**Description:**
In the opulent world of Aayan Rajvansh, love is a distant echo drowned by the shadows of a haunting past. As a reclusive billionaire, he shields his heart with icy resolve, immersed in a relentless pursuit of success that leaves no...
I woke to the sunlight streaming through the window, feeling a disorienting blend of newness and discomfort. The whirlwind of the past few days left me struggling to adjust. I turned to see Aayan still asleep beside me, his face relaxed and serene-a rare sight.
Determined to start the day right, I carefully slipped out of bed, not wanting to disturb him. After a quick shower, I rummaged through my suitcase and pulled out a beautiful white saree. I intended to wear it for breakfast, hoping to please Amina Auntie and Gayatri Badi Maa. As I attempted to drape the saree around myself, I found the intricate pleats and folds challenging to manage.
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Aayan stirred, his eyes landing on me with a mixture of surprise and something unreadable. "Haye, lag to hot rahi ho," he blurted out before he could stop himself.
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment, and I tried to cover my confusion with a small smile. "Thank you," I replied softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
Seeing my struggle and sensing the awkwardness, Aayan offered, "Need some help?" he asked, his tone a mix of curiosity and sarcasm.
I hesitated but then nodded. "Actually, yes. Could you help me with the pleats?"
Aayan raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing on his lips. "Why, Mrs. Rajvansh? You seem to handle everything so effortlessly. Why would you need my help?"
He walked over, his gaze fixed on me as I struggled with the saree. With a hint of exasperation, he continued, "Alright, I'll help you. Don't look so distressed."
He knelt down in front of me, his hands moving with an awkward blend of cold precision and reluctant care as he attempted to arrange the fabric. His touch, while gentle, was distant and lacked the warmth one might expect.
My frustration grew as he fumbled. "Oh, Mr. Rajvansh, are you really going to help me? Do you even know how to drape a saree?"
His face hardened slightly, but he tried to maintain composure. "You needed my help, so let me do it, or you can manage on your own."
I couldn't hide my annoyance. "You don't even know how to do it properly. How can you possibly help me?"
Irritation flared in his eyes. "Don't challenge me. I'll go and ask Mom how to wear a saree and then show you."
As he moved towards the door, I panicked. "No, don't go to your Mom. I'd be mortified if she finds out I can't wear a saree properly."
He turned back, his frustration evident. "Then what do you propose? It's your fault you don't know how to wear a saree"
Seeing my flushed and embarrassed face, he paused, and an idea struck him. "Let's just watch a tutorial. It might be easier."
He pulled out his phone, opened a video on how to drape a saree, and placed it on the table. As he moved closer, his hand brushed my exposed waist, sending a shiver through me he tucked and fabric there and moved his hand further making my breath hitch. The sensation of his touch, though cold and distant, was oddly intimate. The waist chain I wore irritated him, and with an impatient gesture, he broke it tucking his two fingers in it making me gasp and look at the waist chain he broke lying on the ground as he tried to focus on his task.
