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Nandini’s temper flared at his snide remark, and before logic could catch up with her fury, she stormed forward, crossing the invisible boundary that separated their two villas—the same invisible line they constantly tiptoed across every time during their bickering.

“You know what your problem is?” she snapped, her heels clicking sharply against the wet stone pathway that wound through his garden. “You think the world revolves around you.”

Shaurya didn’t flinch. He stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, looking maddeningly calm in a charcoal-grey T-shirt and joggers that clung so snug, reminding her how unfairly well-built he was.

“The world? No,” he drawled. “But Serene Meadows? Absolutely. Lately, this entire community has had nothing else to discuss apart from me and your grandfather’s sacred tree. You wouldn’t understand. You’ve only just returned.”

She glared at him, her eyes glittering with indignation. “So you think you’re the hot topic of this place? You really are the human version of black coffee. Bitter, brooding, and unnecessarily intense. Honestly, why would anyone even want to talk about you all the time?”

She took an angry step toward him, fuelled by the heat of the argument, but the slick marble stones in his garden betrayed her. Her heel skidded on the damp surface, and her balance gave out from under her.

It all happened in a blink.

One moment, she was lunging forward with fire in her voice, and the next, she was mid-stumble. But before she could fall and hurt herself, his strong arms caught her by the waist and yanked her forward, right into his chest.

Her hands instinctively clutched the front of his T-shirt, gripping it like her life depended on it. His chest was warm and solid beneath her trembling fingers. She could feel the rapid thud of his heart, or was it hers? The world blurred for a second as her eyes met his, watching her like they always did—as if he was seeing her for the very first time.

Neither of them spoke. The silence between them thickened, not with awkwardness, but with sizzling tension that crawled up her spine and settled somewhere between her lungs.

He was the first one to break the silence.

“Give me one good reason why I should be attending that community circus tonight.”

Her breath hitched at the sudden change in tone, but her gaze didn’t leave his. For a long beat, she searched his face, reading the cynicism there, but beneath that sarcasm, she also saw something else…the quiet longing he was convincingly hiding.

She took a deep breath and then said, “Because it’s New Year’s Eve. And with every ending comes a chance to beginagain. If you really want to change the way people here see you, maybe start by just showing up. Let them know you’re not just a recluse fighting over tree branches. Let them see the man who lives here, one who’s built a home here. People connect with people… not property lines.”

His expression didn’t shift, but his arms slowly loosened around her. Still, he didn’t let go.

She kept going. “New Year’s Eve is always magical. It’s not just about the wine, the confetti, and the countdown. It’s about making peace with the past and having the courage to dream forward. If there’s even a part of you that wants to start over… maybe tonight’s the night.”

For a flicker of a moment, something shifted in his eyes. A shadow of vulnerability. A man caught between logic and hope.

But then it vanished as quickly as it came.

The arms that had softened just seconds ago tensed again, and the hint of sarcasm returned to his expression.

“Thank you for the motivational speech,” he said coolly. “But I don’t need life lessons from a 25-year-old idealist who still believes the world runs on hope and fireworks. I’ve lived long enough to know that fresh starts aren’t handed to you in a glass of champagne. They’re earned. With hard decisions. Not sugar-coated dreams.”

Her stomach sank, but she held her ground. She slowly untangled herself from his hold, pushing off his chest with an audible scoff.

“Fine,” she said, taking a step back. “Stay here. Be the grumpy recluse of Villa No. 11. No one’s going to miss you anyway. I hope your ego finds enough room to breathe in that giant villa of yours.”

She turned sharply on her heel and began to march forward, her heels crunching against the gravel. But before she could fully walk away, something made her stop.

She turned again, her hair flying with the motion, her eyes blazing.

“And one day, Mr. Ahuja,” she called out, her voice ringing clear through the quiet garden, “when you’re older and lonelier than you already are… maybe you’ll remember that a 25-year-old woman once tried to get you to see the world differently. And you chose to ignore her instead.”

He said nothing. And neither did she wait for a reply.

She stormed back into her villa, slamming shut the French doors that separated the garden from the living room.

Shaurya remained rooted in his place long after she was gone. The faint fragrance of her vanilla shampoo and jasmine perfume still clung to his shirt. He rubbed his jaw, irritated at the way her words had stung more than they should have.

Fresh starts.

He didn’t believe in them.