Danish Malhotra is for the eldest siblings of the house—the ones who were forgotten the moment their younger sibling was born. The ones who grew up too fast, who learned that love often comes second to responsibility, who carried the weight of expectations without ever being asked if they wanted to. He is for those who wore their last name with pride, not because they had to, but because they earned it—every letter, every syllable, every ounce of respect tied to it.

He is for the ones who stopped caring after a point, who put on the IDGAF act not because they wanted to, but because it was easier than admitting how much it hurt. The ones who convinced themselves that no one would ever love them—not beyond their last name, their money, or their carefully built walls.

Until someone did.

Not for the Malhotra name. Not for the power. Not for the sharp suits and cold stares.

But for him.

Kiara Oberoi is for the younger siblings—the ones whose actions were labeled as rebellion, when all they ever wanted was to be seen and loved by their parents. The ones who believed that if they could top every class, if they could be perfect in every way, they would finally earn the love and attention that seemed to go elsewhere. But eventually, they learned that academic validation didn't fill the empty spaces inside, and that approval came at the cost of their own identity.

She's for those who lived in the shadow of their elder siblings, constantly hearing the words, "Why can't you be more like your older sibling?" The ones who tried to mold themselves into someone they weren't, living a half-life even in their parents' gaze, believing that only through constant effort would they ever be worthy of love.

Until someone loved them—not for their achievements, not for what they could do, but for simply existing.

Just as they were.