Abhimanyu sat in the dimly lit home bar, his fingers absentmindedly trailing over the glass of untouched whiskey. His mind was elsewhere, burdened with the peculiar change in Misha's behavior. She had grown distant-always lost in her thoughts, her silence speaking volumes. He couldn't help but feel an ache of worry gnawing at him. She seemed to be hiding something, and the uncertainty of it all left him restless.
Arnav, seated beside him, wasn't faring any better. His usually composed demeanor was shattered, his face a storm of frustration and guilt. Arthi's words haunted him "I'm just a replacement. Nothing more." The accusation echoed in his mind, shaking him to his core. Yes, she was originally a replacement for her sister, Trisha. He hadn't denied it then, marrying her to protect his reputation. But that was the past. After their marriage, not once had he seen Arthi as a replacement.
He stared blankly at the amber liquid in his glass, thoughts racing. If he had met Arthi first, he knew deep in his heart he would have called off the wedding with Trisha without hesitation. That much was clear now. His obsession with Arthi had grown over time-her soft voice, her innocent fear of him, and those expressive eyes that could disarm him in an instant. She had become his everything, and her words had left a void in him, a void he didn't know how to fill.
As both men sat lost in their spiraling thoughts, the door burst open with a loud bang. Aavyan stormed in, his panicked voice cutting through the heavy atmosphere.
"Bhai! Bhai!" he called out, his steps hurried, his face a mix of worry and disbelief.
Abhimanyu and Arnav frowned at the sudden commotion, their gazes snapping toward Aavyan.
"What's with the shouting?" Abhimanyu asked, his tone cold and demanding. Arnav, on the other hand, raised a brow, his frustration barely concealed.
"Speak up, Aavyan," Arnav ordered, his voice laced with warning.
Aavyan exhaled, his casual tone at odds with the urgency in his expression. "Alright, alright. I was just surprised to see you two sitting here like this. But that's not the point. It's about our perfume brand," he began, trailing off deliberately.
Abhimanyu stiffened, his brows furrowing. "What about it?"
"Ekansh Bhai fired the entire Fragrance House team," Aavyan said casually, like he was stating the weather.
"What?!" Abhimanyu shot to his feet, disbelief etched on his face.
Arnav's reaction was no less volatile. Rising slowly, his eyes burned with anger as he growled, "What did you just say?"
Aavyan raised his hands in mock surrender. "You heard me. Ekansh Bhai fired the whole team two days ago."
The room seemed to freeze for a moment as the weight of the words sank in.
"Why?" Arnav demanded, his voice dangerously low, his fists clenching. "What the hell was he thinking?"
"I have no idea," Aavyan replied with a sigh. "I just got the news from the team a little while ago."
Abhimanyu pinched the bridge of his nose, his shock giving way to irritation. "Why am I only hearing about this now?" Aavyan sighed.
"Well, technically, the perfume brand is under your charge," Aavyan pointed out with a shrug, ignoring Arnav's sharp glare.
"I delegated it to Ekansh," Abhimanyu admitted stiffly. "He asked for it, and I let him handle it because I was swamped with other projects."
Arnav shook his head in disbelief, his tone sharp. "You handed it over to Ekansh? You know he doesn't do anything without an ulterior motive. What were you thinking?"
Abhimanyu sighed heavily. "At the time, I was juggling multiple responsibilities. You were busy with the camera incident, and Aavyan was drowning in paperwork. Ekansh insisted he could handle it, so I agreed."
"Where is he now?" Arnav asked, his voice frosty.
"In France," Aavyan said, his tone almost nonchalant.
"France?" Arnav repeated, his tone rising. "When did he leave?"
"Last night," Aavyan replied with a shrug. "He didn't tell anyone. I found out after calling his assistant when the Chief Executive called me about rehiring the Fragrance House team." While ago the Chife Executive called him asking about the interview.
Abhimanyu exhaled sharply, his patience fraying. "Aavyan, those chemists are crucial to our upcoming launch. I don't want any more delays or excuses. Get them back by morning. Understood?" Aavyan nodded.
"Understood, Bhai," Aavyan replied with a nod, straightening under Abhimanyu's commanding tone.
"And when Ekansh returns, let me know immediately," Arnav added icily. "I have some things to discuss with him." His tone one of warning.
With that, the conversation ended. Abhimanyu strode out of the bar, his jaw set with determination. Arnav followed, leaving Aavyan alone with his thoughts. The room fell silent once more, but the tension lingered, thick and heavy-a storm waiting to be unleashed.
