The ballroom shimmered under a cascade of golden lights, the soft hum of violins weaving through the chatter of Delhi's elite. Kiara Kapoor adjusted the diamond clasp on her gown, her smile poised for the cameras flashing in rapid succession. She had mastered this world—glamour, fame, perfection—but tonight, something felt different.
She scanned the crowd, her eyes catching on a figure near the far corner. Tall, lean, dressed in a simple black suit that looked almost too modest for the opulence around him. His posture was calm, his gaze fixed on the charity auction list rather than the people.
Kiara's breath hitched. Aarav Mehta.
The name echoed in her mind like a forgotten melody. High school memories rushed back—quiet classrooms, stolen glances, and the boy who always sat by the window, sketching rockets instead of gossiping about prom.
She moved toward him, her heels clicking softly against the marble floor.
"Aarav?" Her voice was tentative, almost shy—a rarity for someone who commanded millions of fans.
He looked up, startled. For a moment, his dark eyes widened in recognition, then softened into a polite smile.
"Kiara Kapoor," he said, his tone warm but measured. "It's been… what? Ten years?"
"Eleven," she corrected, laughing lightly. "You remember."
"I remember everything," he replied, and for a fleeting second, something unspoken passed between them.
Kiara tilted her head, studying him. He had changed—sharper jawline, confidence in his stance—but the quiet intensity remained.
"So, what brings you here? Don't tell me you've traded rockets for red carpets."
Aarav chuckled, the sound low and genuine. "Not quite. I'm here for the aerospace research fund. My team's working on a satellite project."
Her eyes lit up. "Still chasing the stars, huh?"
"Always," he said simply.
Before she could respond, a photographer swooped in, snapping a picture of them together. Kiara smiled for the camera, but her heart raced. She hadn't expected this—this sudden pull, this rush of old feelings tangled with something new.
As the flash faded, Aarav spoke again, his voice softer now. "You look… different."
"Better or worse?" she teased.
"Just… brighter," he said, and the sincerity in his tone made her chest tighten.
For the first time in years, Kiara felt seen—not as a celebrity, not as a headline, but as herself.
And in that glittering ballroom, under the weight of a thousand eyes, a quiet promise stirred between them: this was only the beginning.