The scent of saffron and simmering spices hung heavy in the air, a warm embrace that usually soothed Siya’s soul. Tonight, it felt like a silken noose. She smoothed the fabric of her white frock, the Indo-western cut feeling both elegant and utterly out of place. This wasn't just dinner; it was an inspection. A grand, formal appraisal of her suitability for a stranger.

Vishambhar Rajvansh, patriarch of the Rajvansh empire, sat across from her at the polished mahogany dining table, a faint, almost imperceptible smile etched on his face. His eyes, however, held a different story. A flicker of something akin to pain, quickly masked, whenever his gaze settled on her. He'd seen her innocent joy at the SYT shop, the cutting wit cloaked in a sweet smile, and now, seeing her here, a quiet, polite girl, he wondered if she truly understood the seismic shift about to occur in her life. He had already spoken to Ram, his grandson, about the mall incident, about Siya’s quick thinking and sharp tongue. Ram had listened, silent as ever, but Vishambhar had seen the subtle shift in his posture, the almost imperceptible widening of his eyes. Curiosity, he hoped, was a potent seed.

Ram Rajvansh, a formidable presence even in repose, sat two seats down from Siya, across from his Dadi. His face, usually a mask of cool indifference, was softened by the low lamplight. He watched Siya, his dark eyes like a hawk’s, observing her every subtle gesture. He’d expected the usual preening, the calculated smiles, perhaps even a clumsy attempt at flirtation from the girl his grandfather was so keen on. Instead, he found himself utterly captivated by the genuine, unforced laughter that occasionally bubbled from her, the way her eyes crinkled at the corners when his grandmother spoke, the soft, almost shy glances she cast around the room. There was no artifice, no seduction in her demeanor. Only a quiet, unadorned happiness that pulled him in, erasing the carefully constructed walls around his heart. He found himself lost in the soft echo of her smile, a warmth spreading through him that was both unfamiliar and strangely comforting.

The conversation flowed, a polite river of pleasantries and business updates, but Siya felt a peculiar tension humming beneath the surface. She picked at her food, a delicious paneer dish, but her appetite had vanished. She could feel Ram’s gaze, a steady, unwavering weight on her. It wasn’t intrusive, not exactly, but it was there, a quiet hum in the back of her mind.

Ekansh Thakur, Siya’s father, a man of imposing stature and an even more imposing sweet tooth, was currently engaged in a silent, internal battle with a plate of glistening gulab jamuns. His eyes, usually sharp and focused on billion-dollar deals, were now fixed with laser precision on the syrupy spheres. His hand, slow and deliberate, began to creep towards the platter.

Thwack!

A sharp, audible smack echoed through the hushed dining room. Every head at the table swiveled. Ekansh winced, rubbing his hand, a look of comical betrayal etched on his face. Siya, his only daughter, stood beside him, her hand still poised in the air.

“Papa!” she said, her voice stern, yet a mischievous glint danced in her eyes. Ram, who had been watching her intently, saw the corner of her lips twitch, a suppressed giggle threatening to escape. Her feigned seriousness made his own lips curve upwards, a rare, genuine smile that went unnoticed by everyone but his observant grandfather.

Ekansh leaned in conspiratorially, his voice a low rumble. “Just one, betu! You had one too, when you were little. Remember?”

Siya leaned closer, her eyes sparkling with mock indignation. “Liar! I was a perfect angel, unlike some people who sneak sweets when they think no one’s looking.”

“Mom!” Siya suddenly declared, her voice clear and carrying, abandoning the whisper game. “Papa is trying to make a deal with me for another gulab jamun!”

Ekansh’s jaw dropped. He shot Siya a look of pure, unadulterated betrayal. Siya, unable to contain herself, clapped a hand over her mouth, a soft, musical giggle escaping. Mridhula Thakur, Siya’s mother, merely raised an eyebrow at her husband, a silent, withering look that spoke volumes. Ekansh gulped, his shoulders slumping in defeat. The gulab jamun remained untouched as he reluctantly reached for a bowl of raw vegetables instead. Siya, a tiny, triumphant smile playing on her lips, watched him. Her father’s diabetes was a constant worry, and she, much to his chagrin, was his most vigilant enforcer. He’d often lament, with theatrical sighs, that his sweet, innocent daughter had become his biggest sorrow when it came to his cravings.

The memory of that particular conversation, the one where he’d first broached the topic of marriage, flashed through Ekansh’s mind. Siya had been on the verge of tears.

Flashback

The living room had been bathed in the soft glow of the evening lamp, the air thick with unspoken words. Ekansh had sat beside Siya on the plush sofa, his heart heavy with the task ahead.

“Siya beta,” he began, his voice unusually gentle.

