I'm back in India. I had to be. It's Anushka Kapoor's wedding — daughter of the ex-CM of Delhi, and my best friend since forever.

Being a Wattpad girl at heart, I've always imagined a wedding where I'd find the love of my life. You know — that magical, cinematic moment where our eyes meet across a crowded room, and the rest of the world fades away. But mai yeh toh bhul hi gayi thi ki family functions mein ya toh cousin milenge ya budhe uncle.

(I forgot that at family functions, you only run into cousins or old uncles.)

Here, everything is chaos — the kind of beautiful chaos that makes you stop and take a breath. I was taken aback by the orderly beauty of this place as I made my way through the maze of preparations. The clinking of glassware, the decorators' laughter, and the steady rhythms of traditional music created a joyful chorus. Everything was meticulously set in its place, waiting for the guests to arrive. Marigold garlands hung from every archway, their golden hues catching the soft glow of the fairy lights. The scent of fresh jasmine mixed with the rich aroma of sandalwood incense in the air — it smelled like home.

But the only reason I'm actually excited isn't because of the wedding itself. It's because I'll finally be reuniting with my lil Power Rangers team.

We — the heirs of the four most influential families in India — are finally

going to be in one place again. The Malhotras, Kapoors, Oberois, and Singhanias. Along with countless billionaires, celebrities, and CEOs, of course. It's practically a Forbes list in one venue.

In the race of building our careers, chasing success, and trying to become the versions of ourselves that the world expected us to be, we lost touch with each other. Once upon a time, we were each other's found family — inseparable, untouchable. Now, all we know about each other are our names splashed across business headlines and gossip columns.

Our squad. My heart clenches at the thought. The Power Rangers, reduced to distant memories and hollow smiles.

But maybe... just maybe... This wedding could change that.

Or maybe it'll unravel everything we've carefully built.

It started when I was in the States, in my office. The floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the length of the room, overlooking the New York skyline. The city pulsed beneath me — cars honking, sirens wailing in the distance, the blur of lights and movement a constant reminder that life never really stopped here. The room itself was cold — sleek gray walls, a minimalist desk with carefully arranged papers, and the faint hum of the AC filling the silence. Everything was exactly how I liked it — controlled.

A soft knock at the glass door broke through the quiet.

"Come in," I said, not looking up from my laptop screen. My inbox was flooded — contract renewals, meeting schedules, an offer to speak at some high-profile event — the usual chaos that I had learned to tame with precision.

My assistant, Eve, stepped in, heels clicking against the marble floor. "Ma'am, you have an invitation from India."

My hands froze over the keyboard. A strange tightness settled in my chest, but I kept my expression smooth as I lifted my gaze toward her. She was holding a sleek black envelope with gold embossing — the Kapoor family crest shimmering under the soft office lights.

Anushka.

I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry. "What did I say about it, Eve?"

Eve's expression didn't change. Calm. Professional. "To decline everything if it's from India." Her tone was even, but the flicker of something in her eyes — amusement, maybe — made my jaw tighten.

I had been running from India for years. Cutting off invitations, ignoring messages, declining every possible excuse to go back. Business made a convenient shield — meetings, deals, press tours — but the truth was simpler and far more pathetic. I was afraid. Afraid of facing the people I left behind. Afraid of seeing how much they had changed — or worse, how much they hadn't. Afraid of seeing him again.

Eve tucked the envelope under her arm. "Alright, ma'am. I'll tell Miss Anushka Kapoor you won't be able to come to her wedding."

Her words settled heavily between us. A dismissal. An ending. As if it were that easy.

I knew Eve knew better. Knew that I had been keeping tabs on everyone I cared about from India. Late at night, when the rest of the world quieted down, I'd scroll through headlines and social media posts like a pathetic voyeur. Lakshi on the cover of Vogue India, kritka's name plastered across business journals, Danish photographed at some charity event looking impossibly sharp in a tailored suit, Yuvraj walking out of a boardroom with that familiar cold look in his eyes. I knew where they were, what they were doing, who they were becoming — even if I pretended I didn't care.

But Anushka's wedding... it was different.

I stared at the envelope for a moment longer. My heart was beating too fast, the blood rushing in my ears. This wasn't just some business event or social gala. This was Anushka.

"No," I said quietly.

Eve hesitated. "Ma'am?"

"Don't decline it." My voice was steady, even as my chest tightened painfully. "Send a response. I'm going and Eve tell her to keep it a secret from others. I am giving them a surprise"

Eve's brows lifted slightly — the only sign of surprise she allowed herself — before she nodded. "Of course, ma'am." She turned and left the room, heels tapping rhythmically against the floor.

