks since the shadow in the alley. Since the metallic clink of keys that didn't belong. No one had appeared since, but the low thrum of alertness hadn't left him.

They reached the black SUV. Reyhaan slid into the driver's seat, the leather cold against his back. Lucian sprawled in the passenger side; the manager took the back.

As Reyhaan navigated the ramp, the conversation drifted—schedules, tour dates, logistics. He answered on autopilot. His focus was fixed on the slice of daylight appearing at the top of the exit.

And there she was.

Aria stood on the pavement, back turned, phone pressed to her ear. Sunlight caught the loose strands of her hair, turning them gold. She was laughing at something, her shoulders shaking slightly.

The sight hit him in the chest—a physical weight, grounding and terrifying.

He slowed the car. She turned, hair brushing her cheek. When she saw him, her expression didn't just change; it cleared. A smile, quiet and easy, as if she had been expecting him all along.

Reyhaan lowered the window.

"You're early," he said.

"Had some work nearby." She tucked her phone away and lifted a brown paper bag. "Thought I'd drop these off. You forget to eat when you're working."

Lucian leaned across the center console, resting his elbow on the window frame. "Hi. So you're the famous Aria."

She blinked, startled, but her smile held steady. "And you are Lucian. Good to see you."

"I was going to introduce you," Reyhaan started.

"He barely talks," Lucian told her, conspiratorial. "You'd think he's plotting a war strategy, but really he's just... driving."

Aria laughed—a bright, unforced sound that cut through the engine's idle hum. "I've noticed. I used to think he hated interruptions. Turns out it's just... intensity."

"Intensely boring," Lucian corrected.

Reyhaan shook his head, fighting a smile. "You two done?"

"Not even close."

They teamed up effortlessly, their banter bouncing back and forth while Reyhaan watched, a strange warmth settling in his gut. She wasn't an outsider here. She fit.

"Join us sometime," Lucian said as the car began to roll forward. "See if we're all as strange as this one."

"Maybe I will," she said.

She stepped back, waving. Reyhaan watched her in the rearview mirror until the turn swallowed her figure.

"Domestic," Lucian murmured, settling back into his seat. "You lowering the window, her leaning in with snacks. Very married-couple energy."

Reyhaan kept his eyes on the road. The wheel creaked under his tightening grip.

It felt domestic. It felt right. And that was the problem. Because in a world where shadows lingered in parking lots, wanting this much was a liability.

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The scent of cumin and roasted butter hit Reyhaan before he even reached the table—a fragrance woven so deep into the walls it felt like memory.

The dining area hummed with a natural, unforced energy. At one end sat Aria's father, asking about his childhood with genuine interest; at the other, her mother fussed over Maya's plate. Sitting between Kian and Aria, Reyhaan realized he hadn't just walked into a dinner; he had stepped into a rhythm he hadn't known he was missing.

"Do you still visit India often?" Aria's father asked, spooning rice onto his plate.

"Sometimes," Reyhaan replied, leaning forward slightly. "My parents go more often. But I remember the evening walks with my grandmother. She used to bribe me with snacks to behave."

Laughter rippled around the table. Lucian would have made a comment about his food habits, but it was Maya who piped up. "So that's where you learned to negotiate food bribes."

Reyhaan offered an unapologetic shrug, but his attention drifted.

Beside him, Aria was laughing. Not the polite, guarded expression she wore for the world, but something luminous. Her hair fell forward as she leaned in to listen to her mother, her eyes bright and unguarded. It struck him then—not for the first time, but harder than before—that he wanted the world to see this version of her.

A sharp kick under the table jolted him.

He glanced sideways. Kian arched a brow, smirk in place, clearly enjoying Reyhaan's lack of subtlety. Reyhaan rolled his eyes and reached for the kheer, focusing on his bowl to hide the heat rising in his neck.

After dinner, the group fractured. Aria and Maya rose to help, ignoring her mother's protests about guests working.

Reyhaan watched Aria at the sink, caught between amusement and resignation as the banter continued. It felt... familial. Too domestic for someone whose life was usually measured in tour dates and studio hours. Yet, somehow, it fit.

"Did you know," Aria's father said, eyes twinkling, drawing Reyhaan back into the conversation. "Kishore Kumar once recorded a song while climbing trees? Just to get the breathlessness right."

Reyhaan laughed, genuinely delighted. "I should try that at rehearsal."

Before he could elaborate, Kian snagged Reyhaan's sleeve. "Sound design question. Come here."

He dragged Reyhaan into the dimmer corner of the room, away from the chatter. The moment they were out of earshot, Kian dropped the pretense.

He folded his arms, pinning Reyhaan with a look that stripped away the casual atmosphere.

"You need to tell her."

Reyhaan blinked, feigning ignorance. "Tell who what?"

"Don't play dumb. Aria. You don't just listen to her, Rey. You see her. It's obvious."

Reyhaan rubbed the back of his neck, looking toward the kitchen where Aria was drying her hands. "It's not that simple, Kian."

"It is exactly that simple," Kian countered. "You like her. She likes you—"

"You don't know that."

"I know people," Kian said flatly. "She talks to you differently. She looks at you differently. Don't overcomplicate it."

"What if she doesn't want this?" Reyhaan's voice dropped, the fear surfacing. "What if she wants to focus on her career? Or sees me as... a friend? I don't want to push her."

"Then at least you'll know. Right now, you're just torturing yourself." Kian leaned in. "Ask her about relationships. Hypothetically. Get a read on the room. But do something."

Reyhaan hesitated, then nodded. "Fine. I'll try."

"Good." Kian clapped his shoulder, turning away with exaggerated satisfaction. "And tell me how it goes. Even if she unknowingly dumps you."

Unknowingly dumps you.

"Thanks for the confidence," Reyhaan muttered.

He walked back into the living room. Aria was there, strands of hair escaping her clip. She smiled when she saw him—a soft, tired thing. The truth settled heavily in his gut: he was running out of ways to keep this quiet.