A Servant, A Stranger

The following week passed uneventfully for Arya, but her thoughts were anything but calm. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't erase the image of Mr. Veer without his mask from her mind. There was something unsettling yet magnetic about him, his presence pulling at her in ways she couldn't explain.

But Arya wasn't one to indulge in fantasies. She focused on her coursework, finishing assignments and sketches that kept her up late into the night. Rohan hadn't mentioned the incident at the dinner party since, and Arya decided it was best not to bring it up. She didn't want to appear overly curious—or worse, suspicious.

However, fate had other plans.

It was a Saturday afternoon when Rohan called her, his voice bright and insistent. "Arya, I need a favor."

"What now?" Arya replied, balancing her phone between her ear and shoulder as she mixed paint on her palette.

"Come over to my place," Rohan said. "I forgot some important files, and my dad's busy with a meeting. I need someone to grab them for me."

"Rohan, I'm not your errand girl," Arya said, shaking her head even though he couldn't see her.

"Please?" he begged. "It's urgent. And I'd go myself, but I'm stuck in the lab. You know how Professor Naik is. He'll kill me if I leave."

Arya sighed, wiping her hands on a rag. "Fine. But you owe me."

"Always do," Rohan quipped before hanging up.

When Arya arrived at the Veer estate, the house felt strangely quiet. The grandeur of the place was just as overwhelming as before, but this time, there was no party, no guests, just an eerie stillness that seemed to press down on her.

The housekeeper let her in, directing her to Rohan's study on the second floor. Arya climbed the grand staircase, her footsteps echoing in the vast space. She couldn't help but feel a little out of place, a speck of color in a world of muted sophistication.

She found the study easily enough, a cozy room with leather armchairs and shelves lined with books and tech gadgets. It was unmistakably Rohan's, the space brimming with his personality. Arya quickly located the files he had described and tucked them into her bag.

Just as she was about to leave, she heard a faint clatter from somewhere down the hall.

Curiosity got the better of her. Arya stepped out of the study and followed the sound, her footsteps soft against the polished floor. The hall led to a large, open room she hadn't seen before, filled with antique furniture and walls adorned with family portraits.

There, near the corner of the room, was a man arranging some books on a high shelf. His back was to her, and he was dressed plainly, his rolled-up sleeves exposing muscular forearms. He seemed too engrossed in his task to notice her presence.

"Excuse me," Arya said hesitantly.

The man turned, and Arya froze.

It was him. Mr. Veer.

But he wasn't wearing his mask.

Arya's first instinct was to look away, her cheeks burning with embarrassment. She wasn't sure why she felt so flustered—it wasn't as if she had done anything wrong. But seeing him unmasked, in such an unguarded moment, felt almost intrusive.

"Yes?" he asked, his tone polite but distant.

"I—I didn't mean to interrupt," Arya stammered, clutching the strap of her bag. "I was just...passing by."

Mr. Veer tilted his head slightly, studying her with a look of mild curiosity. He didn't seem to recognize her from the dinner party.

"You must be one of the staff," Arya said quickly, trying to recover from her awkwardness. "I didn't mean to bother you."

A flicker of amusement crossed his face, but he said nothing to correct her. Instead, he simply nodded. "No bother," he replied. "Is there something you need?"

"No, I was just leaving," Arya said, taking a step back. "Sorry again for disturbing you."

With that, she turned and hurried out of the room, her heart pounding in her chest.

By the time Arya returned to her apartment, she still couldn't shake the encounter. Why hadn't Mr. Veer corrected her assumption that he was a servant? Did he think it was funny? Or was he deliberately trying to remain anonymous?

She replayed the scene in her mind, analyzing every detail. Without the mask, he seemed more human somehow. The scar on his jaw was more noticeable, but it didn't diminish his striking features. If anything, it made him look even more intriguing.

Arya sighed, dropping onto her couch. She didn't know what to make of it all, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. The last thing she needed was to get tangled up in the complicated lives of the Veer family.

Her phone buzzed, interrupting her thoughts. It was a text from Rohan: "Thanks for the files! You're a lifesaver."

Arya rolled her eyes but smiled. "You owe me coffee," she replied.

The next week passed in a blur of lectures and studio work, but Arya couldn't entirely put the Veers out of her mind. She told herself it didn't matter—whatever mysteries surrounded them were none of her business.

But fate, it seemed, had other plans.

A few days later, Rohan invited her to another event at his house—a charity gala this time. Arya hesitated, unsure if she wanted to step back into that world of wealth and pretense. But Rohan was persistent, and eventually, she gave in.

"Fine," she said. "But I'm not dressing up like some movie star. Don't even ask."

"Deal," Rohan said with a laugh.

The gala was a grand affair, the mansion transformed into a dazzling wonderland of lights and music. Arya felt out of place as she wandered through the crowd, trying to stick to the edges of the room where she wouldn't draw attention.

As the evening wore on, she found herself drawn to the balcony, where the air was cool and quiet. She leaned against the railing, gazing out at the manicured gardens below.

"Enjoying the party?"

The voice startled her, and she turned to see Mr. Veer standing a few feet away, his mask firmly in place.

"Yes," she said quickly, though her voice sounded unconvincing even to her own ears.

He stepped closer, his presence as commanding as ever. "You seem uncomfortable," he observed.

"I'm just...not used to events like this," Arya admitted.

Mr. Veer nodded, his gaze distant. "Neither am I."

His words surprised her, and she found herself wanting to know more. But before she could ask, someone called his name from inside, and he turned to leave.

"Goodnight," he said, his voice low.

"Goodnight," Arya replied, watching him disappear into the crowd.

And as the night stretched on, she realized she was drawn to him in a way she couldn't explain—a pull that seemed as inevitable as the tide.