Ekansh stood in the center of a grand room, its opulence radiating the unmistakable charm of French-style interior design. The high ceilings adorned with intricate moldings, the glimmering chandeliers casting soft golden hues, and the polished parquet floors screamed of luxury-a testament to the villa's exclusivity. It was a sanctuary of indulgence that Ekansh had acquired solely for his stay, yet the grandeur around him seemed to fade under the weight of his displeasure.
Across from him stood a man, meticulously dressed, holding out a slender, elegant perfume bottle. Ekansh accepted it without a word, his fingers brushing against the cool glass as he lifted the bottle. With a measured motion, he sprayed the perfume into the air, watching the mist dissolve like a fleeting memory. As the fragrance filled the room, he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.
The transformation in Ekansh's demeanor was immediate and visceral. His face twisted into a grimace, and the serene facade he maintained moments ago crumbled. His jaw clenched, veins protruding from his neck as his knuckles whitened, gripping the bottle with a force that threatened to shatter it. His eyes opened, now sharp with fury, and fixed on the man before him.
"It's not," Ekansh said, his voice dangerously calm, laced with restrained anger.
The man-Demetrio, the chief executive of the French branch of their perfume brand-frowned in confusion. "Sir, but it's precisely what you asked for," he replied, his tone tinged with uncertainty, glancing at the bottle in Ekansh's hand.
Ekansh drew a deep breath, his frustration barely contained. "It's not," he repeated, his voice dropping to a whisper, as if the words carried the weight of his obsession. "Demetrio, this is nowhere close to the fragrance I asked for."
Demetrio's brows furrowed further. "Sir, we worked tirelessly to recreate the scent you described," he explained, his tone cautious yet professional.
Ekansh's lips curled into a bitter smirk as he shook his head. "I told you, Demetrio," he began, his voice soft but intense, "I wanted the fragrance of fresh rain mingled with the delicate aroma of blooming flowers. That crispness in the air. The coolness of the wind. And....." His eyes grew distant, as if lost in a memory. ".....that intoxication. That inexplicable, alluring essence that lingers and captivates."
Demetrio's expression shifted, part bewilderment and part resignation. "Sir, we tried to replicate it exactly, but this is what we achieved," he said, gesturing toward the bottle in Ekansh's hand.
Ekansh's gaze fell on the bottle, his grip tightening momentarily before he set it on the nearby table with an air of finality. "No," he stated firmly, his voice carrying an edge of finality. "This isn't it. It doesn't even come close."
Demetrio opened his mouth to respond, but Ekansh cut him off, his tone commanding and unyielding. "I don't care what you have to do, Demetrio. I want that fragrance created-at any cost. Pull every resource you have. Mobilize the entire department if you must. Call upon the best perfumers and chemists in France or anywhere else in the world." Ekansh's words shows his restlessness.
The force in Ekansh's words left no room for argument. Demetrio stood frozen, unsure whether his boss's obsession bordered on genius or madness. The sheer audacity of Ekansh's demands baffled him, especially considering this was the very first task he assigned after arriving in France. But Demetrio knew better than to question him.
"But it's nearly impossible to create that fragrance, sir. I think-" Demetrio began hesitantly, his voice measured, as though he were treading on thin ice.
Ekansh's sharp gaze snapped to him, silencing the words on Demetrio's tongue. "Impossible?" he repeated, his tone laced with disbelief, his brows furrowing as though the very idea offended him.
"Do you think I care about what's possible and what's not?" Ekansh's voice grew firmer, each word enunciated with deliberate precision. The air in the room seemed to shift under the weight of his words, the previously luxurious atmosphere now charged with tension.
"Do whatever it takes," Ekansh continued, his tone colder now. "But bring me that fragrance."
Demetrio nodded, his professionalism masking the inner turmoil of facing such an impossible demand. As he turned to leave, Ekansh's voice rang out once more, sharp and resolute.
"You have one week," he said, his gaze piercing. "Not a day more."
Demetrio swallowed hard and exited the room, leaving Ekansh to collapse onto the plush sofa, exhaustion seeping into his bones. He leaned back, staring at the ornate ceiling, but his mind wasn't on the grandeur surrounding him. It wandered back to that elusive scent, the one that haunted him like a ghost. A memory. A feeling. Something he couldn't let go of.
Impossible? The word itself was an insult to him. If there was one thing Ekansh refused to tolerate, it was failure.
His fingers brushed against the armrest, tightening into a fist as frustration bubbled within. The obsession was consuming him, and for a moment, the villa's opulence felt hollow, a cage trapping him with his unrelenting desire.