The door clicked shut behind her, leaving me alone with the heavy silence.

I leaned back in my chair, running my fingers through my hair. My reflection stared back at me from the dark window — sharp eyes, carefully pressed blouse, the image of someone who had everything together. A lie I had perfected over the years.

Going back to India meant facing everything I had abandoned. My family. My friends.

And him.

I made my way forward through the maze of guests and decorations, weaving through the chaos of preparations. My heart hammered painfully in my chest. I had to find her. My Lakshi and my Kritika too.

Finally, I reached a room tucked away at the end of the hall. Laughter spilled through the door — familiar and painfully nostalgic. I stood there for a second, mesmerizing this moment in my head. my hand hovering above the doorknob as nerves twisted painfully in my chest.

I knocked.

"And here I thought you'd be mesmerising the past and thinking about how much you'd be missing me," I said, forcing my voice to sound light.

The laughter stopped. The room fell into stunned silence.

Lakshi's eyes widened first. Kritika's mouth parted in disbelief. And Anushka — standing between them in the middle of the room, her lehenga trailing elegantly around her — just froze.

"No way," Kritika breathed.

"It's... it's a hologram," Lakshi whispered. "This can't be real."

"Yeah, because I'd go through all the trouble of making a hologram just to crash this wedding," I said, my voice cracking despite the smile on my face.

Anushka stepped forward first, her hands trembling as they reached for me. Her eyes were already glassy. "It's you... it's really you."

I opened my mouth to speak, but before I could say a word, a pillow slammed into my face.

"OW—"

"YOU DISAPPEARED!" Lakshi screamed, grabbing another pillow and hurling it at me.

"FOR FIVE YEARS!" Kritika shouted, grabbing a cushion and launching it toward my head.

I stumbled back, laughing as the pillows rained down on me. "Okay, okay—"

"NO!" Anushka's voice was shrill as she grabbed a pillow and smacked me square in the chest. "You don't get to disappear without a word and then just waltz back in like nothing happened!"

Lakshi and Kritika joined in, yelling incoherently as they attacked me with soft cushions, tears streaming down their faces. My arms flew up to protect myself, laughing even as my own eyes stung.

"Okay! Truce! Truce!" I gasped between laughs.

Anushka threw down her pillow and before I could process it, her arms wrapped tightly around me.

"You're really here," she whispered, her voice breaking.

Lakshi and Kritika were there a second later, their arms folding around both of us. A tangled mess of limbs and shaking breaths.

"I'm so sorry," I whispered. "I didn't know how to come back."

Anushka pulled back just enough to look at me, tears streaking down her cheeks. "You're here now. That's all that matters."

Lakshi wiped at her eyes, sniffling. "We're never letting you disappear again."

Kritika smiled through her tears. "Yeah. And if you try, we'll drag you back."

I laughed, though my chest tightened painfully at how much I had missed them. "Deal."

Anushka smiled, her hand brushing over my hair. "Welcome home."

"Alright, first of all — Ika, congratulations on getting your degree and becoming a successful lawyer. Lakshi, congrats on hitting ten million! And Anushka... you're finally a CA."

Their faces fell.

My heart clenched at the look of surprise and hurt on their faces. Did they really think I wouldn't know? That I wouldn't keep track of the people who meant the most to me?

"What?" I raised an eyebrow, trying to keep my tone light even though the weight of the moment pressed hard against my chest. "You thought I'd completely abandon you and not keep tabs on you?"

Anushka's mouth opened, but no sound came out. Lakshi's brows furrowed. Kritika just stared at me, wide-eyed.

"You — you knew?" Anushka whispered.

I shrugged, trying to act casual even though my heart was racing. "Of course I knew. What do you think I was doing at two in the morning when I couldn't sleep? Scrolling through Pinterest?"

Lakshi snorted. "Honestly... yeah."

I smiled, though it didn't quite reach my eyes. "Come on. Give me some credit. I've been watching from a distance. Every win, every article, every social media post — you really thought I wouldn't know?"

Kritika crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing. "So you were stalking us?"

"Monitoring," I corrected with a teasing smile, though the knot in my chest tightened. "Very different thing."

Truthfully, it was pathetic. Sitting alone in my apartment, scrolling through Instagram stories and news articles, catching glimpses of their lives through a screen because I was too much of a coward to reach out. Too afraid that they had moved on without me. Too scared of finding out that I wasn't needed anymore.

