Author's POV

Riyansh Yaduvanshi… a name that commands respect, a presence that silences rooms.

He is the kind of man whose silence speaks louder than words, whose gaze alone carries the weight of authority. Cold. Reserved. Unreadable.

To the world, he is a man of unwavering discipline—a leader who runs the vast Yaduvanshi empire with an iron grip. Failure isn’t an option. Emotions aren’t a distraction he can afford.

Yet, behind the walls of the grand Yaduvanshi mansion, things aren’t as perfect as they seem.

The family, a powerhouse in the business world, thrives on structure, efficiency, and dominance. But beneath the polished surface, there’s an emptiness—an absence of warmth, of open affection. In their world, even familial relationships feel like an extension of their empire, where every bond is woven with threads of duty rather than emotion.

Love exists. It’s just never spoken aloud.

However, one undeniable truth remains—Riyansh values his family. Even if he doesn’t show it in obvious ways, even if he rarely expresses it.

Among them, his father, Raj Yaduvanshi, and uncle, Akhil Yaduvanshi, share an unshakable bond. And while Riyansh himself has never been one to indulge in casual conversations or unnecessary displays of affection, he gets along well with his sister and brothers.

But his care? It’s quiet. Subtle. Hidden in actions rather than words.

His younger siblings have rarely seen him smile freely. His laughter? A mystery.

Because Riyansh Yaduvanshi is a man who carries the weight of his legacy on his shoulders.

And in his world—vulnerability is a luxury he cannot afford.

.

.

.

.

.

At the Yaduvanshi empire

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

2 PM – Yaduvanshi Enterprises

Riyansh sat behind his massive desk, skimming through the reports in front of him. His sharp gaze flickered up as, his PA, stepped in.

[Om Singhania, Riyansh’s PA]

“Sir, you have back-to-back meetings from 4 PM till 9 PM,” Om informed him efficiently.

Riyansh gave a single nod. “Okay.”

No unnecessary questions. No complaints. Just acknowledgment. That was Riyansh Yaduvanshi.

(⁠◍⁠•⁠ᴗ⁠•⁠◍⁠)

10 o'clock at night

The soft glow of his phone illuminated Riyansh’s face as he dialed his mom’s number. It rang once, then she picked up.

"I’ll be home late today," he told her, his voice carrying a familiar calmness, but there was an underlying weariness, as though the weight of the day hadn't quite lifted.

On the phone → “Okay, beta,” his mother’s voice came through, gentle but filled with the quiet understanding only a mother could possess.

With a soft click, he ended the call, leaving the warmth of her concern behind him. He started the engine and pulled out, the headlights casting long shadows on the empty road ahead.

In the car...

The silence between Riyansh and Aman was thick, but not uncomfortable. The rhythm of the road was all that filled the space until Aman spoke, breaking the quiet with his familiar teasing tone.

Aman: "What’s going on with you today? Are you not feeling well?" His voice laced with genuine curiosity but sprinkled with the playful concern of a friend who knew Riyansh all too well.

Riyansh: "I’m fine, but there’s this strange feeling, like I’m about to meet someone." His words lingered in the air, almost like he wasn’t entirely sure what they meant. It was as if something was pulling at him, an unseen force that couldn’t be ignored, though he didn’t quite understand it himself.

Aman, never one to miss an opportunity for a laugh, grinned widely. "Yes, yes, who knows? Maybe you'll meet someone special there. You’re going to drop me off, but maybe you’ll pick someone else up." His voice was light, but there was an unmistakable spark of mischief in his eyes.

Riyansh let out a short, almost amused chuckle but shook his head. "That’s not going to happen." His tone was firm, but there was something in his words, something beneath them, that left the question unanswered. What did he truly believe was waiting for him?

The quiet returned, but this time, it wasn’t empty. There was a strange anticipation in the air, an invisible thread pulling at the edges of the night.

"Dekhte hai, kya pata bhagwan ki kirpa ho jaaye," Aman said, flashing a wide grin, his voice full of mischief, trying to lighten the mood.

Riyansh didn’t react. His expression remained completely blank, a mask that never betrayed what he was thinking.

