The car rolled to a sudden stop on the lonely village road, the silence of the fields broken only by the hum of its engine. Behind them, the bodyguards' vehicle braked sharply, dust rising in the air.

"Ky hua, Sher?" a man's voice broke the quiet.

Before Sher could answer, his eyes narrowed. The car ahead — he knew it too well. He stepped out, and from the opposite side, she appeared.

Sheetal Rana.

Her stride carried the same fire as years ago, her presence still commanding. She came to stand before him.

"Kaisa lag raha hai haar kar, Kaushik sahab? Vo bhi Chief Minister ki position se."

Dheraj's stare was unflinching. Time had not dimmed her pride, nor softened the steel in her eyes.

"Jhuth ka sahara le kar jitne walon ko winner nahi kaha jata."

"Achha? Aur dhoka dene walon ko kya kaha jata hai?" Sheetal’s words lashed out.

"Bass." With a lift of his hand, Dheraj ended it. "Aap jaa sakti hai."

He gestured to his driver. The car turned off the paved highway, onto a rough country track where only one vehicle could pass at a time. And with a slow, deliberate pause, Dheraj let her car go first.

That road was more than a stretch of dirt — it was the thin line where their worlds touched. One side led to the sprawling haveli of Dheraj Kaushik. The other, to the fortress - like estate of Sheetal Rana.

Two dynasties. Both born of politics. Both chained in rivalry.

It had not begun with them. No, the first spark had ignited with their children — love, betrayal, and ambition entwined. And now, that ancient fire threatened to leap into the lives of their grandchildren.

The feud was far from ending. In fact, it was only beginning again.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Mai chahti hun, Dhruv… ab tum shaadi kar lo." Kavita said to her son, who had just woken up at two in the afternoon.

Still half-drowsy, Dhruv sat at the dining table, eating in his careless, rugged style. His hair was damp, strands clinging to his forehead — he hadn't bothered drying them after his shower. Dressed in a plain white T-shirt and loose trousers, even this undone look of his was enough to stir admiration.

"Acha, Mom! Kisse karun lekin?" he asked with a lazy smile.

"Apni girlfriend Rina se," Kavita replied, her eyes fixed on her son.

"Oh really, Mom? Aap log vo jalim ghar wale to nahi banenge — 'nahi, tum uss chote khandan ki ladki ko hamari bahu nahi bana sakte'?" Dhruv said dramatically, then chuckled. "Aur vaise bhi vo meri girlfriend nahi hai. You know, just a time pass."

Kavita frowned slightly. "Toh mai tumhare liye koi ladki dekhun?"

"Come on, Mom, band kijiye ye topic. Main bohot achhe se jaanta hun aaj kal ki ladkiyon ko. Aaj mere saath toh kal kisi aur ke saath."

"But beta, sab ladkiyan aisi nahi hoti hain—"

"Dhruv Rana ko koi ladki pasand aa jaye… vo ladki bani hi nahi hai. Aur mera abhi shaadi karne ka koi iraada nahi hai. So chill out," he said, dismissing the subject as he pushed back his chair.

With that, he strode upstairs to his room, leaving Kavita thoughtful at the table.

Her son had turned twenty-four. After college, instead of stepping into responsibility, he had sunk deeper into parties, late nights, and careless living. Most of his time was spent in the city house, away from the family estate—coming here only once in a while, never staying too long.

And yet, Kavita knew one thing for certain. She would see her son married. No matter what it took.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Bhagwan ji, bas aaj mujhe bacha lena…" she whispered breathlessly, pedaling her cycle faster and faster.

"Pakka promise… aaj ke baad chhupke ghar se kabhi bahar nahi niklungi. Pata nahi mere result ka kya hua hoga…"

Her heart raced more than the cycle wheels beneath her feet.

She was in her second semester now. After exams, she had returned to the haveli, though otherwise she lived in the hostel back in the city. Today, anxiety gnawed at her — her results could be out any moment. Business had never interested her, yet her elder brother had forced her into that very course. Somehow, she had dragged herself through the first year, but the second? She hadn't studied at all.

