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“Clubhouse dinner,” she replied. “His friends organised it to celebrate his recovery and were here to pick him up. He was acting like a teenager headed for a late-night date. Can you imagine?”

Shaurya laughed softly, the kind of sound that went straight to her chest. “Good. He deserves that.”

He glanced over her shoulder into the living room. “And where’s Lakshmi?”

“Lakshmi Aunty has gone too. She left for her sister’s place in East Delhi. Took the weekend off. You know how she stayed with me all the time when Daadu had the cast on his leg. She deserved this break too.”

Shaurya paused, his gaze sharpening with interest. “So you’re alone tonight?”

Nandini arched a brow, pretending not to notice the way his voice dropped half an octave. “I am. At least until Daadu returns by eleven.”

Shaurya stepped even closer. “And what exactly were you planning to do for the next couple of hours? Re-read that steamy, scandalous neighbour-romance again?”

She slid her palms up his chest playfully. “Nope. I’ve read that enough. Besides, you know how the real version’s keeping me busy these days.”

He smirked, already knowing her answer. “So?”

“I ordered a few new outfits online,” she said casually, pulling back with a grin. “I thought I’d try them on.”

“Alone?” he asked.

“Lakshmi Aunty’s usually my fashion critic. But she’s not around…”

His expression turned wicked. “Tonight, I’m your critic.”

Before she could object, he gently nudged her inside and shut the French door behind them.

She folded her arms, arching an eyebrow. “Wow. I can’t believe the workaholic Shaurya Ahuja is ditching his work for this. No mysterious work crisis today?”

He smirked, that familiar grumpy glint returning to his eyes. “The world can wait, Nandini. My inbox might be full, but tonight, I’ve got better things to look at.”

Her breath caught, and the blush rose instantly in her cheeks.

“And besides,” he added, his voice dipping lower as he stepped closer, “you think I’d rather be staring at spreadsheets when I could be watching you strut around in those dangerously cute outfits you always pretend aren’t made to drive me insane?”

Her heart flipped, lips parting slightly in surprise at the way his words stirred a low heat in her belly. She tried to keep up the banter.

“Just so we’re clear, this is a fashion show. Not a strip show. So, don’t get any wrong ideas.”

Shaurya didn’t miss a beat. He turned her around, gave a light, playful smack to her lower back, and whispered against her ear, “Don’t waste time, Miss Raichand. Stop talking and go start the show.”

She giggled…nervous, excited, and completely giddy as she grabbed his hand and led him up the stairs. His gaze was firmly fixed on her, as if she was the only assignment on his agenda tonight. And from the way his eyes darkened with every step she took, she knew… she’d better put on one hell of a show.

***************

Shaurya stepped into Nandini’s bedroom for the first time, and for a second, it felt like walking into a chapter of her life that had been off-limits until now.

The room was warm and lived-in, just like her. Cream-coloured walls contrasted by sheer lavender curtains. In the middle stood a queen-size bed, piled with a messy mountain of pastel pillows and a half-tucked quilt. A worn-out stuffed panda was perched in one corner of the bed, clearly the longtime favourite. Fairy lights twinkled along the window, casting a soft glow across the space. There was a chaotic collage of polaroids by the study table displaying pictures of Nandini with her Grandpa, Nandini with Lakshmi, and a much younger Nandini in pigtails grinning at a birthday cake. It was every inch the room of a 25-year-old woman, part grown-up, part whimsical—her private sanctuary.

He let out a quiet breath, realising that he’d been allowed into the part of her world no one else got to see.

Ten minutes passed, and she was still in the bathroom. He knocked lightly.

“Nandini, are you trying to knit the dress in there? It’s been ten minutes.”

Her muffled voice came back. “Perfection takes time. Have some patience, Mr. Grumpy Fashion Critic.”

He chuckled and leaned against the wall near her bookshelf, eyeing a stack of romance novels that confirmed everything he’d suspected. She was a hopeless romantic.