Gupta Boutique –
The boutique smelled like sandalwood, fabric starch, and freshly printed catalogues. Outside, auto horns blared and rickshaws hummed. But inside, time tiptoed.
Khushi adjusted the pleats on a teal silk saree in the window, mentally calculating hemline margins.
> Ding-ling!
The bell chimed again, sharp and familiar.
She didn't look up. Not immediately.
> "Before you throw me out," a deep voice said behind her, "I brought coffee. And a business proposal."
Khushi turned slowly.
There he was.
Arnav Singh Raizada.
Holding two takeaway coffee cups in one hand, a rolled-up draft in the other. Black shirt, dark jeans, and an expression caught somewhere between smug and sheepish.
Her eyes narrowed.
> "If this is about another 'fabric inspection', I swear I will strangle you with net dupatta."
> "Tempting," he murmured, stepping inside. "But no. This one's real."
He extended the draft.
Khushi stared. Didn't take it.
> "AR Designs wants a collaboration. With you."
Now she blinked.
> "Collaboration?"
> "Diwali line," he said. "Your boutique. Our brand. Full creative freedom. Your designs on our platform."
She raised a brow.
> "And you?"
> "I'll stay out of your way."
Beat.
> "Except when you ask me not to."
She fought a smile. He noticed. Of course he did.
> "This isn't another emotional stunt disguised as business?" she asked cautiously, arms folded.
> "No," he said quietly. "This is business I hope turns into trust."
That disarmed her more than she liked to admit.
They sat on either side of the boutique's round table, strewn with swatches and invoices.
Khushi flipped through the contract pages, frown lines forming as her brain battled her heart.
Arnav didn't speak. He simply watched her.
Like she was the center of some invisible solar system.
Then—
> Crash!
The boutique door banged open like a windstorm with heels.
Lavanya.
Wearing a paint-stained kurti, sunglasses sliding off her nose, and a wild bun that screamed "creative genius or breakdown incoming."
> "Am I late to the fashion truce or early for the lovers' quarrel?"
Khushi groaned into her hands.
> "Why is she like this?"
> "I ask myself that every morning," Arnav muttered.
Lavanya dropped her oversized tote on a chair, flopped down next to Khushi, and pulled out a bag.
> "Muffins," she announced. "Because slow-burn romantic tension needs carbs."
> "You brought baked goods to a negotiation," Khushi deadpanned.
> "Please. I brought drama snacks. For me."
Lavanya bit into a chocolate muffin dramatically.
Just then, Payal peeked out from the back room, drying her hands on her dupatta.
> "Should I start making stronger tea or evacuate the boutique?"
Lavanya waved at her.
> "Stronger tea! And tell Buaji the Raizadas have officially crash-landed in Laxmi Nagar. Again."
Payal leaned over to Khushi and stage-whispered:
> "This is starting to feel like a Karan Johar sequel none of us signed up for."
Khushi gave her a withering glare.
Arnav sipped his coffee in silence, one brow arched like he was watching the circus he himself created.
Khushi held up the contract again, scanning the fine print.
He waited. Patiently. Too patiently.
> "Okay," she said finally, voice clipped. "I'll consider the collaboration."
> "And the coffee?" he asked, eyes glinting.
She sipped from the cup—bitterness on her tongue, heat in her cheeks.
> "Terrible."
> "But you drank it."
> "I'm thirsty. Don't read into it."
> "Too late."
She turned back to the contract to hide the smile threatening to betray her.
Lavanya caught it though.
> "Oh my God," she whispered to Payal, muffin crumbs clinging to her lips. "It's happening. Someone hold me. I ship them so hard it hurts."
Payal rolled her eyes.
> "You've had three muffins. Sit still."
And just as Khushi reached for a pen—
> Tap. Tap. Tap.
All heads turned toward the curtain.
A curtain swished.
> "Hai re Nandkishore! Kitni baar bola—don't eat muffins before lunch! And—"
She stopped.
Saw Arnav Singh Raizada sitting across from her bitiya like he belonged there.
> "Oh. Hamara jalebi courier is back."
> Arnav (standing, polite): "Namaste, Buaji."
Buaji blinked. Once. Twice.
Then—
> "Namaste beta. Arey wah, you came dressed like Diwali gift wrapping. Very handsome."
> Lavanya (mouth full): "You like him?"
> Buaji: "Why not? Clean haircut. Brings snacks. Looks at Khushi like she's gold-plated Krishna idol at Janmashtami. What's not to like?"
Khushi: chokes on air
> "Buaji!"
Buaji strolled over, peering over Khushi's shoulder at the contract.
> "Oho. Big business? With this boutique?"
> Arnav (carefully): "We're hoping for a Diwali collaboration. Exclusive designs."
> Buaji: "And exclusive feelings?"
> Khushi: "BUAJI!"
> Lavanya (cheering softly): "I want her framed on a t-shirt."
> Payal (to herself): "I want her sedated."
Buaji patted Arnav's cheek like he was a visiting groom already under negotiation.
> "You look thinner, beta. Are you eating well? Shall I send you some besan laddoos?"
> Arnav (visibly cornered): "I—uh—thank you, but that's not necessary—"
> Buaji: "Nonsense. No boy wins my Khushi's heart on espresso and charm. You need protein."
Khushi smacked her forehead with the contract.
> "Why are we even having this conversation? This is a business meeting!"
> Buaji: "Shaadi ka bhi ek tarah ka business hota hai."
> Khushi: "No one is getting married!"
> Arnav (very quietly): "Not yet."
Dead. Silence.
Even the air conditioner paused.
> Lavanya (muffin mid-air): "OHMYGOD."
> Payal (quietly to herself): "I'm going to make that tea. Very strong tea."
Buaji turned to Khushi, who had turned bright red.
> "Hmm. He talks less, listens more. Doesn't flinch at your temper. I approve."
> Khushi (glaring): "You approved the plumber last week, Buaji."
> Buaji: "And he fixed the sink! This one might fix your dil!"
> Khushi: "I am going to scream."
> Arnav (softly): "Don't. I like your voice better when it says yes."
Boom.
Heart. Table. Floor.
Khushi stared at him.
And this time, she didn't hide the smile that came before the blush.
Buaji grinned.
> "Bas! It's settled. Beta, start coming by more often. And next time, don't just bring contracts—bring samosas."
> Lavanya: "And mithai. And drama. And that angry pout—very binge-worthy."
> Khushi: "This is chaos."
> Arnav (gently): "This is... family."
She looked up at him.
He meant it.
Not as a line.
Not as a trap.
But as the truth he was learning to speak—one word, one gesture, one stolen moment at a time.