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Not that she was overthinking it or anything.

The music turned on a second later, thanks to Grandpa’s command, and the living room was filled with laughter and chatter once again. The pizzas had already arrived right on schedule, exactly as Shaurya hadinstructed(seriously, who gave orders like that in someone else’s house?), and now the party had officially begun.

Nandini moved toward the table, grabbed a slice of Cheese burst tandoori paneer pizza, her grandfather’s undisputed favourite, placed it on a plate and walked over to where he sat, handing it to him with a playful smile.

“Your favourite, Daadu.”

Grandpa’s eyes lit up. “Now,thisis what healing tastes like.”

But before he could take the bite, Shaurya’s voice cut in.

“Didn’t I say no cheese burst pizza for him?” he said, his eyes flicking from the pizza to her. “It’s not good for his recovery. Too heavy. Too much sodium.”

Grandpa had already taken a bite, savouring the taste of the warm melted cheese, so he wisely decided to remain silent—half to enjoy the moment and half to avoid giving Shaurya time tosnatchthe slice from his hands.

Nandini’s brows lifted as she turned to Shaurya. “One slice is allowed. It’s a party, after all. Let him enjoy it.”

Shaurya frowned, clearly not convinced. “That’s how it starts. One slice today, and tomorrow it’s samosa chaat again.”

“Good,” Grandpa muttered under his breath, chewing happily. “May that tomorrow come soon.”

She shot her grandfather a warning look, then turned back to Shaurya, reigning in her rising amusement.

“So, what would you like to have? We have Margherita, tandoori paneer, spicy jalapeño and corn, chicken pepperoni,” she asked, keeping her tone even. Neutral.Grandfather-approved.

Shaurya’s gaze met hers, and for a second, she almost forgot they weren’t alone. There was something disarmingly focused in the way he looked at her—like he wasn’t just seeing her but reading every flicker of her expression, every breath she tried to regulate.

“I don’t eat much pizza,” he said, his tone casual but laced with quiet judgment. “Too much grease. Too much junk. Not exactly ideal for people who care about long-term health.”

Nandini arched a brow. “It’s a party. Not a wellness retreat.”

“Still,” he added, eyes narrowing just slightly, “you shouldn’t overdo it either.”

Then, with a subtle smirk that annoyed her more than she wanted to admit, he added, “I’ll settle for the drink that Mr. Raichand is having. Orange juice. No soda.”

She handed him a glass of orange juice with a nod, not trusting herself to say anything more with her grandfather sitting just within arm’s reach. Instead, she turned to the rest of the room and took on the role of a perfect host.

Ten minutes later, she slipped into the kitchen to grab some diet cola cans. The room felt blessedly cooler and quieter. But her moment of peace was short-lived.

Priya followed her in, wasting no time.

“Okay,” she began, arms crossed, eyes glinting. “What’s going on?”

Nandini blinked. “What?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Priya said, cutting the crap. “What’s happening between you and your grumpy, attractive neighbour?”

Heat bloomed across Nandini’s face. “There’s no ‘me and Mr. Ahuja,’” she insisted, grabbing the cola cans a little too quickly. “You know he is helping Grandpa recover. That’s it. I mean, that’s why he comes here. For him. Not me. We just… exist. In proximity.”

Priya raised an eyebrow. “Sure. That’s why his eyes follow you like a plot twist every time you walk into the room.”

“He does not—”

“Oh please,” Priya interrupted, waving her hand dismissively. “I can see both of your villas from my window, remember? The man doubles his workout routine whenever you step out. Yesterday, he did, like, three hundred push-ups while staring in your direction. That’s not fitness. That’s focus. On you.”

Nandini tried not to smile. Or blush. Or wonder how many push-ups he could do.

“He’s just competitive,” she muttered.