Higlish Stories

(Book Three of the Malhotra Siblings) MYRA MALHOTRA - A talented neurosurgeon from Mumbai and the middle child of the influential Malhotra family. Compassionate, graceful, and dedicated to saving lives, she believes every broken heart deserves a chance to heal... except her own. Beneath her calm smile lies a love she thought she'd left behind forever. ANIRUDH ROY - A successful Bengali tech entrepreneur living in Mumbai and the CEO of one of India's leading technology companies. Intelligent, ambitious, and emotionally reserved, he built an empire from the ground up. But despite all his success, there was one person he could never forget... Myra Malhotra. Years after choosing different paths, fate brings them face to face once again. Some people are meant to meet only once. They were destined to meet... Again. ❦ 𝐈𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐢𝐜 𝐃𝐢𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐬 Anirudh: > I built a company worth billions... but I couldn't rebuild us. Myra: > Some scars need stitches... others need closure. Anirudh: > Touch her... and you'll lose more than your job. Myra: > Touch him and congratulations... you're my next surgery patient ❦ 𝐓𝐫𝐨𝐩𝐞𝐬 ❦ Friends to Lovers to Strangers ❦ Strangers to Friends to Lovers ❦ Second Chance Romance ❦ Separation ❦ Right Person, Wrong Time ❦ Emotional Angst ❦ Miscommunication ❦ Neurosurgeon × Tech CEO ❦ She Fell First,He Fell First....They Both Fell Hard ❦ Healing Together

Armaan walked out, towel slung low on his hips, hair damp, chest still glistening from the shower. He looked utterly at ease with himself, with zero regard to modesty. Adi looked up, and promptly froze. His grey eyes widened and jaw dropped. And then, he squeaked. "Aap... aap aise kaise aa gaye bahar?" Adi gasped, slapping a hand over his eyes like it would erase the visual now seared into his soul. "Main toh bas... mujhe laga ki... kapde toh pehen ke aate kam se kam!" Armaan raised an unimpressed brow. "Itna drama! It's just a towel, not a crime scene." "Aapke towel ka coverage policy unstable lag raha hai," Adi muttered from behind his palm. "Agar woh hil gaya toh mera inner peace chala jaayega." Armaan leaned casually against the doorframe. "Inner peace? You? I was under the impression you're powered exclusively by caffeine, rebellion, and attention." Adi peeked through his fingers and immediately shut them again. "How can you corrupt innocent eyes, Armaan. Please kuch pehen lo aap." "Are you embarrassed? Color me shocked," Armaan said dryly, reaching for a shirt without a hint of urgency. "Aapko sharam nahi aati?" Adi groaned, grabbing a cushion and shielding his face with it like it was sacred scripture. "Main toh bas window ke bahar jump karne wala tha!" Armaan buttoned his shirt and looked at Adi. "Window open hai. Floor bhi upar ka hai. Feel free to jump, it might get us out of this marriage early." Adi hurled the cushion in Armaan's general direction. It bounced harmlessly off the edge of the wardrobe. Armaan didn't flinch. "Nice aim. Olympic ke liye try lo. India will be proud of you." Adi groaned and flopped back on the couch, face-first into his arm. "Hey Bhagwan, mere shaadi toh shuru hone se pehle hi sansanikhez lag rahi hai."