Saharsh's POV:
I had handled billion-rupee negotiations with calmer nerves than this. Across markets, investors, expansion boards—I had learned how to sit still while pressure tried to break me.
Yet one woman on a rooftop dance floor had reduced all of that discipline into nothing.
Sameera. Dancing with Kartik like he had earned the right. Laughing at things that probably weren't even funny. Smiling up at him in that careless way that used to ruin entire days for me. Letting him spin her, guide her, stand too close. Every time his hand brushed hers, every time he leaned near her ear, something inside me tightened.
It shouldn't matter. That was the truth I kept repeating to myself. It doesn't matter who she's with. She left you. She walked out of your life and chose silence over you.
You do not get involved now.
You do not react now.
You do not become that man again.
So I stayed where I was, jaw locked, pretending to listen to a conversation I couldn't hear.
But then he touched her again. And she looked happy enough to allow it.
I got up before I even realized I had moved.
I shifted to a place where she couldn't easily see me, telling myself distance would help. It didn't. If anything, it made the view worse. I could watch the whole thing too clearly—the way Kartik kept inching closer, the way she let him.
Then the music slowed. And that idiot raised his hand toward her waist. That was the point where reason ended. I crossed the floor in a straight line.
No hurry in my step.
No expression on my face.
No sign of the storm underneath.
I reached them just as his fingers were about to settle on her. My hand closed around his wrist. "May I borrow her?"
Kartik nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned, saw me, and immediately stepped back. Good. At least he still respected his boss. "Please, sir," he muttered awkwardly before retreating so fast it would have been funny under any other circumstance.
Then it was just her and me. Sameera. The most beautiful girl in the room. Maybe the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And that was the problem. Because no matter how hard I had trained myself to look past her, I couldn't deny what stood in front of me now. Time had changed her. But not in any way that made forgetting easier.
I extended my hand. For half a second, she looked surprised. Then she placed hers in mine without thinking. That unconscious trust almost undid me. I pulled her closer, my other hand settling at her waist. Warm skin beneath silk. The black dress she wore fit her like it had been designed to test my patience specifically—shaping every curve in a way that made restraint feel like punishment.
She tilted her face up toward me. And there were those eyes. Still impossible. Still searching me like they could find the man I used to be if they looked long enough. But I gave her nothing.
No softness.
No answers.
No weakness.
We moved with the music in slow measured steps, our bodies close enough that every breath between us felt shared. Her perfume reached me. Familiar enough to ache. Her hand rested lightly in mine, but the pulse in her wrist betrayed her calm.
She broke first.
"Were you jealous?"
I almost laughed. "No."
She lifted a brow. "That was quick."
"It was accurate."
Her lips curved slightly. Dangerous woman.
"Then why rescue me?"
"I saved my employee from a poor decision."
"I'm not your employee, Mr. Wankhade." Her voice lingered over the title like a challenge. "Have you forgotten that?"
I tightened my hand at her waist before I could stop myself.
"No," I said quietly. "I have not."
She noticed. Of course she did.
"So what is this then?" she asked, stepping closer within the dance instead of away. "Concern? Professional courtesy?"
"Damage control."
"Liar."
The word hit too close. I leaned nearer, enough to feel her breath catch. "You shouldn't flirt with people you work with. It doesn't suit your professionalism."
She gave a soft laugh. "You keep mentioning professionalism when you dragged me away from your colleague in front of everyone."
"I asked politely."
"You interfered possessively."
"I corrected a situation."
"You were jealous."
"I was not."
She smiled like she had already won. Then she said it casually, as if she had no idea what each word would do.
"Well it's good, cause now I can dance with whoever I want." I said nothing. "I can hold another man's hand if I want." My grip on her waist hardened. "I can hug him." Her voice dropped lower. "Date him." The room seemed to narrow. "And if I want…" she whispered, eyes fixed on mine, "I can kiss him too."
That did it.
I pulled her sharply closer until there was no polite distance left between us. Her breath caught against my mouth. My fingers pressed into the curve of her waist, possessive instinct roaring louder than sense.
How dare she say that to me. How dare she stand in my arms and talk about another man touching what had once been mine.
Those lips— My eyes dropped to them. Soft. Parted slightly. Waiting. Memory and hunger collided so hard it felt violent. I bent toward her. She went still instantly, then slowly closed her eyes.
God.
Even now she trusted the moment more than she trusted me. Her lashes trembled. Her lips lifted the slightest bit toward mine, like they remembered too. Every nerve in me wanted to finish the distance. To remind her exactly who knew those lips first. To erase two years with one kiss.
But then the truth hit harder than desire. You can't. Not like this. Not because jealousy dragged you here. Not because she challenged you. Not because you still wanted what she once threw away.
I stopped a breath away. Her eyes fluttered open in confusion. I stepped back immediately. The cold air between us returned like punishment.