"Her. That wife of mine..... the one I left behind, saying I didn't care....." Ekansh muttered, a dark chuckle escaping his lips as he sat upright, his eyes glinting with frustration.
"Now, she's turning me into a madman, driving me insane to recreate the very fragrance she carried." Ekansh cold expression filled the room.
His fingers ran through his hair in agitation, but his mind drifted back to that night-the night that changed everything. It was raining heavily when he arrived at the secluded garden estate for his work. The air was rich, heady, and intoxicating, a mix of blooming flowers and damp earth. The fragrance had wrapped around him, pulling him into a trance. For a fleeting moment, it had stripped away the weight of his anger, his loneliness, his hatred for the world. It was unlike anything he'd experienced, and he thought he'd never feel it again.
But fate had other plans.
The very next morning, she appeared-rushing out of his mansion like a thief, she wasn't one though. Her presence, uninvited and unwanted, should have ignited his fury. Instead, it was her. That same essence, that intoxicating blend, clung to her. It wasn't the rain or the flowers-it was her. Her fragrance held him captive, tethering his rage. Had it not been for that, Ekansh knew he might've killed her on the spot for trespassing into his domain. Yet instead, he married her.
He clenched his fists, the memory of their wedding day searing into his thoughts. Every moment he sat beside her at the mandap, that fragrance-her essence-enveloped him, calming his turbulent mind. It kept him steady when all he wanted was to shatter the world around him in crimson rage. His anger had simmered beneath the surface, threatening to erupt. That fragrance had stopped him from making their wedding day a massacre.
And yet, he left her.
He left her in the middle of a deserted road without a backward glance. Why? Because she made him weak. She could control him in a way no one else ever could. That marriage wasn't his choice-it was a trap, a calculated move to weaken him, orchestrated by those who sought to bring him to his knees. How could he accept her when she had become his greatest vulnerability?
"I'll never regret leaving her," he growled, though his voice wavered slightly, betraying his conviction. "Or will I?" The only question left for him.
Ekansh groaned, leaning back on the plush sofa, the weight of his conflicting emotions pressing down on him.
"Why..... why does this woman refuse to leave my thoughts?" His jaw tightened as he sat upright again, rubbing his temples in frustration.
"Even when I try, she lingers-her face, her voice, her fragrance. It's everywhere." His words grew bitter, his teeth grinding together.
"Didn't she marry me for money? Isn't she and her family in league with that bastard Mr Raichand, who's always hated me?" His anger surged, and he slammed his fist onto the table.
"She deserved it!" he spat, his voice filled with venom. "She deserved to be left on that road. This marriage was nothing but a twisted ploy to trap me. She got what she deserved." Ekansh said with hatred but his heart know that truth.
But even as he said the words, the bitterness in his tone gave way to something deeper, something raw.
"That night....." he whispered, his voice softening. "The first time I felt it..... her fragrance..... it was the first time I slept peacefully in years." He closed his eyes, leaning his head back as if trying to recapture that moment.
His thoughts spiraled, tangled in the memory of her.
"No matter how much I try to forget, my mind recreates it..... that scent, that peace..... and the next moment, I'm dying-like an addict-craving just one more breath of it." Ekansh face expressed his words intensity through his eyes.
His gaze fell to the perfume bottle on the table. Demetrio's best attempt to recreate her fragrance. He grabbed it, uncapped it, and inhaled deeply, but it wasn't the same. It was close, yet painfully distant.
"It's not even close," he muttered, his voice tinged with frustration.
"I came here for this, and now these idiots can't even create it. Useless, all of them. I should fire them!" Ekansh sighed with irritation.
He slammed the bottle onto the table with a loud thud, the sound echoing in the silent room. Sinking back into the sofa, he closed his eyes, his chest heaving with irritation and something he refused to name-longing.
Her face flickered in his mind. Her eyes, her hesitant looking at his eyes and her fear, the few moments they shared it only filled with anger and fear along her tears. He cursed under his breath.
"Why can't I get her out of my head?" he whispered, his voice barely audible. "The woman I left behind is haunting me like a ghost. And the worst part?" His lips curled into a bitter smile. "I don't even know if I regret it... or if I regret not holding on tighter." Ekansh muttered and his thoughts reparting her face, which he had seen for some time.
Dinner was a quiet affair, as always. Roohi sat at the table, her plate filled with food, while Amira and Raghav ate alongside her. Tar, as usual, was absent, off at another one of his late-night parties. The clinking of cutlery against plates was the only sound filling the room, until a sudden bout of coughing broke the silence.
