💛 Ishita Sharma’s Perspective –

Something had changed.

I didn’t know when it started—maybe the day he noticed my discomfort in the dress…

Maybe the day we both stood silently in that studio, with so many words in the air, yet none spoken.

But now… we were comfortable.

Not in a rushed way.

Not like “oh-we-like-each-other-let’s-be-sudden” kind of comfort.

It was slow. Gradual.

Like warm sunlight after a long cold morning.

We started… talking.

Little things.

He’d ask—

“Did you eat anything today?”

“You wear high heels for so long… doesn’t it hurt?”

“Why do you work so much, Sharma?”

And I would tease—

“Why do you have no sugar in your coffee? What are you, a monk?”

“You workout too much. Ever tried being lazy?”

“How come you know more about makeup shoot timing than Reet now?”

He would smile—softly, rarely.

But when he did…

God, I wanted to frame that smile in my mind.

He started waiting during my shoots, even if he had meetings.

Sometimes he’d leave a bottle of juice on my vanity table, or a little note:

“Don’t skip lunch, loud girl.”

“That lipstick color doesn’t suit you. Try nude pink.”

I teased him for that one so hard.

But deep inside? I was fluttering like a thousand butterflies were having Holi inside me.

🖤 Rudra Singh Rathore’s Perspective –

Everyone noticed.

The entire studio team, Reet, even Laksh.

I could see the questions in their eyes.

But no one dared to ask.

Because they knew me.

They knew Rudra Singh Rathore—cold, distant, untouchable.

Except… not when she was around.

I started looking forward to rehearsals.

Meetings could wait. Deadlines could be handled by Akshat.

But her?

Her chaotic energy. Her laughter. Her endless questions. Her dance breaks mid-conversation. Her obsession with coffee. Her habit of talking to animals and mannequins and makeup brushes.

I had never met someone like her.

I didn’t know what I was doing.

I didn’t know how to name this—

But I knew I wanted more of her.

All of her.

One day, Reet pulled me aside.

“Bhaiya… you okay? You… feel different. Calmer. Happier.”

I shrugged, as usual.

“It’s nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was Ishita Sharma.

I had meetings with international clients and billion-dollar investments.

But when she walked in with her oversized tote bag, messy notes, and too-high heels?

The world just quieted.

And suddenly… I started becoming human again.

💫 Others’ POV (Quick Glimpses)

Reet (confused):

“Why does bhaiya smile only when she talks?”

“Wait… did he just get her a chair with back support? That’s new.”

Staff whispering:

“Sir is helping with light angles now?”

“Is that… fruit bowl in the break room? For her?”

“He said ‘please’ today. Is the world ending?”

Laksh (observing quietly):

Sir is gone. And it’s beautiful to watch.”

## 💛 Ishita Sharma’s Perspective –

It was a Tuesday, the worst day for a shoot because everyone’s energy dips. We were filming an ad for a new high-end perfume—all silk, shadow, and seriousness. I was giving the camera a sultry look, but inside I was just wishing for a nap.

Then, there was Rudra.

He was standing behind the monitor, the usual fortress of cold black suit and an expression that could freeze a volcano. But today, the fortress seemed to have a tiny, almost invisible door open.

I saw him reach into the pocket of his perfect trousers, take out a tiny, silver-wrapped square, and subtly place it on the edge of the monitor stand, right where I’d look during a break.

I walked over, pretending to check my phone, and picked it up. It was my favorite **dark chocolate**. And beneath it, a tiny, folded note, even smaller than the usual ones.

I opened it—his handwriting was sharp, precise, like architectural blueprints.

> *Sugar rush needed. You looked like you were about to fall asleep and yell at the camera guy. Don’t.*

A ridiculous, unnecessary warmth bloomed in my chest. He just *knew*.

“**Rathore**,” I called out, my voice deliberately loud, but pitched only for him. “My script has the line, ‘*The perfume of a fearless woman*.’ Does eating chocolate mean I’m scared?”

He didn’t even flinch, just adjusted the collar of his suit. “It means you’re hungry, **Sharma**. And nobody can be fearless on an empty stomach. Now, focus.”

The entire crew had frozen, watching our exchange. But when he called me *Sharma*—not ‘loud girl,’ not ‘model,’ but just **Sharma**—it felt like a title, one only he was allowed to bestow.

