WebNovels

Chapter 13 - chapter 13:“Where the Lights Stay On”

Two days later

AR Designs – Executive Conference Room

The conference room at AR Designs was an arctic tundra of ambition and intimidation. The air-conditioning blasted like it was trying to freeze doubt into submission. The glossy walnut table stretched across the room like a battlefield, polished to perfection, bearing witness to high-stake decisions and a few very expensive meltdowns.

Seated around the table were power suits, stylists with tablet portfolios, and a few wide-eyed juniors pretending not to tremble. But the real storm sat at the head of the table.

Arnav Singh Raizada.

Sharp-jawed. Impeccably dressed. Expression carved from stone.

He didn't speak often, but when he did, words felt like verdicts.

Next to him? A contrast wrapped in cotton.

Khushi Kumari Gupta, in a sunshine-yellow kurti, dupatta draped with defiance, and a folder full of designs she'd poured her soul into.

She didn't look corporate. She looked real.

Which, apparently, was a problem.

> Executive 1 (whispering to another): "She doesn't look corporate."

> Executive 2 (snorting): "She looks like she walked out of a Lucknowi calendar."

Khushi heard it. Every syllable. But she didn't flinch.

Arnav did.

He turned, glacier-cold gaze landing like a sniper scope.

> Arnav (lethal): "Then I suggest you start updating your calendars. Because she's the future you're already late to."

Silence.

Even Aman blinked like he'd caught frostbite.

Khushi glanced sideways. A flicker of surprise.

Not that he defended her.

But that it sounded like belief.

> Arnav (flat, decisive): "Gupta Designs is AR's Diwali showcase partner. This isn't a pitch meeting. This is a confirmation. You're not here to approve. You're here to keep up."

> Executive 3 (clearing throat): "Let's, um, hear from Miss Gupta."

Khushi stood.

Folder in hand. Ankles firm. Eyes bright, but unblinking.

Her fingers trembled behind the file—only once.

Then stopped.

> Khushi (clear, controlled): "The Diwali line blends old-world embroidery with bold silhouettes. Think zardozi and organza. Banarasi textures with metallic finishes. Elegance meets edge."

She clicked the slideshow.

A parade of sarees, lehengas, and angarkhas. Muted golds, oxblood reds, moonlit ivories.

Designs with breath.

> Executive 1 (testing tone): "But will it sell to urban markets?"

> Khushi (smiling): "If your clients stop pretending beige is a personality, yes."

A muffled snort came from Lavanya, seated behind with a glitter pen and resting chaos face.

Payal elbowed her with a whisper: This is serious."

---

Slide after slide, Khushi found her rhythm.

> "Our pieces don't just dress bodies. They carry legacy. Memory. Movement. We're not following trends. We're telling stories."

Each word carved the air.

Each look from Arnav? Steady. Grounding. Not a single interruption. Not even a flicker of the infamous ASR eyebrow.

When she was done, she didn't sit.

She folded her hands.

> Khushi: "Questions?"

Not one.

Because no one dared.

Arnav stood.

> Arnav (to the table): "You'll have feedback packets in your inboxes. Implement what applies. Discard what doesn't."

Pause.

> Arnav (to Khushi): "Well presented."

> Khushi (cool): "I rehearsed with Buaji. She throws things when bored."

> Arnav (dry): "Sounds like my board meetings."

They locked eyes for a beat.

No one blinked.

---

As the suits filed out, murmuring about thread counts and aesthetic revolution, Anjali peeked in.

> Anjali: "You two were like fire and thunder."

> Lavanya: "More like Pride and Prejudice. With sequins."

> Aman (gasping slightly): "I need chai. And oxygen."

---

AR Office Corridor – Ten Minutes Later

Khushi walked out, folder rolled in her hands, heartbeat a dhol in her chest.

> Khushi (murmuring to herself): "Okay. Not a disaster."

> Voice behind her: "Not a disaster? You redefined the pitch structure."

She turned.

He was there.