"Ahem..... ahem....." Roohi coughed abruptly, her body jolting as a bite of food went down the wrong way, triggered by an unexpected hiccup. Her throat burned as the sound escaped her lips, her face flushing red.
Amira and Raghav looked up instantly, alarm flashing in their eyes.
"Beta, careful!" Amira exclaimed, her voice filled with concern as she leaned closer to Roohi. "Here, drink some water," she added, quickly grabbing a glass from the table and holding it up to Roohi's lips.
Roohi accepted the glass with trembling hands, taking a few small sips as the cough subsided. Her breathing steadied, though her throat still felt raw. Amira rubbed her back gently, her touch soothing. After a minute, Roohi let out a soft sigh of relief.
"Alright, beta?" Amira asked, her voice tender as she looked at Roohi intently.
Roohi nodded, giving a faint smile. Amira took the glass from her and placed it back on the table.
"Roohi, beta, eat carefully," Raghav chimed in, his tone filled with fatherly concern.
"I think it's too spicy. Here, try this instead," Amira said, scooping some milder bean curry onto Roohi's plate. Her motherly instincts were in full swing, her worry evident in her every movement.
"It's alright, Ma. Just a little cough," Roohi replied with a reassuring smile, though her voice was still slightly hoarse. Both Amira and Raghav nodded, though their watchful eyes lingered on her for a moment before they resumed eating.
Roohi smiled faintly and returned to her food, though her mind began to wander. The sound of her chachi's voice echoed in her thoughts: "If you get hiccups unexpectedly, it means someone is thinking about you."
Who could it be? she wondered absently, poking at the food on her plate. Her first thoughts went to her uncle and aunt, but then, unbidden, her mind drifted to him.
Her chest tightened, her heartbeat quickening at the thought of him. She frowned slightly, shaking her head to banish the memory. "Why would he think of me? she reasoned bitterly. He left me. He probably doesn't even remember that he married me". Roohi expression fell down in instant.
The thought stung more than she expected, and her lips turned into a soft pout. Her eyes grew dull, the brightness from earlier fading as she played with her food absentmindedly.
Amira noticed her distraction, her maternal instincts kicking in. She frowned and exchanged a glance with Raghav, who had also picked up on Roohi's sudden change in demeanor.
"Roohi, beta," Raghav called softly, his tone warm and tender.
Roohi's head jerked up in surprise, her eyes wide as she met his gaze. Amira reached out, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder.
"Eat, beta. Don't play with your food," Amira said softly, her tone filled with kindness. "It's not great to make food wait." Amira said with faint smile.
Roohi blinked, her lips curving into a small, apologetic smile. She nodded and returned to her meal, though the dullness in her eyes remained. Amira and Raghav exchanged another glance, a silent understanding passing between them.
As the meal continued, they spoke no more of it, choosing instead to let her be. After finishing their food, they all retreated to their respective rooms, the house settling into its usual quiet.
But in the solitude of her room, Roohi's thoughts lingered on the past, and on the man who haunted her memories.
The clock had struck well past midnight, and Aavyan still hadn't managed to sleep. His room was a mess of papers, files, and scattered blueprints, remnants of the work he had been engrossed in. Abhimanyu had tasked him with fixing their perfume brand's latest crisis-a mess caused by Ekansh, who had fired their top perfumers and chemists for reasons Aavyan still couldn't fathom. The company's new perfume launch was hanging by a thread. Aavyan sighed as he rubbed the back of his neck, exhaustion creeping in.
If Ekansh showed up in the morning, he'd likely land himself in even more trouble, and the thought made Aavyan chuckle dryly. Glancing at the clock, he realized it was far too late to even try getting some rest now. He leaned back in his chair, exhaling sharply.
Then an idea struck him, lighting up his face with a mischievous smirk. His honey-brown eyes gleamed with excitement as he bolted out of his room. The soft thud of his hurried footsteps echoed in the quiet mansion. Within moments, he was upstairs rummaging through a drawer before heading back down with renewed energy. He stepped outside into the cool night air, a sense of anticipation buzzing through him.
Standing near the garage, Aavyan pressed a button on the wall, and with a soft hum, the door rolled open to reveal their car collection. Among the shining vehicles, one stood out-sleek, predatory, and captivating in its pure black finish. Aavyan's smirk deepened as his gaze settled on the motorcycle.
"After so many days," he murmured to himself, running his hand along the bike's smooth, polished seat. A faint smile crossed his lips, one that was rare and genuine, tinged with nostalgia.
