The elevator ride to the top floor of the Malhotra penthouse was heavy with a silence that seemed to hum at a frequency only Laksh and Arya could hear. Arya stood in the far corner, her fingers still trembling slightly as she clutched the bunch of white lilies. The scent of the flowers, fresh and clean, filled the small space, mingling with the heavy, masculine scent of Laksh’s.

Laksh stood like a statue beside the controls. He was trying to be the "friend." He was trying to be the anchor. But every time he closed his eyes, he saw the image of Ishaan Mehra—his hand on her back. It felt like a system error that he couldn't debug.