Page 14 of When Love Trespassed

Amidst the celebration, Shaurya stood at the corner, engaged in polite conversation with a group of men from Serene Meadows. He nodded at the right moments and offered brief smiles here and there, but his heart wasn’t in it. His attention was only half on the conversation.

The other half was undeniably and involuntarily drawn to the far end of the garden, where a group had gathered to light the wish lanterns. His eyes scanned the area and found her almost instantly.

Nandini stood among the women and kids, her cheeks flushed with excitement, her red dress catching the light just enough to make her stand out amongst others like always.

She was holding a small lantern, her hands cupped around it as if it were something precious.

He watched her close her eyes for a second, her lips moving in a silent wish, her expression suddenly softer and hopeful.

Then, with careful hands, she lit the lantern and released it into the sky.

The orange glow soared higher and higher, and when it didn’t falter and floated just right, she actually let out a small squeal and clapped like a kid. He saw her throw her arms around her friend, Priya, sharing her joy in a way that was almost too pure for the cynical world he lived in.

Shaurya’s mouth twitched into something dangerously close to a smile.

Of course, he’d been right to call her kiddo.

She had that chaotic, bright, sugar-rush energy about her that kids often did.

And yet, there was something about Nandini Raichand that sent all kinds of warning bells in his head.

She was bold, unpredictable, and refreshingly genuine.

And that, more than anything, was what threw him off balance.

She was perfect. The perfect woman next door. Pretty in a way that wasn’t forced—more warmth than gloss, more soul than polish. Cute without trying, charming without pretence. The kind of woman who could fluster you just by tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

She had all the qualities that made a man not just look twice, but stare, unable to tear his gaze away. Including him.

And that was the problem.

He shouldn’t be thinking like this. He wasn’t supposed to. And yet, his eyes hardly left her beautiful face.

Nandini was like that fresh wave of homely air a man breathes after flying in and out of foreign cities, speaking in boardrooms, shaking hands with polished strangers—only to land back in his home country and finally exhale in relief.

She was every man’s dream.

And that thought? That one dangerous, treacherous thought terrified him.

Because every time this ridiculous feeling clawed its way into his head, it sent a jolt of disbelief through him.

He couldn’t believe that Nandini Raichand, of all people, was the first woman since Rhea, his ex-wife, to have ever made him feel anything close to.

.. interest. Real, unsettling, and distracting kind of interest.

He remembered the other day at the community shopping centre, when he’d pulled her aside and told her not to publicly display her ‘ fondness’ for him. Fondness. Really? As if what they had was anything remotely sweet.

And then, because his mouth had been quicker than his brain, he’d blurted out that one line.

“They’ll have you married to me and pregnant with twins before February if they ever find out it was you in my villa that night.”

It had been a joke. Mostly. But the image had stuck with him for far longer than it should have.

And the worst part? Even now, he could almost picture it.

Nandini in one of those breezy cotton dresses she loved, trying to juggle two toddlers— one boy and one girl —each a mini version of them.

He saw flashes of her scolding the little boy with those expressive eyes, wiping smudges of cake off the girl’s nose, and yelling at Shaurya to stop working and help her out because “These kids are your DNA too, Mr. Ahuja!”

F*ck! What the hell was happening to him?

He shook his head vigorously. This was insane. This was irrational. This was so not him. This wasn’t just crossing a line. It was setting it on fire and roasting marshmallows over it.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He had a past… he had boundaries. A whole goddamn divorce that had torn him apart in more ways than he’d ever admitted, even to himself.

He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t healed.

Suddenly, in that moment, as if summoned by his internal chaos, his gaze dropped to the phone in his palm.

Varun.

Right. That idiot.

Shaurya had already tried calling him twice today.

Once in the morning and again on his way here to the community hall, but Varun was clearly ignoring both his calls and messages.

No doubt on purpose. After all, he had predicted that Shaurya would freak out, deny everything, and try to back out of any blind date plan he’d cooked up for New Year’s Eve.

Still, Shaurya wasn’t in the mood for games tonight.

He opened the chat and fired off a sharp text.

