‘I want your pendant,’ Swayam said.
Kashvi lifted a hand to the delicate ruby heart dangling from the rose gold chain around her neck. ‘My pendant?’ she echoed, surprised. ‘Why?’
His voice dropped to a whisper meant only for her. ‘Because I want a memento to remember the day I made you laugh.’
For a terrifying moment, Kashvi had no comeback to that. Her heart hammered against her ribcage. Kashvi hadn’t taken it off since her eighteenth birthday when it came into her possession. She shook her head and said, ‘It’s my favourite. You can’t have this, so choose something else.’
‘Then I’ll just have to steal it,’ Swayam stated as a matter of fact. ‘You should know, when I set my eyes on something, I always find a way to make it mine.’
Her eyes widened and the faintest hint of satisfaction flickered across his face. Tapping her chin once, he pulled back and strolled to his seat.
Aarti spoke, announcing the next round. But Kashvi was still trying to breathe.
Chapter 15
It was Siya’s turn to assign her challenge and she planned to make it count.
Kashvi leaned in and said in a hushed voice, ‘Since he loves giving grand love speeches, let’s see how he survives without pretty words.’
‘That’s evil,’ Meera whispered back. ‘Poor Abhay has to deal with not just one, but both Kashyap sisters. I should start praying for his soul.’
Loving the suggestion, Siya sat up straighter and calmly declared, ‘Abhay isn’t allowed to talk. You have to make a gesture of love, but only in actions, not in words.’
From across her, Abhay stopped mid-sip, then lowered his drink. For a moment, Siya thought she’d caught him off guard, but then a corner of his mouth arched up, accepting her challenge. Mischief bloomed on his face, and that infuriating dimple in his cheek deepened.
It had felt smart at the time. He truly was a man who wielded romantic words like a whip, so stripping him of that would render him harmless. But now, as he moved toward her in confident, measured strides, Siya realised how foolish her belief had been.
Abhay dropped to his knees before her, right there in front of everyone, and picked up the extra cone of henna from the decorated tray that had been set up for touch-ups. He glanced ather and his gaze burned with a kind of molten heat that made her throat tighten up.
He gripped her wrist gently, making sure to not smudge the wet henna, and turned her hand over to find her bare palm. The heat of his touch seared through her veins. And then, in messy and scrawled strokes, he wrote three words and drew a heart at the end.
Abhay ki jaan.
The people erupted in applause, as laughter and whistles rang around them, but she barely heard any of it. All she saw was his name on her palm. It was a simple inscription, but to Siya, it felt like a brand.
His gaze blazed with something infinitely more dangerous. Love or the illusion of it, she couldn’t figure out. What she saw in them was passion, wild and molten, and it made her feel like she was standing too close to a fire. Abhay looked at her as if she were the centre of gravity in the entire damn room.
But her mind, wounded and still bleeding from too many betrayals, clamped down hard around the truth she clung to: he’d broken her heart with his lies. The grand gestures, the performative romance, the illusion of intimacy was for the room full of witnesses. That’s what this had to be.
A spark of anger was lit up in her gut. He had no right to look at her like that, not after what he’d done, yet here he was unravelling her with his whiskey eyes. He was making a mockery of the word that was as sacred as a prayer for Siya, and for what? What the hell was his endgame?
Abhay placed a soft kiss right next to his name on her palm, and spoke with a roguish smile. ‘I believe that means I win.’
The game ended, and he stepped back. In the chaos of the room and the flutter of the cameras swarming closer to take a closeup picture of his name on her hand, Abhay quietly slipped away before the others noticed. All she caught was the fading edge of his silhouette as he disappeared up the stairs.
Her feet moved before her mind could catch up. Siya excused herself and followed after him. The low hum of conversation and music faded as Siya rushed up the stairs. She went straight to his room but found it empty. She was about to go look elsewhere when a soft clink of glass against the railing gave him away.
Siya walked toward the balcony and saw him standing in the corner, out of sight, watching the sprawl of Marine Drive beneath them. The breeze lifted the edges of his kurta, and the sleeves were neatly rolled until just above his elbows.
He stood with his back to her, one hand resting on the metal railing, the other holding a drink, ice cubes sparkling in the evening sun. The evening breeze pulled at his hair in soft, uneven ways.
She pushed the glass balcony doors open with a force that rattled their hinges and walked straight out into the humid, sea-salted air.
He jerked around when he heard her, the amber liquid sloshing slightly in his glass as he did. She was expecting a gloating expression, but his eyes shimmered with pain, and the heart-wrenching sight of it sent a surge of anger through her chest.
‘How dare you!’ Siya snapped, and her voice shattered the silence he’d wrapped around himself. ‘Is all of this some sort ofjoke to you? Do you think writing your name in my mehendi will make me forget our past?’
She took two steps forward and jabbed a finger right at his chest with the pressure of all her overwhelming emotions. ‘You don’t get to act like some tragic, lovesick fiancé when all you’ve ever done is lie and—’