"Enjoy your evening, Miss Sameera," I said, voice rougher than I intended. Then I turned and walked away. Leaving her on the dance floor. And leaving myself wondering how much longer I could keep pretending I was untouched.
I shouldn't have gone to her. That thought stayed with me the second I turned my back on the dance floor, each step away from her heavier than the last. I had spent two years building control, teaching myself how to exist without reacting to her presence, her absence, her memories. And yet tonight, all of it cracked so easily. One moment. One look. One sentence from her lips—and I was right back where I had sworn I'd never be again.
Her words wouldn't leave me. The way she had said she could hold someone else's hand, hug him, kiss him—so casually, like it didn't mean anything. Like what we had once shared wasn't carved into both of us. I told myself it shouldn't matter. She had left. She had walked away without giving me a chance, without trusting me enough to stay. I had no right over her now. No claim. No expectation. And yet, knowing that didn't stop the anger from rising or the ache from settling deeper in my chest.
I pushed open the staircase door, stepping into the quiet, enclosed space. The noise from the party dulled instantly, replaced by a silence that pressed in from all sides. It should have helped. It didn't. The frustration still burned under my skin, restless and uncontained. Before I could think twice, my fist slammed into the wall. The impact shot pain through my hand, sharp and immediate, but it barely registered. I hit it again, harder this time, and the frustration tore out of me in a raw, unfiltered sound.
"Fuck…"
My breathing was uneven, my chest rising and falling like I had just run a marathon, but the anger didn't fade. It stayed, sitting heavy inside me, refusing to leave.
"Saharsh…"
Her voice cut through everything.
I froze for a second before turning toward the sound. She stood at the entrance, watching me with eyes filled with concern—the kind that used to calm me once. The kind I had once believed in without question.
"What the hell are you doing?" she rushed toward me, grabbing my hand instinctively. "Why are you hurting yourself?"
Her fingers wrapped around mine, inspecting the redness forming over my knuckles, the swelling that would probably show later. She looked genuinely worried, her brows drawn together, her voice trembling slightly. For a split second, something in me softened.
Then reality came crashing back.
I pulled my hand away sharply. "Oh, stop this," I said, my tone colder than I intended. "This fake concern."
She blinked, taken aback. "What?"
"You don't really care about me, Miss Sameera."
The words landed between us like something heavy. I saw the shift in her expression, the hurt flickering across her face, and for a brief moment, guilt tried to creep in. But it was quickly replaced by everything I had held in for two years.
She left.
That truth stood louder than anything else.
Before she could step back, I reached forward and grabbed her shoulders, my grip tighter than it should have been. Not enough to harm, but enough to stop her from moving away. Enough to make her feel it.
"Saharsh…" she winced slightly. "You're hurting me."
Good. At least now she could feel something close to what I had carried all this time.
I leaned closer, my voice dropping, every word edged with anger and something far more dangerous underneath. "If you cared," I whispered, "you would have never left in the first place."
Her breath caught instantly. Tears welled up in her eyes so quickly it almost felt unfair. She opened her mouth to speak, to explain, to say something—anything—but the words didn't come out in time. A tear slipped down her cheek, and the sight of it hit me harder than I expected.
That was it.
That was where my anger faltered.
I stepped back abruptly, putting distance between us before I lost control in a different way entirely. Because if I stayed any closer, I knew I wouldn't be able to hold onto the anger anymore.
"Leave," I said, my voice rough now, stripped of its earlier coldness.
She didn't move. "Saharsh, please—"
"I said leave, Miss Sameera," I cut in, harsher this time, forcing the words out before I could take them back. "Since that's what you're good at."
The moment the sentence left my mouth, I saw it hit her. Saw the way it broke something in her expression. But I didn't stop. I couldn't.
"And don't," I added, my jaw tightening, "don't show me this face of yours again."
Silence followed. Heavy. Crushing.
For a moment, I thought she would argue, fight back the way she used to, say something that would pull me back into her chaos. But she didn't. She just stood there, looking at me—really looking at me—like she was trying to hold onto something slipping away.
Then she turned. And walked out.
The door closed behind her softly, almost gently, and somehow that made it worse.
I stood there alone, the echo of her presence still lingering in the air. My hand throbbed from where I had hit the wall, but it was nothing compared to the heaviness settling in my chest.
I dragged a hand through my hair, letting out a breath that felt more like defeat than relief.
"Great," I muttered under my breath. "Just great."
I had managed to hurt her again. The one thing I had always promised myself I wouldn't do.
Her tear-streaked face replayed in my mind, uninvited and persistent. The way her voice had softened when she said my name. The way she had tried to reach out even after everything.
And the worst part was that it still affected me. More than it should have. More than I wanted it to.
She still had that power. To walk back into my life and turn everything upside down. To break through every wall I had built. To make me feel everything I had spent two years trying to bury.
Leaning back against the wall, I closed my eyes, letting the silence settle around me again.
Because no matter how much I tried to convince myself otherwise—
I wasn't over her.
Not even a little.