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"I would prefer if you didn't make a habit of this," Isha said softly, her tone firmer than before. "But at the very least, next time, ask for permission. Don't just pluck flowers from the garden as you please."

Her voice carried the careful weight of someone who had grown protective of every leaf and bloom under her care. The garden wasn't just soil and petals to her-it was a living part of her world, something she had nurtured with patience and love. And here he was, a stranger, trespassing without a thought, plucking beauty from its roots.

Shivam listened without interruption. His eyes stayed fixed on her, watching the way her brows furrowed slightly as she spoke, the way her hands brushed nervously against the folds of her dress as if trying to contain her frustration. There was no malice in her tone-only a quiet, protective pride. And strangely, instead of feeling rebuked, he found himself admiring her more.

He extended the flower toward her once again, an unspoken apology lingering in the gesture. "Take it," he urged gently.

But just as her hand hovered above his, about to accept it, something shifted.

A sound broke the fragile rhythm of their moment. It was faint, almost insignificant-the rustle of footsteps beyond the hedges, a bird flapping away from the branches, the low creak of a wooden gate somewhere nearby. Neither of them could place it, but the intrusion was enough.

Isha stiffened. Her gaze, which had been reluctantly drawn toward him, flickered away instantly. Her eyes darted here and there, scanning the corners of the garden, searching for the source of the distraction. It wasn't fear exactly-it was hesitation, a sudden reminder that the world outside still existed, that they were not suspended in some dream untouched by reality.

Shivam lowered his hand slightly, the flower still poised between his fingers. His eyes never left her, but he noticed the shift in her. She would not meet his gaze again. Not now.

The silence between them stretched, heavier than before. A moment ago, their eyes had been locked, the air thick with something unspoken, something fragile and impossibly rare. But now, Isha avoided him, her attention scattered deliberately across the blooms and pathways as though anything else in the garden demanded her focus more than the man standing before her.

Shivam exhaled slowly, almost inaudibly, and closed his fingers gently around the stem once more. He understood. She wasn't ready-not yet.

And so, he did not press.

Isha, for her part, kept her eyes averted, though she could feel his presence, could sense the weight of his silence. A small part of her longed to look back, to meet those deep brown eyes once more. But pride, shyness, and the faint echo of that outside distraction held her firmly in place.

The garden swayed softly around them. The cosmos and dahlias bent under the light wind, bees hummed tirelessly, the morning sun draped everything in gold. Yet despite the beauty, the moment was fractured, its delicate thread broken by hesitation.

And in that fragile pause, something unspoken lingered between them-an unfinished conversation, a glance left incomplete, a silence that demanded to be answered on .

The name slipped from his lips before he could even stop himself.

"Isha..."

It wasn't just a name anymore; it carried the weight of devotion, like a prayer whispered in the quiet of dawn. Shivam didn't simply call her name-he worshipped it. His voice trembled in that fragile second, as though speaking her name alone could summon every unspoken desire in his heart.

Isha froze, startled. Her brows furrowed, confusion flashing across her face.

"Huh?" she fumbled, her voice caught between disbelief and hesitation.

For a moment she didn't understand what he meant, or why her name sounded different when it came from his mouth. Yet somewhere deep inside, she knew. She had seen the way his eyes lingered on her, the way his silence often spoke louder than words. She knew that Shivam wasn't merely speaking-he was waiting, hoping, and perhaps... already lost in something far deeper.

Isha's lips curved into the faintest of smiles. It was not deliberate, not practiced-it was the kind of smile that slipped out when the heart betrayed the mind. Shivam caught it instantly. He had seen countless smiles in his life, but this one held something sacred. Perhaps this was the first time a man had looked at her with such softness, with a gaze that didn't just see her but understood her.

Love? Maybe.

Obsession? Quite possibly.

But for Shivam-it was undeniable.

Her long lashes fluttered as she lifted her gaze to meet his, directly this time. Her eyes, like quiet pools of midnight, held questions she wasn't ready to voice.

"Will you say something?" Isha asked, her tone sharp yet trembling. "Or else I will leave."

Shivam inhaled, steadying himself. And then, with a daring calmness that didn't match the storm inside him, he spoke:

"If I do say something... will you stay here for a lifetime?"

