Head over Heels ☑️

Chapter 43

🎶 Mann Mera - Gajendra Verma

"I just heard from Karthik!"  Her voice lifting with unmistakable joy. "He got the internship. And that you gave him a recommendation?! That was so kind of you—"

The hotel doors breathed shut behind them. "Clear my schedule for the rest of the day," said Arnav, the words clipped and metallic.

"Noted," replied Aman, turning to dispatch the valet.

Arnav tugged at his tie, as though the silk itself were strangling him. Why had it been impossible to walk across the hall and simply congratulate her?

It was as though Khushi's brilliant smile had been branded behind his eyes. Happiness had been etched into every facet of her features as she had gazed up at Aditya Mehra.

Flames had ignited in his chest at the sight—he wanted to swat the worthless man aside, wholly undeserving of the praise. The overwhelming urge to whisk her away had nearly rendered him breathless.

"ASR?" came Aman's voice, cautious. He was holding open the passenger door.

Arnav circled instead to the driver's side. "I'll drive. Go back inside."

Something flickered in Aman's expression—concern, perhaps—but Arnav was already sliding behind the wheel. The engine snarled; tires cried against the drive as he pulled away from the hotel's gleaming facade and into the streaming Delhi traffic.

He steered toward the highway—no destination, only the promise of speed and distance—trying to leave behind the echo of a smile that hadn't been meant for him, and the ache of knowing he had chased it away.

It hadn't been difficult—pulling strings behind the scenes, dismantling the source of her anguish had been almost insultingly easy. What had been hard was keeping his distance from her. Shame and disappointment had churned like acid in his stomach the entire time he'd been away, regretting how their conversation had ended.

And yet—when he knew the news would reach her, he had hoped it might be a step toward healing. He'd never planned to reveal the truth. But the act itself had dulled the sharpest edges of his self-loathing. It made him feel—if only briefly—that he'd done something right, and that gave him the incentive to stop staying away.

But when her gaze shifted to meet his today, her smile had faltered, and that fractured, hollowed look stole over her once more. And just like that, the bitterness had given way to instant regret—to see the glow leave her face at the sight of him.

The desperate, childish urge to shout—to tell her it had been him and not that spineless Aditya Mehra—rose so swiftly that it rattled him to the core. And so he had fled.

He groaned, his hand on the wheel tightening. "How would she have possibly known..." he murmured into the silent car, the low hum of the vehicle barely audible as the miles disappeared beneath the tires.

***

"You're back so soon!" Bua-ji exclaimed as she approached Khushi, wiping her hands on the edge of her dupatta. Amma followed close behind, her gaze gentle but discerning as she reached out to slip the bag from Khushi's shoulder.

Payal stood nearby, her arms folded lightly across her chest, eyes scanning Khushi's face with quiet intensity.

"It was... uh," Khushi began, her voice catching as she tried to wrestle her thoughts into coherence. Her mind still buzzed with fragmented moments—the pitch, the lights, that look in his eyes. "It went well! The audience was very receptive." She forced a bright smile. "I just didn't feel like sticking around for the rest of the event."