Siya looked up from her phone, her sweet smile gracing her lips. “Ji… papa?”

“Why are you nervous?” she asked, her brow furrowing slightly. “Something important, Dad?”

He took a deep breath. “Beta, we have seen a boy for you. We want you to think about getting settled in your life. Take your time, and then say yes or no, baccha. He is a nice guy. He will love you, care for you, when this old man will leave the world without worries that a right man is taking care of my cute doll.”

His words, meant to reassure, had the opposite effect. Siya’s eyes welled up, her lower lip trembling. The unspoken thought, Do my parents not want me anymore? Am I a burden? hung heavy in the air.

“Dad…” she started, her voice choked. Her throat burned, a lump forming, and her words got stuck. Her face and neck flushed a furious red.

Ekansh, seeing her distress, immediately reached for her hand. “If you are thinking you are a burden for us, that is not true.” His words, earnest and loving, seemed to calm her a fraction.

“I’m scared,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“About what?”

“If he’s not the one for me… I mean,” she trailed off, gesturing vaguely.

“You trust me?”

“Yes,” Siya replied, her voice firmer now.

“Then meet him. He is the one for you. Still, the decision will be yours. No one will force you. Also, an advice: everyone has to work on their relationships sometimes, but once you do, they work with time and patience. Everyone has to do that. Your mother and I were also strangers, just as you are to that boy. But we waited for each other, and that is the beauty of relationships.”

Siya looked at him, her eyes still glistening but a flicker of curiosity replacing the fear. “What’s his name?”

“Ram Rajvansh.”

Siya blinked. “Rajvansh?… You mean…”

“Yes.”

A long moment of silence stretched between them. Siya chewed on her lip, her gaze distant, processing the name. Finally, she met his eyes. “I will meet him first, then only I will decide anything. Okay?”

Ekansh smiled, a wave of relief washing over him. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead. “Okay, baccha.” He left her then, heading to his room, a weight lifted from his shoulders. Just as he reached his door, his phone buzzed. It was old Mr. Rajvansh.

Flashback End

The dining room hummed with comfortable chatter once more. Vishambhar, observing Ram’s subtle fascination with Siya, felt a surge of quiet triumph. The boy, so closed off, was finally showing a flicker of interest.

Earlier that morning, at the Rajvansh Mansion, Vishambhar had cornered Ram at the breakfast table.

“Ram!” Vishambhar had called, his voice surprisingly firm for his age. He’d broached the subject of marriage, gently at first, then with more conviction, pressing Ram to at least meet the girl.

“I need time. I’m in the study, Dadu…” Ram had replied, his voice cold, distant. The usual wall of ice.

Later, in the pristine silence of his study, Ram sat hunched over his desk, the morning light streaming through the tall windows. Akhil, his old friend and PA, had entered, a file in hand. Ram had waved him away, his eyes already scanning the document. It was Siya Thakur’s profile. Her achievements, her business acumen, her philanthropic work, her family background. He read about her, every line, every detail. A strange mix of emotions churned within him. Anger, a familiar companion, coiled in his gut. But why anger? He didn’t know. He closed his eyes, standing on the balcony, letting the cold breeze caress his face, trying to make sense of the new, unfamiliar feelings. He recalled his grandfather’s words from the morning, the insistent tone, the quiet hope in his eyes.

He whispered unconsciously, the words barely a breath, “I need Siya.”

“I knew that.”

Ram’s head snapped up, his eyes wide with surprise. Vishambhar stood in the doorway, a knowing smile on his face.

“Dadu, please…” Ram started, but Vishambhar had already pulled out his phone.

“Thakur Sahab,” Vishambhar’s voice boomed cheerfully, “it’s a yes from Ram as well! Please, have a word with Siya beta to confirm it.” Vishambhar disconnected the call, a wide, ear-to-ear grin plastered on his face.

Ram stared at his grandfather, a mixture of exasperation and a strange, grudging acceptance battling within him. “I will meet her first, please… and it’s not a yes yet.”

Vishambhar chuckled, the sound deep and rich. “You both are same. She asked for the same thing.” He winked, leaving Ram to stew in the unexpected turn of events.

Back in the present, Ram watched Siya giggle, a genuine, uninhibited sound that resonated deep within him. Her eyes, bright and alive, held no artifice. He had expected a socialite, a calculating businesswoman, but she was… different. She was a breath of fresh air, a vibrant splash of color in his monochrome world. The cold, analytical part of his mind, the part that distrusted everyone, was slowly, imperceptibly, chipping away. He wanted to know more about her. Not from a file, but from her. The thought, quiet and insistent, bloomed in his chest. I need Siya. This time, he didn’t whisper it. He felt it.