Because that year, something else had taken over her life — dance.

She had skipped classes, slipped away for rehearsals, stolen hours to practice steps instead of flipping through books.

And now, fearing both the result and the scolding at home, she had done the one thing strictly forbidden — she had sneaked out. At four in the evening, scaling the wall of the haveli, she had slipped past the guards she so despised.

Her cycle flew down the dusty path, wheels crunching over stones. The jungle stretched wide before her—the shortcut that cut through to the main city road. She had taken this path countless times as a child, all the way to the small, hidden lake she loved.

Today too, she had gone there. Sat by the waterside until sleep claimed her.

But when she woke, dusk was already folding in, the shadows growing darker, the air heavier.

Now, she was racing back, her breath uneven, her prayers tumbling out as desperately as her pedaling feet.

The wheel jolted over a hidden stone, and in an instant, the cycle skidded. Siya tumbled hard onto the ground, her baseball cap flying off her head.

"Aahh!" her cry cut through the silence, echoing deep into the forest.

Her hair fell forward, a curtain across her face. She pushed herself upright with trembling arms, only to notice her palm scraped raw, crimson streaks marking the skin. She winced but brushed it aside, pulling herself up and steadying her cycle.

"Ye sari musibat mujhpe hi kyu aati hai?" she muttered, blinking away the sting of tears as she crouched, scanning the dirt for her cap. That cap was no ordinary thing — it bore her name stitched across it. If anyone from the family found it, her secret outings would be exposed.

"Kyuki tum khud ek bohot badi mushibat ho, Siya Kaushik."

The voice came from behind. Siya froze, then slowly turned.

There he was — her younger brother, Aman, glaring at her like a cat who’d just cornered its prey.

"Aman!" relief lit her face. "Mere bhai, tum aa gaye. Meri help karo na… dekho, mujhe chot lag gayi hai."

"Bilkul nahi," Aman shot back flatly.

"Please, please, please…" she pleaded, folding her hands dramatically.

"Phir jo main mangunga, tumhe dena hoga."

"Han, thik hai. Ab meri cap dhoondhne mein help karo!" Siya's tone sharpened with urgency — she could not, under any circumstance, lose that cap.

Aman smirked, clearly enjoying her desperation. "Pehle promise karo."

Siya looked at him, eyes widening with mock innocence. "Tumhe apni behen pe believe nahi hai?"

"Mujhe Siya pe bilkul bhi believe nahi hai." Aman shook his head slowly, relishing every word.

Before Siya could reply, a sudden noise cut through the forest.

The furious barking of dogs — loud, wild, as if two were tearing into each other.

Siya froze. Her face drained of color. She turned sharply toward Aman. His bravado cracked; even he looked terrified. Without a word, he darted forward, grabbed hold of the cycle, and steadied it.

Aman swung onto the seat, Siya scrambling up behind him. The chain rattled, wheels spun, and Aman pedaled with all the strength in his legs.

But luck wasn't with them.

A shadow lunged out from behind the trees. One dog had locked onto their trail, its snarling growls closing in.

"Aman, tej chalao!" Siya screamed, clutching tightly at her brother's shirt.

Aman's breath tore through his lungs as he drove the cycle faster, every muscle straining. But behind them, Siya's terrified cries didn't stop —

"Aman! Aman! Aman!"

Her voice rose above the wind, above the thundering paws on the dirt.

The path widened, spilling onto the main road. The cycle shot forward—and then, in the desperate speed, balance snapped.

CRASH.

Both bodies were thrown onto the harsh gravel. Siya hit the ground hard, her breath knocked out of her, vision swimming. She lay there, unable to move, her palms scraped, knees burning, the world spinning around her.

The dog's growls grew closer. Its shadow loomed.

And then —

A sharp crack split the air.

A gunshot.

The dog yelped, startled, then bolted into the darkness. Silence reclaimed the night.

Siya lay sprawled on the road, too shaken to rise this time. Aman, wincing from his fall, lifted his head. His wide eyes caught the figure standing at the roadside, smoke still curling from the barrel of the rifle.

