When spirited Vaishnavi's father sets her up on a blind date, she's curious but unprepared for the shock of seeing her date in a special forces uniform. What she doesn't expect is to find herself face-to-face with the cold and enigmatic Krrish.
Thei...
The mehendi ceremony was in full swing, the vibrant green-and-yellow decor perfectly complementing the sunlit courtyard of the Udaipur resort. Laughter and chatter echoed as women sat in neat rows, their hands adorned with intricate henna patterns. The air was rich with the aroma of marigold flowers and sandalwood paste.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Vaishnavi wearing a beautiful green sharara sat on one of the cushions, her sleeves rolled up as the mehendi artist skillfully worked on her palms. Mishti and Nitika hovered nearby, teasing her about how dark the henna would turn and the secrets it would reveal.
Mishti (grinning mischievously): "You know, V, the darker your mehendi, the more your future husband loves you!"
Vaishnavi (rolling her eyes): "I'm pretty sure that's just a myth."
Nitika: "Still, no harm in hoping, right?"
Before Vaishnavi could retort, a burst of laughter erupted nearby. She turned her head and spotted Krrish who was looking too hot with his sharp jawline,prominent cheekbones and most importantly killer smile was wearing a beautiful bottle green kurta standing with Ishan and a group of relatives, effortlessly holding court. He was more animated than she'd ever seen him, laughing loudly at a joke someone had cracked.
Krrish (grinning at Ishan): "Remember when you tried convincing your mom that you had just had a marigold juice but you could not even walk straight? That was priceless!"
Ishan (laughing): "You're the one to talk! You're the guy who mistook chutney for dessert and had the entire restaurant in splits!"
Vaishnavi couldn't help but smile at the banter. Seeing this side of Krrish, so open and easygoing, was refreshing. He seemed like a completely different person when he was around Ishan.
As the artist worked on the delicate patterns, Vaishnavi's phone buzzed with a message. She picked it up, her fingers tracing through the text as she tried to focus on the conversation.
Unbeknownst to her, the mehendi artist asked, "Whose name would you like me to write, madam?"
But Vaishnavi, distracted by her phone, didn't hear it.
Nitika, who was sitting just across from Vaishnavi, noticed the exchange and couldn't help herself.
Nitika (with a grin): "Krrish, write Krrish."
The artist nodded in acknowledgment, assuming she had received the order.
A few minutes later, the artist was finishing up. Vaishnavi hung up her phone, smiling, oblivious to what had just happened(she was nominated for the Best Journatist Award which is one of the most precious awards int he world of journalism) . She stretched her arms and looked down at the beautiful, intricate patterns now adorning her hands.
Then her gaze froze.
Vaishnavi (muttering to herself): "Wait, what is that?"
She saw a name, beautifully written in flowing henna, hidden in the delicate swirls of the design.
Vaishnavi (eyes widening): "Krrish?"
Nitika, who had been watching her reaction, burst out laughing.
Nitika: "Didn't want to ruin the surprise, but yeah... that's Krrish's name. I might've suggested it."
Vaishnavi blinked, caught off guard. She had never asked for that. But there it was—his name, written in henna on her hand. Part of her wanted to rub it off, erase the little surprise, but something made her pause.
Vaishnavi (softly, to herself): "It's just henna..."
But the tiny part of her that was still unsure about her feelings hesitated. She looked at it again, tracing the name carefully. The intricate patterns intertwined with it, almost as if it belonged there.
The ceremony went on, and Vaishnavi carried on with the evening's festivities. But every so often, her hand would find its way back to the spot where Krrish's name had been written, a strange feeling of warmth blooming in her chest. She couldn't help but wonder why, in that fleeting moment, she didn't want to erase it.
Krrish was still the same stoic, distant man she had known before. He had helped her with her blouse earlier, and while it might have been a small gesture, it had lingered with her. But this... this was different.
As the night wound down and she walked back to her room, she couldn't shake the thought of the name on her palm.
