If the Haldi ceremony was a riot of color and sound, the Mehendi was its silent, seductive cousin. It didn't shout; it whispered. It lived in the quiet pauses between breaths, in the rhythmic scratch of the cone against skin, and in the things people chose to leave unsaid. Under soft green drapes that smelled of fresh jasmine and damp earth, the air was thick with the scent of henna and the weight of an unspoken shift.
Avni Sinha sat at the center of the gathering, a picture of practiced grace. Her hands were stretched out, palms open like an offering. The artist worked with a steady hand, tracing delicate, intricate vines across Avni’s skin—a story being written in dark, cool ink.
Avni’s POV
"Try not to move, please," the artist reminded me.
"I’m not," I replied softly, but the lie felt heavy.
On the outside, I was a statue. Inside, I was a storm. My eyes kept betraying me, darting toward the entrance, searching the crowd for a specific height, a specific gait.
And then, I found him.
Divyansh Singh walked in with a casualness that felt like a personal attack. He was wearing a black silk kurta, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms that looked far too sturdy for a man who spent his days writing code. His hair was slightly messy, as if he’d been running his hands through it, and then he caught my eye.
He smiled.
Why does he have to smile like that? Those dimples should be illegal. They were a glitch in my system, a variable I couldn't account for. I looked away quickly, focusing intensely on the floral pattern on my left thumb, but my heart had already started its frantic, uneven rhythm.
"So, did you have his name hidden in there, Avni?" a cousin teased, leaning in to inspect the work.
I kept my face a mask of CEO-level composure. "The artist has her own style," I said neutrally.
The artist looked up with a playful glint in her eyes. "It’s hidden, alright. It won’t be found easily."
Divyansh’s POV
"Challenge accepted," I said, stepping into the circle.
Avni didn't look up, but I saw the slight tension in her shoulders. She knew I was there. She was always aware of me, just as I was of her—a constant pull, like gravity.
I leaned in, hovering just over her hand. "Any hints for the weary traveler?" I murmured.
"No," she replied, her voice cool and steady.
"Just a small one?"
"No."
I bent closer, my eyes scanning the labyrinth of curves and dots. I was careful not to touch the wet ink, but I was close enough that the scent of her perfume—sandalwood and something sharper—began to cloud my focus. I could see the pulse jumping in her neck.
Avni’s POV
He was too close.
I could feel the heat of him, the steady presence of his body near mine. My breath hitched, a tiny, betraying sound that I hoped the music drowned out. Why am I not telling him to move? I should have moved. I should have been annoyed. Instead, I was paralyzed by the proximity.
"This is statistically impossible," Divyansh muttered, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"You're the one who accepted the challenge, Mr. Singh," I said, regaining a sliver of my footing.
"Is he failing already?" Rishabh laughed from the sidelines.
"Maybe the name isn't even there," Kanika added with a wink.
I raised an eyebrow at Divyansh. "Maybe," I echoed.
That did it. He leaned even closer, his shoulder almost brushing mine. Our faces were inches apart now, the world narrowing down to the space between us.
"Did you really not include it?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, private whisper.
I turned my head just a fraction. Our gazes locked, and the playfulness evaporated. The air turned heavy, charged with something far deeper than a party game.
"Find out, Divyansh," I challenged, my voice barely audible.
He smiled—the real one, the one that reached his eyes. "You underestimate my debugging skills."
Then, he saw it. Tucked within the curve of a lotus petal, so tiny it looked like a natural flourish.
"Got it," he whispered.
I looked at him, surprised. "Really?"
He straightened up, that devastating grin back in place. "You underestimate me, Avni. That’s your first mistake."
I don't, I thought privately. That’s exactly the problem.
The moment was shattered by a new arrival. A girl walked in, radiating an effortless, college-campus confidence. She made a beeline for Divyansh.
"Divyansh? Is that actually you?"
He turned, his expression shifting to one of genuine surprise. "Ananya?"
The shift was instantaneous. The private bubble we had built was popped.
"It’s been ages! Since graduation, right?" she said, laughing and stepping into his space.
"Yeah... college feels like a lifetime ago," Divyansh replied, his tone warm and familiar.
Avni’s POV
I watched them. I watched the ease of their conversation, the way they shared a history I wasn't part of. Ananya laughed at something he said, her hand resting lightly, briefly, on his arm.
Something inside my chest tightened—a sharp, cold knot that I refused to acknowledge as jealousy. Why is she touching him? My fingers curled instinctively, and I had to force them flat to keep from ruining the henna.
"Still the same old Divyansh," Ananya said, her eyes shining.
"And you haven't changed a bit," he replied.
From across the room, I saw Avyaan watching me. He didn't say a word, but his eyes were sharp. He saw the knot in my chest before I did.
When Divyansh finally returned to my side, he looked slightly sheepish. "Sorry about that," he said.
"For what?" I asked, my voice coming out more clipped than I intended.
"An old friend. We haven't caught up in years."
I nodded, my eyes fixed on my hands. "You seemed close."
He paused, sensing the change in the weather. "A little, I guess."
I couldn't help it. The words slipped out before I could filter them through my 'CEO' brain. "You didn't seem to struggle this much to talk to her."
Divyansh looked at me, truly surprised. He searched my face, and I saw the moment the realization hit him.
Divyansh’s POV
She was jealous. The almighty, self-made Avni Sinha was actually bothered. A strange mix of protectiveness and something like triumph swelled in my chest.
"She’s just a friend, Avni," I said softly, leaning back into her space. "An old chapter."
"And what am I?" she asked. Her voice was controlled, but it wasn't calm. It was a challenge.
"I'm still trying to figure that out," she added, finally looking at me.
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was heavy with truth.
I sat down beside her, closer than I had been before. This wasn't an accident; it was an intention.
"You don't have to figure everything out tonight," I said gently. She didn't reply, her gaze fixed forward, but she didn't pull away.
"But if it helps..." I paused, waiting until she looked at me again. "You matter more. By a landslide."
I saw it hit her. Her eyes widened slightly, her breath hitching in a way that had nothing to do with the artist's needle.
I smiled again—not the teasing one, but the real one. The one I only saved for her.
I hate his dimples, she probably thought. But the look in her eyes told a very different story.
The moment didn't go unnoticed. Ridha Singh watched from near the bar, her eyes narrowed as she analyzed the shift in power. Dadi sat in her corner, her expression thoughtful, perhaps seeing a reflection of a long-ago fire in her grandson's eyes. Even Arti smirked to herself, whispering something to a nearby relative.
"Interesting," Arti murmured. "Very interesting."
As the evening settled and the henna began to dry into a dark, stubborn stain, Divyansh stood beside me one last time.
"So, you found the name," I said softly.
"I did," he replied, his voice a low hum. "It took a while."
"Better late than never."
He smiled, those dimples catching the low light of the evening.
"Always."
As he walked away, I looked down at my hands. The ink was dark, but the feeling in my chest was darker, deeper, and far more permanent. Sometimes, jealousy doesn't break a relationship. Sometimes, it’s just the light you need to see how much you’ve already started
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