It was Rithvik Vyas.

The neighbor.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Siya!" Aman cried, scrambling to his sister's side. He turned, spotting the figure by the road. "Rithvik bhaiya! Jaldi aao!"

From a distance, Rithvik's eyes locked on Siya, of all the Kaushik household, she was the one person who tested his patience the most. Her reckless ways, her constant mischief — she was a storm that never let him breathe in peace.

"Rithvik bhai… aao na! Dii uth nahi paa rahi!" Aman's voice cracked with urgency.

This fall was harsher than the last—blood trailed down Siya's temple, her head throbbing from the impact.

Rithvik stepped forward at last, his boots crunching against the gravel. He knelt without a word, slid one arm beneath her knees and the other behind her back, and in a single motion lifted her into his arms.

Siya's lashes fluttered open briefly, her body too weak to resist. For once, her defiance was gone.

"Aaram se baitho," his voice was steady, quiet, but it carried command.

She obeyed without protest, sinking into the front seat of his car. Whatever history, whatever petty quarrels lay between them — tonight, she was at his mercy. And she knew better than to stir his temper.

Rithvik turned back, retrieved the fallen cycle, and heaved it into the trunk. Aman had already climbed into the backseat, watching with wide eyes, shaken but safe.

The door shut with a heavy thud.

The engine roared to life.

And the car carried them away from the deserted road, from the howls still echoing faintly in the distance — into a night where rivalries, grudges, and unspoken bonds had just shifted, though none of them realized it yet.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Rithvik bhaiya, car yahi ruk dijiye," Aman leaned forward, pointing at the narrow lane.

Just ahead, after a U-turn, stood Kaushik House in all its grandeur—and right opposite, the more modest but dignified Vyas House. The lane they were on curved around the back of Vyas House.

"Kyu?" Rithvik's voice was clipped, his eyes still fixed on the road.

"Aaj na dii ka result aana tha… pata nahi unka result kaisa aaya hoga. Aur agar dii aise ghar jayegi na, toh mummy unhe chhodengi nahi."

At that, Rithvik almost smiled. The corners of his mouth twitched, but he hid it well, his expression remaining unreadable.

"Toh?" he asked, pretending indifference.

Aman glanced at Siya, who sat quietly in the passenger seat, lips pressed tight, her face pale. Then he looked back at Rithvik. "Aap inhe apne ghar le chalo na… fir aap inki bandage kar dena."

For a moment, silence hung between them. Rithvik's gaze flicked to Siya.

Normally, she was all fire — loud, reckless, impossible. But tonight, she looked small, almost fragile. Her head bowed, her fingers twisted nervously.

And despite himself, Rithvik felt something shift. Pity, perhaps.

"Okay," he said finally.

The car slowed, wheels crunching over the gravel as he pulled up near the back gate. With quiet authority, he stepped out, opened the rear door, and guided both Aman and Siya toward the Vyas House.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Aman and Siya sat quietly on the sofa, their clothes still dusty from the fall. Aman winced as Rithvik's mother dabbed ointment on his scraped elbow, while across from them, Rithvik leaned forward, carefully cleaning the cut on Siya's forehead.

His touch was steady, his jaw was set, eyes avoiding hers.

From beside them, his mother's voice broke the silence.

"Tum abhi ky karne gayi thi jungle me?" she asked, her tone a mixture of concern.

Siya lowered her eyes, twisting her fingers together. "Tension ho rahi thi na, aunty," she murmured softly.

"Magar kyu?" Rithvik's mother looked at her in surprise. To her, Siya was almost like her own daughter — after all, she was the child of her 'muh-bole bhai', the late Major Raghav Rana. That bond made Siya precious.

And yet, time and again, the girl's stubborn ways tested everyone's patience.

Rithvik's hand stilled for a moment at that thought, his gaze flickering briefly to Siya's pale face. She looked so different from her usual fiery self—fragile, almost guilty.

"Ahh huh, aunty, mera maan kar raha tha," Siya muttered, trying to mask her restlessness.

