Next day

It's Holi week - colors, laughter, and celebration everywhere - except in the heart of Rudra Singh Rathor, who hates noise, crowds, and festivities. Everyone in the family knows that Rudra never plays Holi, never attends such gatherings.

He believes celebrations are a waste of time and emotion.

But Ishita... is different.

She's been talking to him lately - small interactions, unexpected conversations at work, There's tension - gentle, magnetic, unspoken.

So when Reet tells her,

Ishu, we're having a small Holi get-together. Everyone will be there - , maybe Rudra bhaiya if miracles happen!"

Ishita laughs but can't help asking softly,

"Rudra... will he really come?"

Reet said don't know i told him but didn't know he will come or not

So after some time isha saw him outside his car talking on call when he is done she go and ask him about it if he will come or not

## Ishita's Perspective

Ishita walked out of the studio, the bright Delhi sun contrasting sharply with the lingering scent of perfume and makeup from the long shoot. She was still buzzing from the energy of the Holi prep talk. *Rudra... will he really come?* The question lingered, soft and persistent, in her mind.

She spotted him by a sleek black SUV parked a little ways from the main entrance-a stark, imposing figure in a world of color. He was on the phone, his face set in the familiar, cold focus she'd seen in boardrooms and magazines. He looked like the antithesis of a joyful festival.

She hesitated, her confidence wavering. Why was she doing this? It was just a small party; his presence shouldn't matter this much. But her feet, almost against her will, carried her forward.

She paused a few feet away, waiting for him to finish. He snapped his phone shut, his ocean-blue gaze immediately landing on her. The directness of it made her heart beat a sudden, fast rhythm.

"Mr. Rathor," she began, her voice steadying itself. "I didn't mean to interrupt, but I saw you leaving."

He gave a curt nod. "Ms. Sharma. I was just reviewing the final campaign mock-ups. They look promising."

"Thank you," she said, smoothing down her simple *kurti*. She took a breath, deciding to just plunge in. "I was actually... just talking to Reet about her Holi party this week."

Rudra's expression didn't change, but his jaw seemed to clench, a subtle signal of his distaste. "A celebration. I heard."

"She mentioned you might come," Ishita said softly, watching him closely. The way he was standing, arms crossed over his muscular chest, seemed to physically push the idea of celebration away. "She wasn't sure, but... will you be there?"

He looked down at her, the height difference suddenly feeling immense. His eyes searched hers with an unexpected intensity. It felt like he wasn't looking at her question, but at *her*.

"You are asking for a man who avoids all forms of noise and meaningless gatherings," he stated, his voice a low, gravelly monotone. "Why the interest, Ms. Sharma? To ensure a swift exit before the colored powder starts flying?"

Ishita met his gaze, refusing to look away. A gentle smile touched her lips. "No. To be honest... I was just hoping to see you outside of a work meeting. I thought perhaps... for once, you might allow yourself to waste a little time, Mr. Rathor. For a little laughter. For a little color."

## Rudra's Perspective

The moment Rudra ended the call, his sight snagged on **Ishita Sharma**. She was standing a few feet away, her presence a sudden, warm spot in the usual stark grey of his afternoon. Even in a simple, faded outfit, she radiated a quiet energy that was frankly distracting. He was supposed to be leaving, escaping the city's pre-Holi chaos, but he waited.

She approached him. She had a dreamer's look in her brown eyes, and the way she held herself-thin, but entirely poised-made the term 'middle-class' feel absurdly inadequate.

"Mr. Rathor," she said. Her voice was soft, melodic, and held no fear, unlike the many who worked for him.

"Ms. Sharma," he replied. He gave her a short response about the project, hoping she would just leave, but he knew she wouldn't. He never wanted her to leave. This duality was a cold, sharp ache in his chest-a feeling he had no name for, except perhaps 'her.'

"I was actually... just talking to Reet about her Holi party this week."

*Holi.* He felt an immediate, internal recoil. The memory of chaotic crowds, forced cheer, and wasted effort-all things he despised. He gave a clipped, "A celebration. I heard."

"She mentioned you might come," she continued, and the slight tremor in her voice was the only sign of nervousness he could detect. "She wasn't sure, but... will you be there?"

The simplicity of the question struck him. No one in his family dared to ask him this directly. They all knew the answer was a flat, ruthless *No*.

He let his gaze drop to her, a deep, cool evaluation. He needed to shut this down. He needed to put the wall back up.

"You are asking for a man who avoids all forms of noise and meaningless gatherings," he heard himself say, his tone intentionally dismissive. "Why the interest, Ms. Sharma? To ensure a swift exit before the colored powder starts flying?"

But she didn't flinch. She smiled-that gentle, magnetic curve of her lips that made his defenses feel like cheap glass.

"No. To be honest... I was just hoping to see you outside of a work meeting. I thought perhaps... for once, you might allow yourself to waste a little time, Mr. Rathor. For a little laughter. For a little color."

Her words hit him with the force of an un-expected blow. *Allow himself to waste time.* She saw him so clearly. She saw the prison of his own making and asked him, so simply, to step out of it. The logical answer was still no. The answer he gave was detached, cold, and final-or so he intended.

"My schedule is not one for frivolities, Ishita," he said, using her first name for the first time, the word feeling oddly intimate on his tongue. He watched the flicker of surprise in her eyes. **"I will not be there."**

He opened his car door, but before getting in, his gaze landed on her again, taking in the small disappointment in her expression. The sight was surprisingly painful.

"But thank you for the... invitation." He closed the door, starting the engine immediately, leaving her standing there in the sun.

He started the car, drove off before he could think twice.

*She asked me to play Holi. She asked me to smile.* Rudra drove away, the color, the laughter, and the gentle, magnetic presence of Ishita Sharma already haunting the cold, empty chambers of his heart.

And for the first time in years, Rudra Singh Rathor found himself wishing he could stop running from all three.