No boardroom armor now. Just Arnav. Tie loose. Mouth almost smiling.

> Khushi (challenging): "You always talk like that? Like compliments have interest rates?"

> Arnav (one brow raised): "Only when they matter."

He stepped forward.

Not close. But enough.

> Arnav: "You set the bar today. Now let's make sure we fly over it."

He didn't wait for a reply.

Just brushed past her. His shoulder grazing hers.

Not by accident.

Not anymore.

Khushi stared after him, stunned.

Then?

Smiled.

Small. Real.

The kind that said: Game on, Raizada.

----

Gupta Boutique –

The boutique was dressed in chaos. Not the messy kind—the exciting kind. Swatches danced in sunlight. Diwali lights blinked in test mode. The scent of chai, fabric dye, and ambition swirled in the air.

In the center of it all? Khushi, holding a clipboard like a general about to launch couture into war. Her kurti had chalk smudges. Her jhumkas jingled with every command.

> Khushi: "We need three theme zones—traditional, fusion, and bridal sparkle. Payal, can you manage the diya install?"

> Payal (nodding, holding a tangled light string): "Done. And I've already bullied the electrician into fixing the fairy lights. He's scared of my bun now."

> Lavanya: "I'm on mood boards. Also, I brought glitter bombs for emergency pizazz. Don't fight me."

> Buaji (from the chai corner): "If any of that glitter touches my murabba jars, I will personally turn you into a rangoli. With broom."

Then the door opened.

Cue: Arnav Singh Raizada.

Black shirt. Sleeves rolled. Hair slightly tousled like he'd run fingers through it one too many times. Eyes sharper than tailor scissors. The air stilled. Even the pedestal fan stuttered.

Behind him: Aman, shoulders stiff, carrying a laptop bag like it held national secrets. Two junior designers with mood boards peeked in, visibly sweating under ASR pressure.

> Khushi (clutching clipboard tighter): "You're late."

> Arnav (walking straight in, voice low): "You're loud."

> Buaji (peeking from behind a curtain): "Oho, is this a romance or rehearsal for a court scene? Should I bring bangles or the gavel?"

> Lavanya (muttering): "Oh my god, she ships it."

> Arnav (to his team, no nonsense): "Notes out. No fluff. No filters. This is a Diwali line, not a school project."

Everyone scrambled. The team gathered around the boutique's central table. Swatches were laid out like a royal buffet. Arnav opened a sleek black laptop, eyes scanning numbers and fabric codes like they were tactical maneuvers.

> Khushi (unrolling sketches): "These are our top seven designs. Each represents an element of Diwali. Earth, fire, water, wind, light, shadow… and hope."

> Aman: "We'll need finalized sample cuts by Friday. Khushi-ji, will you be managing tailoring coordination too?"

> Khushi: "Yes. Payal and I have set up rotations. The local kaarigars already approved the stitch counts."

> Arnav (watching her calmly): "Don't change her silhouettes. AR is enhancing her vision, not hijacking it."

> Junior Exec: "Sir, we were wondering if shimmer thread would—"

> Arnav (cutting coldly): "If you were wondering, you should've tested it before this meeting. Come prepared or don't come at all."

Silence. Deadly. Aman looked like he might cry. Khushi glanced at him, surprised. This wasn't the micromanaging, number-fixated ASR she expected. This was worse—and better. The man who got things done. Relentlessly.

> Khushi: "What about embroidery approval?"

> Arnav: "Yours. Unless your hands fall off, you make the call."

She blinked.

> Khushi: "Did you just delegate without condescending?"

> Arnav: "Don't get used to it."

> Lavanya: "Can we make that a theme? Arnav Raizada: Corporate Bad Boy With a Heart?"

> Arnav (without looking up): "Add that to your exit interview."

> Buaji (passing chai): "Beta, if you speak this sharply every day, your rishta value will go down. No one wants a husband who sounds like a judgment form."

> Arnav (softening just slightly): "Then it's good I'm not auditioning."