‘Varun, if you’ve sent anyone here tonight, you better cancel it. I’m not doing this blind date nonsense.’

No reply.

He typed again.

‘Just don’t embarrass me. And answer your f*cking phone, dammit.’

Still no reply.

‘I swear, if someone walks up to me pretending to be my midnight miracle, I’m blocking you for life.’

Still nothing.

Shaurya sighed and ran a hand down his face. It was only 11:30 p.m. There were still thirty more minutes left until the New Year. But what if Varun had already sent his blind date back at his villa? Urgh! He’d had enough already. He decided it was time to leave.

He glanced one last time across the garden, and there she was. Nandini, barefoot now, was helping one of the little kids relight a failed lantern with so much tenderness that it twisted something in his chest.

Trying hard not to look in her direction again, he fixed his eyes back on his phone and walked through the garden.

He had only taken a step further when he collided with someone.

Instinctively, his hands reached out to steady the person, only to find himself face-to-face with none other than Keshav Raichand.

The older man’s eyes glared at him with disdain.

“Ah, Mr. Ahuja,” Grandpa said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. “Always engrossed in your electronic devices. Is there ever a moment when you’re not tethered to that phone?”

Shaurya offered a tight-lipped smile, choosing to remain silent.

At that very moment, his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen, hoping it was Varun.

But the moment he saw the message, his expression darkened.

It was a photo from his ex-wife, Rhea. She was glowing in a designer gown, snuggled into the arms of her new husband, celebrating New Year’s on a yacht.

There was a champagne glass in her hand and fireworks lit up the sky behind her.

The caption…

‘Never been happier. Wholesome. Healing. Finally found peace.’

And just like that, the small ember of warmth that Nandini had stirred in him tonight was crushed under the weight of old scars and fresh pain. The image was like a dagger to his heart, reopening wounds he had tried so hard to heal.

Grandpa, who was oblivious to the change in Shaurya’s demeanour, cleared his throat and raised his voice just enough to make sure that the nearby group of nosy elders, already heady with wine and gossip, would hear every word.

“Ah, this new generation of businessmen,” Grandpa drawled, his tone laced with mock sympathy.

“Always glued to their phones, chasing after screens instead of souls. All that success, and yet so little understanding of family, of real togetherness. Sometimes, I wonder how the people around them even manage to live with so much of their absence… or, let’s say, their emotional unavailability. ”

The murmurs around them grew louder—quiet tuts and knowing nods of agreement rippled through the group of elders, spreading like a wave of silent judgment.

Shaurya lifted his head slowly. The sting of the message from his ex-wife still echoed in his chest, but this? This was personal.

“I see,” he said, his voice ice cold. “So now I’m being judged for how I live by a man whose own family barely shows up for him.

Who’s spent his life feeling that absence far deeper than I ever have.

What’s the point of having a family just for namesake only?

At least in my case, there’s no drama, no pretending to be the ideal family for the sake of society.

I might be alone, but at least I am honest.”

Grandpa’s back straightened like a snapped branch. “What do you mean, Ahuja?”

Shaurya took a step forward. “I’m simply stating facts. Your son and daughter-in-law live halfway across the world, don’t they? They rarely visit and hardly ever call, from what I’ve heard.”

Grandpa’s lips parted to interrupt him, but Shaurya wasn’t done.

“So tell me, what’s the point of having a family that exists in name only? A family that leaves you alone to spend your old age fighting over mango trees and picking fights with neighbours just to feel seen?”

Gasps echoed through the crowd, and even the servers passing by paused mid-step, sensing the tension that hung in the air.

Nandini, who was still helping the kids with the wish lanterns, froze at the sound of those familiar raised voices. Her head whipped towards the commotion, her eyes locking onto her grandfather and Shaurya, standing merely feet apart, the air between them thick and volatile.

Grandpa's face darkened with a mixture of pain and fury. “Be careful of what you say, boy,” he warned, his voice low and trembling with restrained rage. “Yes, my son lives in London. Yes, they don’t visit often. But I had a wife who loved me till her last breath. And I have a granddaughter who treats me like I’m her whole world. ”