Later, I caught him on his phone, looking stressed. I just walked up to him and, without a word, stretched my hand out, palm up.

He looked at me, a flicker of confusion. “What?”

“**Your phone**,” I said. “Give it. Five minutes. You’re overthinking the client meeting again.”

“Ishita, I am managing a multi-crore deal, not choosing a filter for Instagram. This is—”

“It is a **stress ball** that needs to be put down,” I interrupted, using my sternest *Editor-in-Chief* voice. “Five minutes. Now.”

He stared at my outstretched hand for a long moment, his eyes searching mine. Then, slowly, with a sigh that seemed to carry the weight of a thousand deadlines, he placed his expensive smartphone in my hand.

He let his guard down for five minutes—for me. That was my victory.

## 🖤 Rudra Singh Rathore’s Perspective

The client meeting was a disaster. Not the deal, but the client. Loud, demanding, and utterly disrespecting my team. I walked back into the studio, ready to fire someone or just stare into the void until my blood pressure lowered.

But the moment I stepped onto the floor, I heard it.

Ishita, sitting on a low stool, had put her shoes aside and was animatedly explaining the plot of some ridiculous romantic comedy to Laksh. She was using her hands wildly, making sound effects, and occasionally kicking her bare heels playfully.

Her chaos didn't stress me out. It somehow **balanced** my own internal storm.

I walked straight to my office, but not before I stopped by her.

“**Ishita**,” I said, my voice probably still laced with professional anger.

She looked up, instantly sensing my mood, the smile dying a little on her face. “Yes, Rathore? Did the suit-people suck the soul out of you again?”

I ignored her banter. “You need to stop running around barefoot. This studio floor is disgusting. It’s an unhygienic habit.”

She raised an eyebrow, the **rebellious spark** returning. “And *you* need to stop judging my habits. I can’t feel the floor in my soul if I’m wearing four-inch torture devices.”

“It’s not judgment, it’s concern,” I found myself saying, the words feeling foreign and heavy on my tongue. “Get another pair of flats. Put them on.”

“Okay, okay,” she conceded, pushing her hair back. She then looked at my face, really looked, and her tone shifted—all the teasing gone, replaced by a genuine softness that hit me harder than any high-pressure meeting.

“You look like you’re ready to punch a wall. Go grab a coffee. I’ll make sure it’s black, just the way your little cold heart likes it. **Go on**.”

I did. I actually turned around and walked to the coffee machine.

I didn't want the coffee. I just wanted to do what she told me to do. I wanted to see her face when I returned. I wanted that tiny moment of quiet, shared understanding.

When I came back, she was waiting.

“**You look better**,” she stated, handing me the mug. “Don’t go back to your office just yet. Come look at the lighting. I need an honest opinion.”

She didn't need my opinion. She was giving me a reason to stay. A reason to simply *be* near her.

And the man who built walls around himself for years found himself nodding, stepping beside her, and letting her brightly-colored, noisy world envelop his cold, quiet one.

## 💫 Others’ POV (More Glimpses)

### Reet (Intrigued):

“Bhaiya just asked me what Ishita *actually* likes to read. He never asks about *anyone*. I told him she reads terrible, cheesy fantasy novels. He just... wrote it down.”

“Oh my God. He’s arguing with the client’s hair stylist because she kept messing up Ishita’s waves. He told her, ‘Her time is more valuable than your ego.’ **Rudra Singh Rathore** is defending a model's hairstyle. I need a picture.”

### Laksh (Amused):

“I asked him if he and Ishita are dating. He immediately said, ‘No, of course not, don’t be ridiculous.’ But he blushed. **Rudra Singh Rathore blushed.** He's so bad at this. I might actually start believing in fairytales.”

*Later, watching Rudra subtly pull a heavy equipment wire out of Ishita’s path:*

“He’s not gone. He’s evolved. He’s gone from a predator to a protective, silent wolf. And the prey is completely oblivious. It’s an epic love story already.”

### Staff Whispering:

“Did you see him wait outside the women’s restroom for her? He wasn't even pretending to be on a call. He was just... waiting.”

“He brought his dog to the studio today. His huge, scary German Shepherd. And he only let **Ishita** pet it. The dog even let her lie her head on its back. The world is *definitely* ending.”