A Choice Made Quietly
Ranveer did not sleep that night.
He stood by the floor-to-ceiling window of his room, city lights flickering below, Najma's words echoing in his mind.
Trying isn't the same as choosing.
He had built his life on control—on decisions made early and never questioned again. Feelings were distractions. Attachments were weaknesses.
And yet, somewhere along the way, Najma had become both.
The next morning, the Sign residence buzzed with preparation. The upcoming charity gala demanded perfection, and Ranveer moved through the house issuing instructions with mechanical efficiency.
But his eyes searched.
Najma was in the living room, reviewing guest lists with Sasha and Jodha.
She looked composed. Untouchable.
Ranveer stopped beside her. "Walk with me."
This time, she didn't hesitate.
They stood beneath the neem tree in the courtyard, morning sunlight filtering through the leaves.
"I thought about what you said," he began.
Najma waited.
"I don't explain myself well," he continued. "I was raised to believe that emotions complicate loyalty."
Her gaze softened slightly. "And do they?"
"Yes," he admitted. "But they also clarify it."
She inhaled quietly.
"I have known Rachel for years," he said. "But I never chose her. Not once."
Najma studied his face, searching for certainty.
"You don't owe me reassurance," she said.
"I know," he replied. "I owe you truth."
He turned fully toward her. "I choose you. Not because I was pushed into it. Not because my family expects it. But because when you pull away, I feel the loss."
The silence between them changed.
Najma's voice was quiet. "Choosing means protecting."
"I will," he said without hesitation.
She nodded once. "Then we begin again."
Inside the house, Rachel watched from the balcony.
Her nails dug into her palm.
She hadn't expected this—not so soon, not so completely.
Later that afternoon, she confronted Ranveer near his study.
"You're making a mistake," she said sharply.
He didn't look at her. "I've made my decision."
"She'll never understand your world."
"She already does," he replied calmly. "That's why she belongs in it."
Rachel's smile cracked.
"You're discarding years for her?"
"I'm choosing my future," he said.
And walked away.
That evening, Najma found a small box on her bedside table.
Inside was a simple ring—elegant, unassuming.
No note.
She smiled.
Because for the first time, his actions spoke louder than his words.