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Chapter 1

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Chapter One — The Calm Before Him

Avika’s POV

The soft hum of the AC blended with the scratching of her pen. Avika sat cross-legged on her plush, sea-grey bed, her journal open across her lap. Her handwriting, usually neat and even, had turned loose today — like her thoughts refused to stay in straight lines.

It’s been four years since everything changed.
Since it became more than just me and Mom.
Since he came into our lives. And somehow, it feels like he's always been here.

She paused, tapping the pen against her chin.

It wasn’t a bad kind of change. Just… different.

Before the marriage, it had always been the two of them — her and her mother, Trisha. A duo built on love and late nights and leftover pizza on the floor of their little studio apartment. Trisha had always been the kind of mom who gave more than she had — balancing exhibitions with school meetings, lectures with laughter.

They didn’t have chandeliers or imported cutlery back then. But they had freedom, fun, closeness — a bond built not out of struggle, but out of choice. They had each other.

Then came Harshwardhan Singh Raghuvanshi.

Not a rescuer. Not a savior. Just a man who walked into their world with calm eyes and a quiet kind of strength. He didn't fix their lives — he simply became a part of them.

Now, they lived in a mansion with gallery-white walls and polished wooden floors. Dinner was on time, schedules were smooth, and chaos had been replaced with grace. Avika never had to think about money. Or paint stains on bedsheets. Or landlords knocking for rent.

And yet, a part of her still missed the old apartment with its creaky fan and rooftop views.

A sharp knock snapped her out of the memory.

“Avika,” came the familiar voice from outside her door — deep, steady. Harsh Papa.

“It’s dinner time.”

“Coming!” she called, snapping her journal shut and placing it neatly on her desk.

She padded downstairs barefoot, the marble floor cool under her skin. The dining room, lit with soft golden lights, smelled like butter garlic naan and slow-cooked daal. Comfort food. Home.

Harsh was already seated at the head of the table, scrolling through something on his phone. Trisha stood by the sideboard, arranging the salad bowl like it was a canvas.

“You’re glowing,” Avika teased, slipping into her usual seat to Harsh’s left.

Trisha turned with a secretive smile. “We have some news.”

Avika raised a brow. “What kind of news?”

Harsh set his phone down. “Dev’s coming back.”

Silence. For a beat, everything froze.

“Next week,” Trisha added, “His graduation’s done.”

Avika reached for her glass of water, letting the words settle in her head.

Dev.

It felt like hearing the name of a ghost. Someone she used to know, but not really.

Her stepbrother.

He had left for Australia the year their parents got married — she was barely thirteen then. He’d been tall, quiet, intimidating. She remembered his sharp jaw, the books he always carried, the way he barely looked at her when he visited during holidays.

And now he was returning — not as the boy she barely knew, but as a man.

“Cool,” she said, sipping her water with forced nonchalance.

Harsh smiled faintly, maybe picking up on the subtle shift in her tone. Trisha just looked happy. Like everything was coming together.

Dinner passed the way it always did — peaceful, warm, full of casual laughter and second helpings. But Avika felt it. The ripple beneath the calm. The ghost of a name clinging to the edge of her thoughts.

When she returned to her room later, she opened her journal again, but the words wouldn’t come.

She simply wrote one name in the middle of the page.

Dev.

And stared at it longer than she should have.

.