Chapter 1
Ruhika's POV
The ballroom smelled of fresh lilies and anxiety.
~7:45 a.m., the LED backdrop flickered for the third time.
~7:47 a.m., the sound technician muttered something about voltage
inconsistencies.
~7:49 a.m., the client's executive assistant approached her with a pale face
and that's almost how every event shapes up for Ruhika
Ma'am... the CFO wants to reduce the guest seating from 240 to 200 Immediately, the man said
Ruhika Mehta didn't flinch
She stood in the center of the half-prepared hall, tablet in one hand, coffee in the other, her beige blazer sharply tailored against the early morning
chaos.
"On what basis?" she asked calmly.
"Budget revisions."
She nodded once. "Fine. Remove two outer tables, maintain aisle symmetry, and shift the branding panels inward. No empty gaps visible. We don't make it look like a compromise."
Her voice was steady. Precise. Men nearly twice her age waited for her instruction.
She did not raise her voice. She did not need to.
At twenty-six, Ruhika had learned one thing — panic is expensive.Control is profitable.
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By 10:30 a.m., the ballroom transformed. Warm lighting. Seamless branding. Center-stage spotlight sharp and confident. The CFO walked in, scanned the room, and nodded approvingly.
"Good recovery," he said.
She gave a professional smile. "We don't plan for failure, sir. We prepare for it."
It was that tone — respectful but firm — that made people remember her.She didn't beg for authority. She operated from it.
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At work, she was decisive.When a senior vendor once attempted to call her "beta" instead of "Ms.Mehta," she corrected him without hesitation.
"It's Ms. Mehta during work hours," she had said, meeting his gaze steadily. There had been no repeat offense. Because she knew it was no concern but mockery and she didn't tolerate casual disrespect disguised as warmth. She had worked too hard for where she was, graduated from a top B-school majorly on scholarship. Being an event manager in a corporate firm meant navigating egos, deadlines, and budgets — sometimes all at once. But she thrived in structured pressure,because pressure meant predictability and predictability meant safety.
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By evening, exhaustion settled in her shoulders.
In the backseat of her cab, she leaned her head against the window and watched Delhi traffic blur past.
Her phone buzzed.
Ma: Neelam Aunty came home today. Call when free.
Her fingers paused mid-air.
Neelam Aunty (their old neighbour who shifted a few months ago) meant conversation and comparison precisely to her 25 year old married daughter.
She typed back: Reaching in 30.
⸻
Home was quieter than her workday.The smell of tadka greeted her.
Her mother was in the kitchen; her father sat with the newspaper folded beside him.
"You're late," her father observed gently.
"Big event," she replied, slipping off her heels near the door.
Her mother, Naina emerged, wiping her hands.
"Neelam ji was here," she began casually.
Ruhika nodded, bracing herself.
"She was saying poor Rhea... such a mess after marriage."
Ruhika stiffened slightly, this was not where she expected this conversation to go
Rhea.
She remembered Rhea's wedding. Three days of extravagant celebrations. Designer lehenga. Smiling photographs.
"What happened?" Ruhika asked, keeping her voice neutral.
Her mother sighed. "The husband is very controlling. Doesn't like her working late. Doesn't like her meeting friends. Keeps checking her phone."
Her father frowned. "They rushed into it. Didn't understand compatibility."
"Rhea left her job last month," her mother added softly.
Said it's better than daily arguments
Something inside Ruhika tightened.- Left her job.
She imagined herself in that position. Explaining her event timings. Seeking permission to attend site visits. Justifying her salary.
Her jaw set. "I wouldn't tolerate that," she said quietly.
Her father looked at her over his glasses. "Every situation feels simple before you're in it."
"I wouldn't stay where I'm not respected," she replied, more firmly this time.
Her mother's voice softened. "Marriage requires adjustment, beta."
"Adjustment, yes," Ruhika said. "Disappearance, no."
Silence followed.
Not angry. Just thoughtful.
Her father folded the newspaper. "We raised you to stand on your feet. We won't ask you to bend unnecessarily."
That softened her. She reached for his hand briefly. "I know, Papa."
But the conversation lingered.Rhea's smiling wedding photos flashed in her mind. How do you know, she wondered, before it's too late?
