In the bustling heart of Delhi,four childhood friends navigate the complexities of love, ambition, and family expectations.
In this tale of romance, laughter, and heartfelt moments, will they find their happily ever after, or will the burdens of the...
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Shivansh’s POV:
The moment I walked into the restaurant, I spotted her—Aadya, sitting with her phone, looking as if she were ready to take on the world. And maybe me, too.
I dropped into the seat across from her. “What’s this, Princess? A lunch date or an interrogation?”
Without missing a beat, she glanced up. “Let’s call it a free lunch. And you’re paying.”
I laughed. “Oh, is that so?”
Ignoring me, she signaled the waiter and rattled off a list of dishes: stuffed mushrooms, bruschetta, Margherita pizza, pasta primavera, garlic bread, Caesar salad, roasted vegetables, and chocolate fondant for dessert.
I raised my eyebrows as she added dessert. “Hungry much?” I teased, leaning back. “Or are you trying to bankrupt me?”
“Maybe both,” she shot back, hiding a smirk. As the waiter was about to leave, she added, almost as an afterthought, “And make sure there are no nuts in anything.”
A flicker of warmth crept into my chest, though I quickly smothered it. Classic Aadya—acting like she didn’t care, but still watching my back.
When the food arrived, we dug in. Every now and then, I’d reach across to sneak a piece off her plate, and every time, she’d smack my hand away like she was swatting a fly.
“Can you get your own food?” she huffed, pulling her plate closer.
“What’s mine is yours, Princess,” I grinned, flicking a piece of pizza at her. She retaliated by chucking a spoon at me, which I barely dodged. She gave me a glare, but I could see her fighting back a laugh.
Then, her playful mood shifted. She reached into her bag, pulling out a file and sliding it across to me. I raised an eyebrow, intrigued.
“Why’d you call me here?” I asked, sensing something serious behind her expression.
Her gaze hardened. “I wanted your take on this.”
I opened the file, and the name jumped out instantly—the MLA’s son, along with his father. Two of the dirtiest, dangerous men I knew of.
“Where’d you get this?” I asked, my voice dropping as I processed the implications.
“There was an email at my dad’s firm—a request for legal help in a case against them.” She paused, her eyes sharpening. “When I asked my brother, he brushed me off. Said it was a ‘fake case.’ But I knew he was hiding something. So, I figured I’d ask you.”
I scanned the file, feeling the weight of what she was asking. “Aadya, these people aren’t just dangerous—they’re criminals. Both father and son have records longer than anything. Bribery, violence, fraud—they’ve even been involved in assault and harassment cases. They’ll do anything to protect themselves.”
