In a world where art and technology collide, two lives are bound by secrets, danger, and and undeniable connection.
She is the nation's most beloved artist, her work capturing the hearts of millions. Her paintings, rich with emotion and hidden mean...
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Bhai dropped me off at my house in the morning, reminding me to call if I needed money or anything else.
The police were now fully engaged, especially when they spoke with my brother and father.
I felt a bit lighter, finally unburdening myself. Part of me felt foolish for not publicly condemning my ex, but that’s just not who I am.
I won’t disrespect a relationship, no matter how it ended. I’d rather let the authorities handle it.
Mom packed me some food, urging me to stay, and I really wanted to. But with my new exhibition at Celestial Atelier just two weeks away, I couldn’t afford to linger.
It’s been six months since my last event, and I have no new art collection out yet. My DMs are flooded with questions about what I’ll unveil next.
I want people to see me in my work, to understand that I love painting random things. I play with colors, bringing out the best in everything, whether it’s something living or not.
~After 2 weeks~
Everything fell into place perfectly. I finished my pieces just in time, and as the authorities informed me, my ex was off in Goa, spending my money. They couldn’t pin him down, but at least it was a step forward.
Life was slowly finding its rhythm again.
This morning, I woke up early, anticipation buzzing in the air—today was the day of my art exhibition at Celestial Atelier.
I invited many people who had admired and purchased my work in the past, and the event was already generating a lot of excitement.
People were curious about the decorations, the theme—every detail.
I chose to wear an asymmetric sweetheart-neck dress in a soft baby pink, adorned with delicate roses. Paired with the diamond necklace and bracelet Bhai had gifted me, the ensemble felt perfect.
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I kept my makeup clean, with a bold crimson lipstick, and styled my hair into a high French bun to complete the look.
Taking one last glance at myself in the mirror, I felt ready, confident. Satisfied with my reflection, I made my way to the event, ready to step back into the world.
As I arrived at my art gallery, everything seemed just right—the food, the ambiance, the security, even the media presence.
A wave of relief washed over me; everything was up to my exacting standards. When it comes to my work, there’s no room for compromise on quality.
Soon, the gallery began to fill with guests. The seating arrangement was set up in the outer hall, while my paintings were displayed in the inner hall, waiting to be discovered.
Suddenly, I felt a gaze on me, intense and unwavering. I turned and locked eyes with a pair of crystal blue eyes that seemed to see right through me.
I was taken aback—I didn’t recognize him. I had personally curated the guest list, editing it to perfection, who was this stranger?
As I tried to place where I’d seen him before, I found myself drawn toward him, his eyes never leaving mine. Keeping a safe distance, I asked, “Do I know you?”
“No,” he replied, still holding my gaze.
“Then why are you here?” I asked, irritation creeping into my voice.
“I wanted to be here,” he said, clearly teasing me.
“Attending events you’re not invited to?” I shot back, my annoyance growing.
“Who says I’m not invited?” he replied nonchalantly.
“As far as I remember, I don't know you, I didn’t invite you. What’s your name?” I asked, now more curious than angry.
Before he could answer, my manager called out, “Esha!” It was time for me to welcome the guests. I gave him a final glare as I turned away.
“Are naam toh sunke jaao,” he chuckled softly. To my surprise, I blushed. Who was this guy?
Composing myself, I addressed the crowd. “Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. I’m Esha Mehra, and I’m thrilled to welcome you all to my showcase, Themed ‘At the Moment.’
This collection is random and raw—I allowed myself to simply go with the flow, and soon you’ll all see the results. I hope you enjoy it.”
With that, I made my way toward the inner hall, summoning every ounce of courage from my introverted ass.
I could still feel those baby blue eyes lingering on me, and it was beginning to distract me. I mentally counted, one two three, one two three, trying to steady myself.
To shake off the distraction, I focused on the event, engaging with guests and answering their endless stream of curious questions.
A man who looked to be in his late 20s approached me. There was something familiar, a face I’d seen before, but I couldn’t quite place it. "Memory kamjor ho rahi hai mere Oh God" I scremed internally.
"Yaad aya, he is Akash Sharma the one that bought the pocket watch at the auction."
"Hello, Esha," he said with a hint of interest in his voice.
"Hello, Mr. Sharma," I replied, keeping things formal.
"It's nice to meet you. The showcase is really impressive," he continued, extending his hand for a handshake.
To my surprise, instead of a simple handshake, he brought my hand to his lips and kissed the back of it.
Startled, I quickly pulled my hand away. He kept talking, but after that little stunt, my interest in the conversation dwindled.
"So, Esha, are you free this weekend?" he asked, his intentions clear.
“I’ll have to politely decline, Mr. Sharma. I’m not really into dating at the moment,” I responded.
He tried to play it cool. “That’s fine. Text me when you change your mind.” But I could see in his eyes that my rejection didn’t sit well with him—not that it mattered.
I excused myself and mingled with other guests, though I couldn’t shake the thought that Aditi’s mother—aunty—was nowhere to be seen.
My mind drifted back to the mysterious man with the piercing stare, but as I scanned the room, he was nowhere in sight.
Pushing the thought aside, I refocused and finished the event, which turned out to be a success. Many guests expressed interest in purchasing my paintings for their homes and offices.
As I wrapped up the event, the weight of the day lifted from my shoulders. It was late, and the quiet night welcomed me home with open arms.
As I stepped inside, something unexpected caught my eye—a bouquet of deep crimson roses.
A small note was nestled among the blooms. My heart quickened with a mix of curiosity and unease. Who could have sent these?
I carefully unfolded the note, my breath hitching as I read the two words scrawled in elegant script: "Aditya Malhotra".
