I freeze. Why did I think that? Why is that the first thing I thought?
Disgusting.
I move away from it immediately. Then circle back. Then stare again. Then hate myself. “This one,” I say.
The woman smiles almost knowingly, which makes me instantly defensive. “It’s practical,” I lie.
“Of course.”
I narrow my eyes. I am ushered into changing while two people steam the dress, set out heels, arrange brushes, uncap products I’ve only seen influencers use. I feel deeply useless. I am a woman who can survive on coffee, Maggi, and snickers. I am not built for being pampered.
When they sit me down and begin doing my makeup, I keep wanting to apologize. “You don’t need to do so much,” I say.
“It’s our pleasure.” No one means that in real life. Yet these women somehow do. I know they’re getting paid for it but it makes me feel almost like a…princess. My hair is loosened, brushed, curled softly. My face becomes brighter under practiced hands. My eyes look larger, sharper. My skin looks less tired.
I watch in the mirror like they’re editing another person into existence. A dangerous person. Someone who belongs beside men like Aryan Khanna. Someone who knows how to glide into rooms and smile at strangers. Someone who has never eatenchips for dinner over invoices. By the time the dress is on and the heels are buckled, I barely recognize myself.
The slit shows more leg than I’m used to. The neckline is elegant without being too much. The green makes my skin warmer. I stand in front of the mirror stunned. I look…Beautiful.
The thought feels foreign. I don’t use that word for myself. Pretty on a good day maybe. Fine when forced. But beautiful? No. I don’t think I have considered myself as a woman since a long time. I dress formally or I am in pajamas, I haven’t…put effort into my looks, haven’t done things for myself since…maybe Krishna. Maybe not even then, it was for him, not me. The woman in the mirror looks composed. Soft. Sharp. A little dangerous. I don’t know her. And somehow I want to.
“Ready?” One of them asks.
No.
Absolutely not.
“Yes,” I hear myself say.
The office corridor feels colder outside the cabin. Every click of heels sounds too loud. I turn the corner toward Aryan’s office. He is standing near the glass wall, adjusting his cufflinks, phone in hand. He looks up casually. Then stops moving entirely. The phone lowers. His mouth parts slightly. For the first time since meeting him, Aryan Khanna appears speechless. It is deeply satisfying. And deeply terrifying. He takes one step forward. Then another. Slowly.
His gaze moves over me—not crudely, not greedily, but like he’s genuinely trying to process what he’s seeing. My heartbeat trips over itself.
“You…” he says, then clears his throat.
“I what?” I blurt, almost annoyed that he looks shocked.
“You look…” I brace for some ridiculously cheesy lines but he surprises me. “Beautiful, Sunshine.”
The word lands softly. There’s no teasing in his voice. No smirk. No game. Just the truth.
My chest tightens. I hate that my heart reacts to him like it’s stupid.
“You look okay too,” I mutter.
His grin returns instantly. “There she is.”
He turns and calls toward the stylists still behind me. He whispers something in her ear, smiling at her as she smiles back and a feral thought crosses my mind that wants to yank her away from him. I take a deep breath, trying to control myself, because that is stupid. He’s not with me, nor can I afford it.
You can, you just don’t want to.My brain chimes and I want to shut it off.
I blink as I watch the lady walk towards the box someone holds in her team. She returns with an emerald green tie in her hand and hands it over to me and scurries off, her entire team following her. It’s just me and Aryan now. “Um…” I stutter, “Am I supposed to wear this tie?” I frown.
He laughs out loud and I nearly lose my balance, seeing the dimples pop on his cheek, I might as well be salivating. He steps a bit closer, his voice dropping an octave, he leans down and I suck in a breath, “It’s for me, Sunshine,” His breath hitting the side of my neck makes my heart skip a beat, “Will you pleasetie it for me?” He finally looks at me, his eyes glinting in the moonlight. “I want to match with you.” I stare at him like that is the most unreasonable request any man has ever made in history.
Match it with me?
Tie it for him?