The words struck like thunder.

Isha's eyes widened, disbelief spilling across her face. She wasn't expecting that-not from him, not in this way. For a heartbeat, the world went silent: no rustle of the leaves, no chirp of the crickets, nothing. Just his voice echoing in her chest.

Her lips parted, but no answer came. Instead, she tilted her head, her expression a blend of annoyance and hidden warmth. She could sense that he was teasing, provoking her with words dipped in sweetness. And yet, even in that teasing, there was a truth-a truth she wasn't ready to confront.

"Then keep speaking as much as you like. I am leaving,"

she finally said, her voice laced with mock anger. She turned slightly, her dupatta swaying with the movement, but her feet... they didn't move far.

"And yes,"

she added, her voice sharper now,

"don't you dare come into my garden a second time."

Her warning was firm, yet her tone betrayed her. It wasn't just anger-it was a fragile attempt at protecting herself from him, from the strange pull he seemed to have.

Shivam chuckled, the sound rich and unbothered.

"If I don't come to the garden," he replied casually, leaning against the old wooden fence as though he had all the time in the world,

"how else will I meet the mistress of the garden?"

The words made her heart stutter. Heat rushed to her cheeks, though she tried to mask it with a glare. She wasn't used to such boldness-not from him, not from anyone. And yet, her chest tightened with something dangerously close to excitement.

Suddenly, she looked away, blinking rapidly. Her mind betrayed her, wandering back to that night.

The night she first met him.

That night, he had been different-quiet, almost grave. The moonlight had cast sharp shadows across his face, and there had been no teasing, no laughter, no lightness in his words. He had looked like a man carrying the weight of worlds, a man who could command silence without uttering a word. She remembered her own heartbeat racing as their paths crossed, the way his presence had unsettled her. That Shivam had been unreadable, untouchable-someone she couldn't place in the simplicity of her world.

But now?

Now, standing in her garden under the fading orange glow of dusk, this man was teasing her, smiling at her, playing with her in ways that made her chest ache with confusion.

Who was he really? she wondered. The serious man from the night... or this playful stranger who insists on finding reasons to see me again?

Isha bit her lip, struggling to compose herself. She wasn't supposed to think this much about him. She wasn't supposed to notice the way his gaze softened whenever it landed on her, or the way her own heart betrayed her by waiting for him to speak again.

"Uff... why does he confuse me so much?" she thought, turning her face away, hoping he couldn't read her eyes.

But Shivam was already studying her. From the way she avoided his gaze, from the way her fingers clutched the edge of her dupatta, he could see it-the unspoken battle inside her. And that knowledge made his lips curve into a smile, gentle yet victorious.

He wasn't blind. He knew she felt something.

Even if she wouldn't admit it yet.

For Shivam, this was no simple attraction. It wasn't just about the smile she gave or the sharpness of her words. To him, Isha was a mystery, a flame that both warmed and burned him. Every glance from her carried weight, every word she spoke lingered long after it left her lips. He wasn't sure if this was love or something deeper, but he knew one thing for certain-he couldn't walk away.

The garden around them held its breath. The evening wind brushed against the leaves, carrying the faint fragrance of night jasmine. Somewhere in the distance, a temple bell rang, its echo slipping into the silence between them.

Isha finally exhaled, breaking the stillness.

"You think this is funny, don't you?" she asked softly, though her voice lacked the conviction of anger.

Shivam tilted his head, his eyes gleaming.

"Not funny," he said. "Beautiful."

Her throat tightened. The word wrapped around her like an embrace she wasn't ready for. She wanted to argue, to push him away with sharp retorts, but the warmth in his tone disarmed her.

So instead, she looked away once more, gathering the courage to steady her trembling heart.

In her mind, she repeated her own warning: Don't let him close. Don't let him in. But her heart betrayed her, whispering a different truth: Maybe, just maybe... I want him to stay.

And as Shivam watched her retreating figure, his chest filled with a strange certainty. She could walk away all she wanted, but her silence, her smile, her very presence had already tied him to her.

For both of them, that morning in the garden wasn't just a fleeting moment. It was the beginning of something neither could name yet-something fragile, dan

gerous, and irresistible.

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