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“And not blinding,” she added dryly.

“Fine. I’ll get the other gifts packed until then,” he huffed dramatically, seemingly offended. “Can you go check if they still have that brass cake stand which we saw by the window? The one with the engraved base. That’s the kind of elegance our table deserves.”

Nandini nodded and strolled off, glancing at her cart, which was already full of confetti, party horns, and a suspicious number of glittery balloons Daadu had accidentally slipped in. Her gaze drifted to the section with the boxed DIY art-and-plant kits—the thoughtful gifts her grandfather was now getting packed for the children of Serene Meadows this year. Small terracotta pots, seed packets, and colourful paints, all bundledtogether, giving the kids a chance to plant something of their own.

She smiled faintly. Honestly, Daadu had outdone himself with that idea.

Maybe she should sneak in an extra kit.

For their grumpy neighbour.

Yes, Mr. Grump himself could definitely benefit from learning the value of nurturing something other than his ego. But then again… the farther Daadu and Mr. Grump stayed from each other, the less likely the town would spontaneously combust.

She sighed, brushed her curls off her shoulder, and continued towards the decorative section. But as fate would have it, chaos arrived sooner than expected.

At the front of the store, beside the festive display of decorative tableware, stood a man Nandini recognised instantly, even from the back.

Shaurya Ahuja.

Of course.

He looked criminally good and casual in a dark olive-green suit, pushing a basket with all the intensity of someone about to launch a hostile business takeover. His eyes scanned the shelves like they owed him answers.

“Excuse me,” Shaurya said to the shopkeeper. “That brass cake stand…the one with the engraved base. I will take that.”

Nandini’s eyes widened.

Not the cake stand.

“NO!” Grandpa’s booming voice interrupted from behind. “That’s the one I wanted!”

Shaurya’s brows drew together. “Of course it is.”

Grandpa arrived, puffing out his chest like a warrior ready for battle.

“You always follow me,” he accused. “Like a hawk. Or worse, like one of those annoying delivery guys who ring the bell just when I sit down for tea.”

“I didn’t know stalking was a hobby of mine, Mr Raichand,” Shaurya replied dryly, folding his arms. “But if I’m here and you’re also here... I’d say the problem isn’t me.”

“The problem isyour timing, always so suspicious!” Grandpa snapped. “And why do you suddenly want a brass cake stand? You don’t ever celebrate anything.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed your approval to buy homeware,” Shaurya shot back, his tone edged with a sharpness Nandini knew all too well. He was going to lose it soon.

The shopkeeper looked back and forth between them, caught like a deer in the headlights.

“Sir… we only have one in stock. It’s a popular piece…”

“Oh, keep it,” Shaurya said suddenly, stepping back, but keeping his eyes glued on her grandfather. “You can buy it. In fact, I insist. I’m sure it clearly holds sentimental value for you… like most outdated things. I have better taste, anyway.”

He said the parting line, looking directly at Nandini.

That was it.

The comment that he delivered with a casual smirk and a pointed look at her as he said,‘I have better taste, anyway,’somehow made it feel even more insulting.

Nandini’s spine straightened as she saw Shaurya turn on his heel and walk out, as if the last word had been spoken.

Grandpa scoffed, proud. “Huh, finally, he backed off.”