Anushka shook her head, tears glistening in her eyes. "I can't believe you knew and still stayed away."

My smile faltered. "I didn't know how to come back." My voice softened. "Didn't know if you'd even want me to."

Lakshi's eyes widened. "Are you serious? You're family. You've always been family."

Kritika nodded. "Exactly. You disappearing was the problem. Not you coming back."

Anushka reached for my hand, her grip warm and steady. "We missed you."

I squeezed her hand, my chest tightening painfully at how easy it was for them to let me back in. How effortlessly they forgave me when I wasn't sure I deserved it.

"So... are you going to fill me in on everything I missed, or are we going to sit here and stare at each other all night?" I forced a smile, hoping they wouldn't hear the crack in my voice.

Lakshi grinned. "Oh, we've got so much to tell you."

Kritika smirked. "You might regret asking."

Anushka smiled through her tears. "It's a long story."

I smiled back, feeling the smallest piece of the ice around my heart begin to thaw. "I've got time."

Lakshi's eyes lit up as she peeked through the window. "Groom's side is here."

"Let's go then," I said casually.

Everyone looked at me.

"Did I miss something?" I asked, glancing between them.

Lakshi's smile faltered. Anushka and Kritika exchanged a look — the kind that screamed you don't know what you're walking into.

"Nothing," Anushka said with a forced smile. "Let's go."

We walked outside, where the groom's side was arriving with the first official invitation for the bride's side — a traditional gesture. But if you looked around, you'd think the wedding was happening today. Silk drapes fluttered in the soft breeze, the scent of marigolds heavy in the air. Gold and red blended beautifully against the afternoon sun.

Anushka stood beside me, her eyes scanning the crowd. Her expression was neutral — too neutral.

I slid an arm around her waist. "You okay?"

She leaned into me and whispered, "I missed this. If I knew my wedding would bring you back, I would've gotten married five years ago."

My heart twisted painfully at the warmth in her voice. "I'll bring some juice for us," I said, needing to step away.

I walked toward the refreshments table, grabbing her favorite and mine. My hands were full, and I was distracted — too distracted.

That's why I slammed into a wall.

Thick. Hard. Wide.

My eyes squeezed shut as the chill of the juice seeped through my fingers, splashing across my hand. But it wasn't a wall, was it?

I opened my eyes and froze.

Danish Malhotra.

My breath hitched. My heart stopped. Then, it hammered painfully against my chest.

He hadn't changed much — sharp jawline, piercing dark eyes, and that maddening calmness that somehow made him look even more dangerous. His black shirt stretched across his broad shoulders, his hair perfectly styled like he'd just walked out of a magazine cover.

He stared down at me, his expression cool and impassive.

"I'm sorry," I whispered, dabbing at the wet spot on his shirt with a napkin. My hand was trembling. But I wasn't apologizing for the juice.

I was apologizing for five years ago.

His hand shot out, yanking mine away from his chest.

"Wait here. My assistant will bring you a new white shirt," I said quickly.

"No need," he replied coldly, typing something into his phone.

A moment later, his assistant appeared, handing him a crisp white shirt.

He took it without a word and walked toward a nearby room. I stood there, heart hammering against my ribs as I watched him disappear behind the door.

He emerged a few minutes later, freshly changed. He handed the soiled shirt to his assistant.

"Burn it," he said.

I inhaled sharply. My stomach twisted painfully.

"Danish—"

He walked past me without a glance.

Cold.

Like I didn't even exist.

My hand curled into a fist at my side. My throat burned.

He didn't even look back.

My chest ached. I knew it would be hard seeing him again, but this? This was worse than anger. Anger would have meant he still cared. But this indifference... it hollowed me out.

I stood there, clutching the juice, watching him disappear into the crowd. My mind screamed at me to move, to breathe, to stop feeling this heavy pull in my chest — but I couldn't.

Because it wasn't just juice I spilled on him.

It was five years of silence.

And maybe... maybe this was exactly what I deserved.

I wanted him to yell at me. Scream at me. Break that infuriating calm and tell me exactly how much I hurt him.

But the way he ignored me — like I didn't even exist?

It was eating me alive.

This wasn't the version of Danish I loved. This cold, detached version — the one who barely looked at me, the one who walked away without a word — this wasn't him.

This wasn't the boy who used to call me sweetheart with that crooked smile and mischievous glint in his eye. This wasn't the boy who had once pulled me close at a crowded party and whispered, "You're the only person who makes this bearable."

No.

This was the version he became because of me.

Because I left him 5 years ago.

Because I broke him.