2: The Regretful Protector

The morning of the funeral was quiet, save for the occasional sound of footsteps as workers moved about, setting up the hall. Aran stood at the center, his gaze focused on the framed photo of his best friend. The picture was one of their shared memories, taken during a camping trip years ago. His jaw clenched, the weight of grief heavy on his chest.

He had been the one to take charge of the arrangements when the news broke, stepping in without hesitation. His best friend's parents were in no condition to handle the details, so Aran made sure everything was perfect—from the flowers to the seating, to ensuring all the guests were accommodated. This wasn't just a duty; it was the least he could do for the man who had been like a brother to him.

But beneath the calm exterior, Aran's mind was restless.

'Stay away from Kanya' his best friend had said five years ago, the words echoing in his head like a curse.

They had been standing in this very garden during one of their last serious conversations before Kanya left. Aran still remembered the intensity in his friend's eyes, the unshakable resolve in his voice. 'She's not just any girl, Aran. She's my sister. She's young, naive, and she doesn't know the kind of man you are. I'm asking you as a friend—no, I'm telling you. Don't touch her.'

At the time, Aran had laughed it off. 'You don't have to worry. I'm not interested in relationships, let alone with your sister.'

But then Kanya confessed.

The memory of that moment played out in his mind in vivid detail. Her trembling voice, the hopeful look in her eyes, and the gift box she had brought. For a split second, Aran had considered it—considered saying yes, considered taking her hand and exploring the feelings he hadn't allowed himself to acknowledge.

But his best friend's words rang in his ears, and he'd made the cruelest decision he could. He destroyed her hope in a single moment, not because he wanted to, but because he felt he had to.

Now, as he stood amidst the mourners, guilt and resentment swirled in his chest. A part of him resented his best friend for putting him in that position. For making him push Kanya away. For making him believe it was the right thing to do. Because no matter how many years had passed, she had never left his mind.

He hated the thought of what might have been. What if he hadn't said those harsh words? What if he had been selfish and pursued her, despite the warning? Would she still have left? Would they have built something together? The what-ifs haunted him, eating away at the cold façade he had built over the years.

"Sir, we're ready to begin" one of the workers said, pulling Aran out of his thoughts.

He nodded, his expression unreadable as always. But as the guests began to arrive, a familiar tension settled in his chest. He knew she was coming. Kanya.

And then he saw her.

She stood at the edge of the gathering, her posture regal yet relaxed, like a queen surveying her kingdom. The years had transformed her into something breathtaking. She was no longer the timid girl with shy smiles and nervous laughter.

Her silky, dark hair cascaded down her back in soft waves, framing a face that had grown sharper, more refined. Her almond-shaped eyes were bold and captivating, lined perfectly with black kohl that only enhanced their intensity. Her lips, painted a deep red, were pressed into a firm line, giving her an aura of confidence and power. The black dress she wore hugged her slender figure, modest yet alluring, with a slit that hinted at her toned legs. Every inch of her screamed elegance and strength, as if daring anyone to underestimate her.

But it wasn't just her beauty that stunned Aran—it was the energy she exuded. She looked untouchable, a woman who had faced the world and come out victorious.

And yet, despite her transformation, Aran could see a flicker of the girl he once knew in her eyes. That same fire, that same intensity that had drawn him to her in the first place.

As if on cue, her gaze met his.

The air between them grew heavy, the sounds of the funeral fading into the background. For a moment, neither of them moved. Her eyes narrowed slightly, a mix of emotions flickering across her face—recognition, anger, and something else he couldn't place.

Aran's chest tightened. The last time they had looked at each other like this, he had shattered her heart. And now, years later, he couldn't help but wonder if it was his own heart breaking this time.

_

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The funeral had ended, and the once-crowded garden was now nearly empty. Kanya stood to the side, her arms crossed as she stared into the distance, trying to calm the storm brewing in her chest. The weight of her brother's loss pressed heavily on her, but grief wasn't the only thing swirling in her mind.

Her phone buzzed in her bag, and she groaned, pulling it out. It was her manager from New York, calling her yet again. She answered, pressing the phone to her ear.

"What?" she snapped.

"Kanya, we need you back here ASAP. There's a shoot lined up for next week—"

"I'm not flying halfway across the world just for a goddamn shoot" she interrupted sharply.

"You're contractually obligated, Kanya" the manager continued, unbothered by her tone. "And it's with Marco. The agency is pushing for you two to—"

"Are you out of your fucking mind?"she yelled, loud enough to make a few mourners still lingering nearby turn their heads. "You expect me to pose with that cheating piece of trash? What kind of clown show are you running over there? Do I look like someone who takes sht lying down?"

"Kanya, calm down—"

"Calm down?" she spat. "How about you calm down when your boyfriend's sticking it in half the city while you're busy working your a** off for him? I don't care if he's the golden boy of the agency. Tell your precious Marco he can shove the shoot up his—"/"

"Kanya!" The voice on the other end was frantic. "This isn't the time—"

"This is exactly the time!" she snapped. "You want me to shoot with him? Fine. But make sure you have paramedics on standby because I might just break his nose. You know what? I'm done with this bullshit. Find someone else to clean up his mess because I quit. I'm not doing this anymore!"

With that, she hung up, her chest heaving as she shoved her phone into her bag.

The nearby chatter had gone silent. Kanya glanced around to see several guests staring at her, their expressions ranging from shock to thinly veiled judgment. She didn't care. Let them look. Let them whisper. She wasn't about to apologize for being herself.

But one person's gaze felt heavier than the rest.

"Kanya" Aran's deep voice cut through the awkward silence, his tone low and restrained.

She turned to him, her eyes narrowing at the man she thought she hated more than anyone else. "What?"

"Don't do this" he said, his expression unreadable but his voice tinged with disapproval. "You're making a scene."

Kanya's eyes flashed dangerously. "A scene? You think this is a scene? I haven't even started yet."

His jaw tightened. "You're at your brother's funeral. Have some respect."

Her laugh was bitter, sharp. "Respect? Don't talk to me about respect, Aran. You think I give a damn about what these people think of me? Let them judge. Let them talk. It's none of their business."

"It's not about them" he said, stepping closer, his tone softening slightly. "It's about you. You don't need to do this. You're better than this."

She crossed her arms, glaring up at him. "Don't pretend like you care. You don't get to lecture me about what I should or shouldn't do."

There was a long pause as they stared each other down, the tension between them crackling like electricity. Finally, Aran sighed, running a hand through his perfectly styled hair.

"You're right" he said, surprising her. "I don't have the right. But I do know you're too talented to waste your energy on idiots like your ex or people who don't appreciate you."

Her brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. "What are you trying to say?"

"I'm saying you deserve better" he said simply. "And I can offer you something better."

Kanya raised a skeptical brow, crossing her arms tighter. "Oh? And what exactly are you offering me?"

"A job" he said, his gaze steady.

She blinked. "A job?"

"Yes" he replied, his voice firm. "Your background is impressive. You've worked in modeling, PR campaigns, and international projects. I need someone like you. Someone who can handle the PR and marketing side of things for my company."

Kanya stared at him, stunned. Of all the things he could've said, this was the last thing she expected.

"Why the hell would I work for you?" she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Because you're good at what you do aren't you?" he replied smoothly. "And because you just quit your last job, so you'll need something new. Think of this as an opportunity to put your skills to use somewhere you'll actually be valued."

She opened her mouth to retort, but no words came out. She hated that he made a good point.

Aran took her silence as a chance to drive his point home. "The position is yours if you want it. Think about it."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving Kanya standing there, stunned, as the chapter ended on his bold offer.