"Aise akele nahi nikalte, beta," Rithvik's mother sighed, her voice warm but firm. "Kuch ho jata toh?"

"Itna kafi nahi hai kya, Mummy?" Rithvik muttered under his breath, his tone edged with sarcasm as he pressed the cotton gently against Siya's wound.

"Ohh aunty!" Aman suddenly broke into laughter, his earlier fear forgotten. "Aaj jo scene maine dekha na… agar aap dekhti toh maza aa jata. Dii do baar giri thi cycle se!"

"Tum chup karo warna muh tod dungi main tumhara!" Siya shot back, trying to rise in anger.

But before she could move, Rithvik's firm hand pressed lightly against her shoulder, guiding her back down. His voice was quiet, almost cutting:

"Rassi jal gayi lekin bal nahi gaye."

Siya's eyes narrowed, her lips parting with the urge to retort—but she swallowed the words. Her thoughts burned louder than her voice.

"Tum toh chup hi karo… karwa karela kahika."

Aman chuckling to himself, Rithvik focused on finishing the bandage, Siya simmering quietly, and Rithvik's mother watching them all with a mixture of affection and worry.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

Later that night, Siya lay sprawled on her bed, her head still throbbing faintly from the fall. Across the room, Aman animatedly narrated the entire jungle episode to their cousins—Vanya and Aanya. His words were exaggerated, his hands waving in the air, making the story sound far more dramatic than it had been.

Within minutes, Vanya and Aanya were laughing so hard they could barely breathe.

"Bohot bura hua, Siya, tumhare sath!" Vanya managed between fits of giggles, collapsing onto the bed in mock sympathy.

Siya, clutching a pillow to her chest, shot her a look. "Aur tumhare sath bhi kuch zyada acha nahi hua hai, sunna maine bhi." Her tongue, sharper than her injuries, never failed her.

That shut Vanya up for a second —then both girls burst out laughing again.

The truth was, Vanya and Siya were in the same sinking boat. Both second-year students, both victims of their results — one failed paper each weighing heavy on their heads.

Siya had escaped her mother's wrath thanks to her fresh injury, her bandaged forehead acting as an unplanned shield. Vanya, however, wasn't so lucky. She had faced the full storm at home, scolded until her ears rang.

The night replayed itself in Siya's memory with a crooked smile. When Rithvik had dropped them home, she hadn't wasted a second. Before anyone could question her, she had shifted all blame onto him.

"Rithvik hume bike chalana sikha raha tha, isiliye gir gaye," she had declared innocently, eyes wide, voice dripping with false sincerity.

Rithvik's jaw had tightened, his eyes dark with barely contained irritation. He hadn't defended himself. He had only glared at her, before turning on his heel and walking away.

And Siya?

She had simply smirked to herself.

---

"Ab aise bhi koi baat nahi hai… ye toh apna routine ka hai," Vanya said with a grin, brushing off the drama.

Aanya, two years older and always ready with mischief, flipped open her laptop. "Ye sab chhodo. Maine Siya ke bare me post kiya tha… dekho, kitne funny comments aaye hain!"

Before she could read them aloud, a pillow came flying at her. Siya had hurled it with full force.

"Bhadd mein jao tum!" Siya snapped, cheeks flushed. "Din mein kitni baar thusti ho, ye bhi apne fans ko bataya karo!"

Her anger was real this time. What happened in the jungle was terrifying, and the last thing she wanted was for the world to laugh about it on Aanya's social media. But Aanya — she never thought twice before posting.

"Siya Kaushik se ek duniya milna chahti hai," Vanya teased, snatching the laptop from Aanya's lap and scrolling through the comments with amusement.

Siya glared. "Ye sab sirf tumhare wajah se hai, Aabya. Log pata nahi mujhe kya samajhte hain!"

Aanya tossed her hair dramatically and smirked. "Arre, tumhe mujhe thank you bolna chahiye. Meri wajah se sab tumhe jante hain… Siya, the Trouble Maker." She burst out laughing at her own words.