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Later that night, in her room, she sat before her small mandir.A brass idol of Shiva stood illuminated by a single diya.
She closed her eyes.
"Just peace," she whispered. "And equality."
She wasn't asking for passion or perfection. Just a marriage where she didn't have to shrink.
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Across the city, Shivansh adjusted his cufflinks before stepping into his boardroom.At precisely 9:00 a.m., the quarterly review began. "Revenue has increased by twelve percent," the senior analyst reported.
"Client retention?" Shivansh asked.
"Ninety-four percent."
"Good," he said. "Sustainability matters more than spikes."
His voice was calm. Unhurried.He didn't dominate conversations but directed them.At thirty, he had built his audit firm from a modest office and relentless
consistency.
There were nights he had slept on the couch during audit season, months he had skipped vacations entirely.
Not because he was obsessed with wealth, because he valued stability.And stability had to be earned.
⸻
When a manager attempted to justify an oversight in compliance documentation, Shivansh leaned back.
"Where did the process fail?" he asked.
"Sir, the client—"
"No," he interrupted gently. "Where did we fail?"
He didn't believe in shifting blame outward.Leadership meant ownership.
After the meeting, his younger associate caught up with him.
"Sir, how do you stay this calm during pressure?"
Shivansh gave a small smile. "Pressure reveals structure. If the structure is strong, there's no reason to panic."
He believed that not only about business but life as well.
⸻
By 8:15 p.m., he was home.
His younger brother Aarav was sprawled on the couch.
"MD sahab returns," he grinned.
"Exam preparation done?" Shivansh asked.
"Half."
"Finish the other half before dinner."
It wasn't authoritative. It was protective. He wanted his brother to have options which he had built his own.
⸻
At dinner, his mother Sunita hesitated before speaking.
"There's a proposal," she said carefully.
Aarav's head snapped up. "Finally."
Shivansh gave him a look.
His mother continued, "Girl is well educated. Works in corporate."
"What does she do?" he asked.
"Event management."
He paused slightly.Corporate event management meant late hours. Client pressure. Independence.
Interesting. He thought.
His father added, "Family is decent. Only child."
Only child. He imagined responsibility. Close-knit upbringing. He didn't dismiss it. He didn't romanticize it either.
"I'll meet just once if you want ," he said calmly.
His mother exhaled softly.
⸻
Later that night, he stood by his window.He wasn't impulsive or ominous about marriage, neither dwelling on some past heartbreak, to him it wasn't an experiment.It was permanence. He had seen marriages around him collapse under ego. He had seen men demand obedience instead of partnership.It was silently decided — if he married, it would not be to control. It would be to build, together
⸻
Ruhika's POV
The next evening, while helping her mother fold laundry, Ruhika asked casually, "Did Rhea try talking to her husband?"
"She did," her mother replied. "But sometimes men don't change."
Ruhika's hands stilled.
She thought of her office. Of her authority. Of how carefully she had built her identity. Would she be expected to negotiate that away?
Her father walked in. "There's a proposal we received last week," he said evenly.
Her heartbeat shifted. She kept her voice steady. "Oh."
"Just meet once," he said. "No pressure."
The same words spoken in another house across the city.
She nodded slowly. "What does he do?" she asked.
"Runs his own audit firm."
Stable. Structured.Her mind immediately assessed.
"Independent?" she asked.
"Yes."
"Traditional?" she pressed gently.
Her father smiled faintly. "Depends what you mean by that."
She inhaled. "I don't want to leave my job," she said clearly.
Her mother looked at her. "We know."
"I don't want to ask permission to work late."
"We know."
"I don't want to—"
Her father interrupted softly.
"You won't have to convince us. The question is whether you can find someone you won't have to convince either."
That stayed with her. Find someone you won't have to convince.That night, she silently whispered "If this isn't aligned," she whispered, "remove it gently."
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Across the city, Shivansh closed his laptop and said a quiet prayer of his own.
"Clarity," he murmured. "Nothing complicated."
Two different homes. Two separate conversations.
Two individuals who believed in responsibility before romance.Neither aware that their names had already been exchanged.
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So, this was about the first chapter and a little sneak peek into their hearts,
hope you're liking ot so far and waiting to read further.
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