Hospital Room
Khushi, curled beside him in an uncomfortable plastic chair, has fallen asleep with her head on his arm. Her hand is still locked with his-because she never let go. Not through the machines. Not through the pain.
Arnav's eyes flutter open.
Not from pain this time. From peace.
From presence.
He sees her first. Then the morning light painting her face. Then... the folded newspaper on his tray.
He reaches for it weakly. Reads.
Smirks.
> Arnav (dryly, soft): "Worst angles. Yours is fine, but I look like I fought a truck."
> Khushi (murmuring without opening eyes): "You did fight a truck. And you won. Mostly."
> Arnav: "Did I cry?"
> Khushi: "Nope. Just... dramatically passed out like a hero in a movie."
> Arnav (mock offense): "You're lucky I love you."
> Khushi (sleepy smile): "You're luckier."
She shifts, presses a kiss gently to his knuckles.
---
Gupta House
The morning sun filtered through faded lace curtains, dancing across the living room walls like old memories waking up.
Garima sat on the sofa with her morning chai, flipping through the paper absently-until her eyes froze on the front page.
🗞️ "Gupta Boutique x AR Designs: A Diwali to Remember"
And that photo-Khushi, glowing, her hand on Arnav's chest. His smile soft. Her eyes impossibly bright. Together. Caught forever in print.
> Garima (gasping):
"Hai Devi Maiyya..."
The cup slipped from her hand. It hit the floor and cracked right down the middle. Just like her composure.
> Garima (hand to mouth):
"Hamari bitiya... on the front page... with him. The whole world saw ."
Shashi, calm but shaken, picked up his glasses. He blinked through tears he didn't know were forming.
> Shashi (softly):
"He nearly gave his life for her."
> Garima (tearful):
"And she would've given hers if he hadn't. I saw it in her eyes when she came home after works . She left the boutique smiling for show... and she shattered in hospital."
The newspaper sat wide open on the coffee table, its ink bleeding into their bones.
And then-
Enter: Buaji.
Storming in with a laundry basket and a mouthful of complaints-
> Buaji (loud):
"Yeh courier wale bhi na! Always ringing the bell when I'm massaging my knees, I-"
She spotted the headline.
Stopped.
Dropped the basket.
Stared.
Sank into the nearest chair as if her knees gave out from sheer shock.
> Buaji (voice cracking):
"That jalebi Courier boy loves her... like a proper filmi hero."
(She sniffles, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of her pallu)
"He is the one, Garima. Mark my words. He is her... 'Aashiqui wala hero.'"
Garima stared at Buaji, half-amused, half-sobbing.
And then came Payal, walking in with a tray of toast and not-yet-burnt hope.
She stopped mid-step.
> Payal (staring):
"Did we win the lottery?"
> Buaji (grinning, wiping tears):
"Better. Our Khushi is on the front page of history, bitiya!"
Payal dropped the tray-toast flying-and ran to the newspaper.
> Payal (hands over her mouth):
"Oh my God. This is... this is awesome pic. He looks like he's looking at her like she's made of stars."
> Buaji (smirking, wiping her eyes):
"She's his North Star. He just got hit by a truck of destiny."
The paper still on the table.
A cup broken. A family mended.
Three women smiling through tears, and one man who just nodded quietly, finally trusting the man who nearly gave his life for their girl.
And outside the house?
Two neighborhood aunties already whispering at the gate:
> "Did you see? Khushi Gupta from Gupta House. Raizada's girl now."
--
Boutique
Morning Buzz
Crowds gather outside Gupta Boutique.
Some reading the posted newspaper behind the glass. Some taking photos. Some whispering about the "girl who saved fashion and nearly lost love."
> Passerby (to friend): "That's her. The one who designed 'Midnight Bloom.'"
> Local journalist (to camera): "Khushi Kumari Gupta's designs are no longer just clothing-they're a story of love, risk, and revival. Orders for her Diwali collection have skyrocketed overnight."
Someone lights a diya at the boutique steps.
Someone else places a bouquet of orange marigolds wrapped in newspaper.
> A child presses her nose to the glass:
"Mumma, she looks like a princess."
---
Hospital Lobby -
Media was Frenzy,
Reportersbuzz like bees.
> "Can you confirm if Mr. Raizada is stable?"
> "Was this a pre-planned launch or a real accident?"
> "Is Khushi Kumari Gupta taking over AR Designs?"
>" Is ASR and Ms.Gupta in relationship?"
Aman handles it with his signature sigh.
> Aman (to reporters): "No statements until further notice. But yes, they're both... alive. Very much."
He says it with pride. And a smirk.
---
Hospital Room
The world outside was beginning to bloom again-rosy skies stretching over sleepy streets, the quiet hum of a new day just waking up.
Inside the hospital room, warmth came from something else entirely.
From the soft rustle of breath shared between two souls who'd come through fire-and still held on.
Khushi sat cross-legged beside Arnav's bed, her dupatta twisted nervously in her lap. Arnav, half-reclined, watched her with that familiar intensity-less fire now, more ember. Steady. Real.
A newspaper lay open nearby-"Gupta Boutique x AR Designs: A Diwali To Remember." Headlines, photos, drama. But for once, their story was more than scandal.
It was soft.
It was earned.
> Khushi (smiling shyly, voice barely above a whisper):
"They're calling it the 'Runway of Love.' Can you believe it?"
> Arnav (raising an eyebrow, teasing):
"Sounds like the title of Di's favorite TV serial... Iss Pyaar Ko Kya Naam Doon?"
She giggled, eyes sparkling.
> Khushi:
"It's my favorite too. I never missed an episode... even the reruns. I always cried when Khushi forgave Arnav."
She stopped. Blinked. Looked at him.
> Khushi (softly):
"We were like them, weren't we? Fire and madness. Silence and storms."
> Arnav (gently):
"But this time, the love story didn't end on a misunderstanding."
She reached for his hand, tracing the edges of the gauze still wrapped around his arm.
> Khushi (whispering):
"I still feel your hand there. Right before everything shattered. Right before you pushed me away... to save me."
> Arnav:
"I'd do it again. A thousand times."
Her lips trembled. She leaned closer, her forehead brushing his. No rush. Just breath.
> Khushi:
"And yet-here we are. Battered. Bruised. But not broken."
He smiled softly and reached toward her neck.
The little silver pendant-the thimble he had given her before it all changed-glinted beneath her collarbone, still pinned close, like a secret vow.
> Arnav (fingers ghosting over it):
"Thread by thread?"
> Khushi (tears in her eyes, voice sure):
"Always."
Her hand in his.
His heartbeat steady.
Their story not printed in black-and-white anymore-but written in love, silver, and second chances.
Outside, the world read headlines.
But inside this hospital room?
A quiet kind of forever was being stitched-not with spectacle, but with soul.