Aanya had made it a habit — every time Siya created chaos, she would turn it into a story or a post. And slowly, Siya's name had become less 'Kaushik' and more 'The Trouble Maker.'

"Haan! Siya the Trouble Maker!" Aman jumped in gleefully, pointing at Siya, then at Aanya, then at Vanya. "Aur ye dono chor… aur main police inspector!" He climbed onto the sofa dramatically, striking a heroic pose.

"Acha bachchu…" Vanya lunged forward, her fingers digging into Aman's side. He yelped, laughing uncontrollably as she tickled him mercilessly, shoving him off balance until he tumbled onto the bed.

Within seconds, the entire room was filled with laughter — the kind that echoed off walls, where anger dissolved into warmth, and rivalry blurred into love.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

The grand haveli shimmered under strings of golden lights, every corner alive with laughter, clinking glasses, and the hum of celebration. Angad Rana had spared no effort in hosting the dinner party to mark his victory — an evening of pride and grandeur.

But Dhruv sat away from it all, locked inside his room, the glow of his phone screen painting his face in pale blue. The music and chatter outside barely touched him. Dinner parties like these had never been his world.

Just then, the door creaked open, and a boy walked in — Angad Rana's friend's grandson, well-acquainted with Dhruv.

"Tum yaha baithe ho aur bahar sab tumhe dhund rahe hai."

Dhruv didn't even look up. "Mujhe yaha ki party bilkul pasand nahi hai."

"Kyu? Yaha kis cheez ki kami hai?"

"Duniya ki sabse khubsurat cheez ki," Dhruv muttered, his tone hinting exactly what he meant.

The boy chuckled. "Bahar chal kar toh dekho ek baar…"

"Dadu kab se ladkiyon ko dinner party pe bulane lage?" Dhruv arched a brow.

"Ladkiyon ko nahi, unke parents ko bulaya jata hai. Lekin parents jante hai ki Rana house ke beta bada ho gaye hai… aur phir—" He left the sentence dangling with a grin. Both of them broke into laughter.

"Stupid peoples," Dhruv scoffed.

"Acha tum aa jao bahar. Main chalta hoon." The boy waved it off and slipped out of the room, leaving Dhruv once again in the soft hum of silence.

He sank deeper into the couch, eyes drifting back to his phone. A lazy scroll through Instagram… until a post caught his attention.

"Siya, the Trouble Maker."

Dhruv's lips curved unconsciously as he whispered the name.

"Siya…" The word lingered on his tongue, unfamiliar yet strangely pleasant.

He glanced at the profile—ID: Aarya Kaushik. His thumb was about to swipe to the second page when the door opened again.

"Dhruv..." His mother's voice cut through the quiet.

Startled, he locked his phone and placed it aside instantly, as though he hadn't been lost in another world just moments ago.

☆ ★ ✮ ★ ☆

"Churailo ne mujhe bhej diya chai banane… itna bhi nahi socha ki mujhe chot lagi hai."

Siya muttered under her breath, arms folded across her chest as the maid carefully placed cups on the tray.

It was Siya's turn to make tea tonight, but did she ever lift a finger? Never. The maid had ended up brewing it, while Siya sat lazily on the kitchen chair, pretending the universe owed her a favor for her injury.

Whenever the three sisters were home, nights stretched long — full of whispered plans, endless chatter, and outrageous dares. Most of their mischief had roots in these midnight gatherings, a ritual no scolding could erase.

Siya sighed and grabbed the tray from the maid, stepping out of the kitchen just as Ronak walked in. Her elder brother, his presence always steady and composed, noticed her immediately. He slowed, his gaze softening at the sight of the fresh bandage around her head.

He reached out and placed a gentle hand on her hair, his palm lingering with quiet affection, before he moved to pass by.

"Bhai, chai chahiye?" she asked, her voice dipping into the kind of sweetness.

Ronak turned back, a faint smile tugging his lips.

"Nahi bachche. Aur aapko aaram karna chahiye, na ki aadhi raat mein chai party."

Her lips curled into that same innocent smile — the one that disarmed everyone around her, the one that made even anger melt away.

◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉◉