Chapter 4: Of Chandeliers and Ghosts
If wealth had a scent, it would be this ballroom.
Rose water. Aged wine. Imported perfumes swirling through the air like judgment.
Aarav stood near the center, his expression a perfect mask—calculated indifference, mild charm, and eyes that refused to reveal the storm inside. He wore an obsidian black tuxedo, the same shade as the void he'd been nursing for two years.
"Mr. and Mrs. Mehra are honored to announce the engagement of their beloved son, Aarav Mehra, to Ms. Aayushi Khurana."
The crowd clapped. Champagne flutes clinked. Flashbulbs went off like distant lightning.
Aayushi, standing beside him in a crimson designer gown, leaned in and whispered, "Try not to look like you're being punished."
He forced a smile. "I'll do my best."
She was kind. Polished. Intelligent. The kind of woman any man would be lucky to marry.
And yet, she wasn't the girl who used to call him a finance goblin.
---
In another part of the city, under a flickering café sign, Rhea sat with a laptop, furiously typing edits for a script that was due hours ago. Her hair was longer now, her eyeliner sharper, her world smaller—but she had built it on her own.
A notification popped up.
"Aarav Mehra announces engagement to business tycoon's daughter."
She stared at the screen.
Then calmly closed the tab.
Then reopened it.
And stared again.
Her tea went cold. Her heart? Already had.
---
Back at the ballroom, an unexpected announcement echoed through the speakers.
"And now, for a special performance by one of our event partners—a new playwright whose rising work in indie theatre has caught Delhi's eye."
A pause.
Then a name.
"Miss Rhea Sharma."
Aarav's glass slipped.
It didn't break. But something else inside him did.
He turned slowly. His eyes scanned the crowd.
And then—he saw her.
Walking toward the stage in a simple black kurti, clipboard in hand, earbuds in, unaware of the chaos she had just caused inside him.
His heart didn't race.
It stopped.
---
She didn't notice him at first.
She was focused, moving like a woman who'd fought to be taken seriously in rooms that only whispered her name before.
It wasn't until she stepped off the side of the stage—having introduced a short theatrical piece—that her eyes accidentally met his.
The air between them tensed like a pulled string.
She blinked once.
He didn't blink at all.
No words.
Just a thousand unsaid things ricocheting in the space between them.
---
Later, she was standing at the edge of the terrace, phone in hand, pretending to scroll.
Aarav approached. Slowly. Quietly.
"I wasn't hallucinating, was I?" he asked, voice almost too gentle for the night.
She didn't turn around. "If you were, we're sharing the same one."
He chuckled. "You look... different."
She finally faced him. "And you look the same. Rich. Tired."
"That obvious?"
"You always looked tired when you weren't pretending to be someone else."
A beat of silence passed.
"Why didn't you tell me you were coming?" he asked.
"I didn't know you'd be here," she replied. "I'm part of the theatre partnership. They don't exactly print the guest list on audition flyers."
"You saw the news, didn't you?"
She shrugged. "I see a lot of things. I don't react to all of them."
He smiled bitterly. "Still good at jabs, I see."
She softened slightly. "And you're still chasing ghosts."
---
They stood there, facing each other like two languages no one remembered how to translate.
"You once said you hated fairy tales," she murmured. "Looks like you're living one now."
He stepped closer. "This one has a glass castle. But no queen."
"Aayushi seems nice."
"She is."
"Then don't ruin it."
"I didn't invite you to ruin it."
"I didn't come to stay."
---
There was a pause. Then he asked the question that had burned him for years.
"Why did you leave without telling me everything?"
She hesitated. "Because if I told you... you would've tried to fix it. And I didn't want to be fixed. I wanted to be free."
He swallowed hard. "You were never broken to me."
She smiled, eyes glassy. "That was the problem."
And then, before the next song could begin, she turned to leave.
---
He didn't stop her this time.
Didn't run after her. Didn't shout into the night.
He just stood there.
Watching.
Like a boy who had learned, far too late, that some people don't leave because they don't love you.
They leave because they love you too much to let you choose them over yourself.
---