They Don't Know about Us

Chapter 44 - Kisses & Conversations

The heavy glass doors whispered open, spilling warm chandeliers and murmuring conversation into the cool night air. Riddhima stepped in first, smoothing her gown, pulse still stumbling from Armaan's lips on hers.

Armaan followed half a second later, not touching, not even close enough to brush elbows, but their connectedness was palpable, as if an invisible thread pulled taut between their bodies.

No one turned; no one suspected; the banquet continued seamlessly. But Muskaan raised her brows from across the table, eyes darting between Armaan's slightly mussed hair and Riddhima's flushed cheeks. Rahul sat beside her, chewing absently, oblivious until Muskaan nudged him sharply enough to make him choke on his water.

Riddhima sank into her chair, muscles trembling under silk like every nerve ending had been rewired. Her eyes found Armaan instinctively, she didn't even pretend to resist, tracking him as he returned to Nikki's side.

He sat, composed, expression neutral, but beneath the crisp tux and surgeon calm was something dangerous, alive. His jaw clenched as Nikki leaned toward him, brushing her shoulder against his arm while saying something low.

He didn't pull away. But he didn't lean in either. That thread between them tightened.

Muskaan watched her closely from the next chair, one brow arched like a silent interrogation. Rahul leaned back lazily, swirling his wine, gaze flicking between the two with growing suspicion.

Riddhima lifted her glass to her lips, pretending not to notice, but her pulse fluttered beneath the skin of her throat — traitorously visible.

Muskaan leaned in casually until her shoulder brushed Riddhima's. Voice barely above a whisper, mischief glinting behind the concern.

"So," she murmured, stirring her salad with unnecessary theatrics, "you got some fresh air."

Fresh air. Riddhima almost choked on her sip.

Rahul raised a brow. "Air? Is that what we're calling it these days?"

Riddhima shot Muskaan a warning glare — the kind that promised carnage.

Muskaan smothered a grin. "Relax. Rahul knows nothing. Yet."

Rahul's eyes widened with dawning realization. "Wait—what did you two—"

"Rahul." Muskaan reached across him, patting his cheek sweetly with the kind of affection used to quiet excited children. "Eat your risotto and don't sprain your neurons overthinking."

Rahul leaned closer to Riddhima, lowering his voice dramatically. "Are you okay? You left like someone unplugged your oxygen tank."

Riddhima stiffened. "I'm fine," she muttered.

Muskaan hummed pointedly. "She's more than fine." Muskaan smirked putting a bite of her own risotto in her mouth.

Riddhima's fork froze midair. "Muskaan." She widened her eyes at her, indicating her to shut up but Muskaan's smirk had already revealed a lot.

Rahul's brows shot up nearly into his hairline. "Muskaan," he repeated, gleeful, "what did you see?"

Muskaan just smirked into her drink, the picture of innocence nobody believed for a second.

Across the hall, a clink of cutlery against china made Riddhima's eyes pull instinctively toward him. Armaan sat beside Nikki, posture effortless, one hand resting near his champagne glass.

His expression remained unreadable, but his gaze ticked to hers, slow and deliberate, holding for a beat too long. A whisper of heat skittered down her spine.