The bike gleamed under the faint moonlight, its charcoal-black body accentuated by subtle streaks of crimson red. The glassy finish shimmered, making it appear almost alive, like a predator ready to pounce. Aavyan admired the machine for a moment before pulling it out of the garage and sealing the door behind him.
Dressed in his racing suit, which hugged his frame like a second skin, a secret he kept that he is a racer, every year he is the one to win the race. he moved with the precision of someone accustomed to the thrill of speed. He adjusted his helmet, its visor leaving only his honey-brown eyes visible, and a few strands of dark hair peeked out, falling over his forehead. His eyes sparkled with mischief as he swung his leg over the bike and settled into the seat.
The engine roared to life beneath him, the powerful sound echoing through the still night. It was a growl that sent a thrill through his veins. He gripped the handlebars, leaned forward, and in one fluid motion, the bike shot forward like a streak of lightning.
The wind rushed against him, tugging at his hair and whipping past his suit as the city roads blurred into streaks of light. The only sound was the deep, resonant hum of the engine. Aavyan leaned into the curves of the road, his body instinctively moving with the bike as it glided effortlessly through the empty streets.
Each twist of the throttle brought an exhilarating surge of speed, the rush silencing the noise in his mind. The tension, the exhaustion, the weight of responsibility-it all melted away, replaced by a rare sense of peace. Aavyan let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding, his lips curling into a faint smile beneath the helmet.
This was his sanctuary, his escape. Out here, under the night sky, with the world asleep around him, Aavyan felt alive. The bike roared again as he pushed it to its limits, the wind singing through the open road.
For those fleeting moments, nothing else mattered-just him, his bike, and the untamed freedom of the night.
Tara stepped out of the club, the cool night air brushing against her skin as the muffled thud of music faded behind her. Her expression was blank, a tinge of boredom lingering in her eyes. She had downed half a bottle tonight, but even the burn of alcohol had failed to stir her usual thrill. Nights like these had become routine-just her, a drink, and the rhythmic pulse of the club lights. She didn't mind the solitude; in fact, she preferred it when she drank. It was her way of unwinding, of letting the world blur away.
With a soft sigh, Tara closed her eyes, tilting her head back briefly before opening them again. The sight that greeted her made her freeze mid-step.
A motorcycle roared to life a few feet away, its deep, guttural growl cutting through the quiet of the night. The sound was powerful, commanding her attention. Her lips parted in a silent gasp, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes were drawn to the sleek machine. It was jet black with faint crimson accents, glinting under the dim streetlights like a predator ready to strike.
And then, her gaze shifted to the rider.
He was clad in a fitted black suit, the material gleaming under the streetlights. His helmet hid most of his face, but a few strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, teasing her imagination. His posture was relaxed yet confident, the kind that spoke of someone completely in control, someone who knew exactly the kind of attention he commanded.
Tara's breath hitched as the bike roared again, louder this time. The sound vibrated through her chest, sending a shiver down her spine. Before she could process the scene fully, the rider leaned forward, and in a flash, the bike surged forward, slicing through the stillness of the night like a streak of shadow and fire.
Her world slowed down in that moment.
She could see the bike's sleek body cutting through the air, the rider's movements fluid and precise, like a predator stalking its prey. Her eyes widened in disbelief, her mind scrambling to process what she'd just witnessed.
"You are cool, Mr. Hot," she muttered under her breath, her voice laced with both awe and a hint of mischief.
Her lips curled into a small, impressed smile as she stood there, replaying the moment in her mind. The adrenaline of watching him, the way he commanded the bike with effortless grace, sent an unexpected rush through her. Even though the rider was gone now, disappearing into the distance like a phantom, the image was seared into her memory.
With a long sigh, Tara shook her head, trying to snap herself out of it. "Get a grip, girl," she mumbled, though the smirk lingering on her lips betrayed her thoughts.
Turning back to her car, she slid into the driver's seat and started the engine. The low purr of her car was nothing compared to the roar of that bike, and for a fleeting moment, she felt a twinge of envy. Tara smirked at that thought "Not bad for a boring night." Tara sighed with faint smile.
As the car hummed to life, she drove off into the night, her thoughts still spinning around the mysterious rider who had, without even trying, managed made her feel something in her heart and mind.
All of you
I gave every couple equal attention, I think.
Do tell me if anything is not right.
ShrimaaShrivastava Iâm truly grateful that you liked the story. Your kind words mean the world to me, and you are truly the best, dear. Thank you so much!
If anyone else feels the urge to give Ekansh a well-deserved slap, do let me know. I'll gladly deliver it on behalf of all of you-with the utmost respect and just the right amount of finesse, naturally, of course.
Have a great day