Chapter One: Not Part of the Plan
I wasn’t a very famous makeup artist.
Not the kind brides flew across cities for. Not the kind with a team, a signature hashtag, or a waiting list that stretched for months. I worked quietly, built slowly, and let my work speak where I didn’t.
So when Rhea Mehra reached out for a destination wedding in Goa, I assumed it was a mistake.
“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” I had said on call, a small, unsure smile tugging at my lips even though she couldn’t see it. “There are much bigger artists you could book.”
“I know,” she replied without hesitation, her tone easy, almost amused. “I’ve seen them.”
“Then why me?” I asked, leaning back slightly, genuinely curious now.
“I saw your work at Nisha’s wedding,” she said, her voice softening. “It didn’t look like makeup. It looked like her.”
I paused.
“I want that,” she added quietly. “Something real.”
That was all it took.
---
Goa greeted me with warmth that lingered—on the skin, in the air, in the slow rhythm of everything around. The resort was exactly what you’d expect: white exteriors, glass walls, palm trees swaying lazily, and the faint sound of waves somewhere in the distance.
Beautiful. Expensive. Slightly intimidating.
Rhea, on the other hand, wasn’t.
“Aanya?” she smiled as she walked toward me, her steps quick, her expression genuinely bright.
“Hi,” I returned the smile, adjusting the strap of my bag.
“You came,” she said, stopping right in front of me, like she had been waiting.
“You booked me,” I replied lightly, one brow lifting.
“Still,” she shrugged, looping her arm through mine without hesitation, “people cancel.”
“I don’t,” I said simply.
She tilted her head, studying me for a second before nodding, satisfied.
“Good,” she said. “Because you’re staying.”
I let out a quiet sigh, already knowing where this was going. “Rhea—”
“No disappearing after work,” she cut in, tightening her grip playfully. “At least try. For me?”
I hesitated, my fingers unconsciously tightening around my bag.
“I’m not great with crowds,” I admitted, my voice softer now.
She stopped walking and turned to face me, her expression gentler this time.
“Then don’t come for the crowd,” she said, holding my gaze. “Come for me.”
There was something about the way she said it—simple, but sincere.
“Okay,” I nodded after a moment.
---
By evening, I was standing near the pool, already questioning that decision.
The music was loud, bass echoing through the water, lights reflecting in soft ripples across the surface. People moved easily—laughing, talking, existing like they belonged there.
I didn’t.
I stayed near the edge, fingers loosely wrapped around a glass I hadn’t touched, eyes scanning for an escape route.
“Guys, we need one more person!”
I pretended not to hear.
“You—come!”
I looked up, startled, immediately shaking my head.
“No, I’m fine—” I started, taking a small step back.
“Just one game!” someone insisted, already pulling me forward before I could protest again.
And just like that, I was in.
---
That’s when I noticed him.
He wasn’t trying to stand out.
Which is exactly why he did.
Tall, well-dressed, standing with an ease that didn’t feel practiced. His posture relaxed, one hand casually in his pocket, eyes scanning the group like he was quietly taking everything in.
And then those eyes landed on me.
“You look like you’re planning your escape,” he said, stepping closer, one brow lifting slightly.
I exhaled, giving him a look. “I am.”
A faint smile tugged at his lips, like he expected that.
“Give it two minutes,” he said, tilting his head just slightly. “If it’s still bad, I’ll help you leave.”
I studied him for a second, narrowing my eyes playfully.
“Deal.”
---
The game was chaotic—teams, quick turns, and a ridiculous rule about passing a glass using only straws.
I was already struggling.
“I don’t do well in situations like this,” I muttered, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear, my grip tightening slightly.
“I can see that,” he said, glancing at me, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“That obvious?” I shot back, giving him a look.
“A little,” he said, not even trying to hide his amusement.
“Helpful,” I muttered.
He leaned in slightly, just enough for his voice to reach me over the noise.
“I’ll guide you,” he said, his tone lowering. “Just don’t rush.”
“I’m not rushing,” I said quickly, focusing on the glass.
“You are,” he replied calmly, watching me.
I glanced at him, narrowing my eyes. “And you’re enjoying this.”
“Maybe,” he admitted, a hint of a smirk forming.
Despite myself, I smiled.
“Fine,” I said, exhaling. “If we lose, it’s your fault.”
“That’s fair,” he nodded once.
The pace picked up. People cheered, voices overlapped, instructions flew from all directions.
“Slow,” he said again, quieter this time. “You’re overthinking.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I muttered.
“In this case,” he said, his gaze steady on mine, “it is.”
The glass tilted suddenly.
“Careful—”
We both reached at the same time.Our hands brushed.
Warm. Unexpected.
I stilled for half a second before pulling back, pretending it didn’t matter.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw his expression shift slightly—but he said nothing.
---
“We lost,” I said a few minutes later, folding my arms, trying to look unimpressed.
“You had fun,” he replied, watching me.
“That was accidental,” I said, fighting a smile.
“Still counts,” he shrugged.
I looked away, but the smile slipped through anyway.
“
---