Chai was poured. Diya placements adjusted. Fabric samples were felt, weighed, criticized, and championed. Lavanya flung glitter every time talks got too technical. Buaji gave besan laddoos only to those who agreed with Khushi.

Khushi moved between charts and swatches like she was dancing in her own storm. And Arnav—he watched. Never interfered. Only stepped in when someone doubted her.

> Junior Designer: "But does the sheer layer over raw silk really appeal to Gen Z brides—"

> Arnav (cutting in, steel-soft): "She said it does. That's your market research."

The designer shut up.

---

evening – Boutique terrace

Lights flickered across the boutique's ceiling like stars trying to keep up.

Arnav gathered his files.

> Arnav: "We'll reconvene in two days. Same time. Same efficiency."

> Khushi: "Same stormy vibes?"

> Arnav: "Only if you're around to match them."

She paused, caught off-guard.

> Khushi (teasing): "Flirting again? That's your third warning today."

> Arnav: "Then fire me."

> Lavanya (watching from a corner, clutching a glitter bomb): "I swear to Lakshmi Ma, if they kiss before Diwali, I'll throw sequins into the havan."

> Buaji: "Beta, he brings laddoos, listens to her, and lifts boxes. If she doesn't marry him, I might."

-----

the Laxmi Nagar street had quieted into a lull of rickshaw bells and distant temple aartis. Inside, silence pressed gently against every corner—soft, sleepy, sacred.

The fabric mannequins stood like tired dancers. Diya trays waited for morning hands. And the fairy lights strung across the front display?

They flickered.

Unreliable. Fussy. Much like—

> Khushi paused mid-step.

She wasn't alone.

Not in the hush of the boutique.

Not when someone moved near the window.

She crept forward, barefoot on the cool floor tiles, her dupatta a whisper behind her.

And there, in the soft gold halo of the display lamps—

Stood Arnav Singh Raizada.

On a wooden stool.

One hand holding up the tangled mess of fairy lights.

The other? Gently untangling a knot like it was made of starlight and secrets.

He didn't notice her. Not at first.

Not until she stepped forward, voice barely above a breath:

> Khushi (softly): "That wire's older than your boardroom table. It bites."

He stilled, one hand still mid-air.

Turned slowly.

And blinked.

Caught.

In a moment he didn't mean to offer.

> Arnav (clearing throat): "The lights were flickering. Thought I'd fix them."

> Khushi (tilting head): "You? Fixing things?"

> Arnav (dry): "Don't act so surprised."

> Khushi (teasing): "Next you'll be sewing sequins onto sarees."

> Arnav (shrugging): "If it means the launch looks perfect—maybe."

That silenced her.

Because he meant it.

He would.

He was trying.

Not loudly. Not with declarations.

But in quiet, flickering moments.

Like this.

She moved closer.

Took the tangled end of the string from his hand.

Their fingers brushed.

Static danced. Or maybe the lights finally listened.

> Khushi: "You missed a knot."

> Arnav (watching her): "I miss a lot of things."

She didn't look up.

He didn't look away.

> Khushi (gently): "Why are you really here?"

> Arnav (after a beat): "Because you said the lights mattered. And for once… I wanted to listen."

They stood in the quiet.

Two architects of tension.

Surrounded by unfinished dreams and blinking lights.

She plugged in the cord.

The fairy lights bloomed to life.

A full string of gold and lavender glow.

No flickers. Just light.

She turned to him.

> Khushi (smiling softly): "It's fixed."

> Arnav (not taking his eyes off her): "Maybe some things can be."

Long pause.

And then—without another word—she reached up… and fixed the collar of his shirt.

No flirting. No drama.

Just… tenderness.

> Khushi: "You should go. Before Buaji thinks you're replacing the tube lights too."

> Arnav (stepping down slowly): "I'd do that too, if you asked."

She blinked.

He walked to the door.

Stopped. Looked back.

> Arnav: "By the way… the lights aren't the only thing that glow in here."

And then he left.

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