Aman, determined to get some response, leaned in with a dramatic pout. "Abe, tu aise budhape se gujarne wale aadmi jaise kyu behave karta hai?" he teased, making a face, as if trying to shake off Riyansh’s stoic silence.

[Riyansh, why do you act like an old man already?]

The words floated in the air, but Riyansh just shot him a stern look, his gaze unwavering, and returned his focus to the road ahead. His attention was a quiet fortress, something that Aman had long stopped trying to break.

Aman gulped, realizing that the silence wasn’t going to be broken that easily. With a hesitant smile, he added, "Tu aise mat dekha kar, yaar. Mujhe pyaar nahi hoga tere se," his voice softening with playful vulnerability.

[Don’t look at me like that, yaar. I’m not falling in love with you.]

But Riyansh didn’t budge. He stayed focused, shutting out everything, including Aman’s antics. The night was calm, but something about his silence felt heavy, almost like a warning.

Minutes passed before they arrived at the airport. Inside, Aman quickly found a chair to sit and make himself comfortable, but Riyansh... Riyansh didn’t seem at ease. His fingers drummed lightly on the steering wheel as if the stillness of the moment was making him restless.

As they entered, they were informed that the flight was delayed by an hour. It seemed like a mere inconvenience to Aman, who made himself comfortable, but Riyansh’s restlessness only deepened. There was something about this place that seemed to stir something inside him.

And then, it happened.

Riyansh’s attention was drawn to something, or rather someone. A gaze, warm yet penetrating, landed on him. His chest tightened as he looked up, and there they were—hazel eyes. His gaze locked onto them before he could even think. He couldn’t look away.

Those eyes, hidden behind glasses, were familiar yet startling. The moment they shifted aside, the recognition hit him with the force of a thunderclap. It was like everything around him stilled, the sounds of the airport fading into the background. His heart gave a sharp, unnoticed beat, and a realization slowly crept over him—those eyes, those unmistakable eyes, belonged to none other than Niya Thakur.

The name echoed in his mind as he watched her, though she didn’t seem to notice the storm she’d just caused in him. The world around Riyansh suddenly felt smaller, the air heavier. And in that moment, he knew his evening had just taken a turn.

It had been five years since he’d last seen Niya, but the moment his eyes met hers again, it felt as though no time had passed at all. The rush of emotions was overwhelming—surprise, longing, something raw that he couldn’t quite place. But before he could process it fully, he noticed the man standing beside her. Harsh.

A sudden pang of jealousy shot through him, sharp and unexpected, twisting in his chest. Riyansh's fists clenched involuntarily, the muscles in his jaw tightening as if to hold back the storm inside. The sight of her, standing there so effortlessly with someone else, felt like a punch to the gut.

Aman, ever the observant one, saw the shift in Riyansh's demeanor. His eyes followed Riyansh's gaze, settling on Niya and Harsh. The tension in the air was palpable.

“What the hell? Is that Niya Thakur?” Aman asked, his voice a mixture of shock and confusion.

Riyansh didn’t answer, his eyes still fixed on her, trying to read the expression on her face, trying to make sense of this moment. The years had gone by, but here she was, still affecting him like no one else could.

He exhaled deeply, forcing the thoughts away. "I think she needs help," he muttered, his voice low but insistent. "Aman, you should go and ask her."

Aman raised an eyebrow, sensing the undertone in Riyansh's words. "Bhai, tu jana. Mujhe to vo bhul bhi gai hogi, tu ja, tu kar help!" Aman insisted, giving Riyansh a light nudge on the shoulder, as if to urge him.

[Bhai, tu jana mujhe to vo bhul bhi gayi hogi, tu ja, tu kar help!!]

Riyansh’s expression hardened. "Me nahi kar sakta, vo meri help nahi legi," he replied, his voice barely audible, tinged with something like regret, like he had accepted a reality he didn’t want to face.

[I can’t. She won’t accept my help.]

Aman, sensing Riyansh's reluctance, glanced at Harsh again, his curiosity piqued. "Abe, vo chirkut kaun hai?" Aman asked, eyeing Harsh with suspicion.

[Who the hell is that guy?]

Riyansh didn’t answer, still caught in the whirlwind of emotions that seeing Niya had stirred within him. The quiet was suffocating.

Riyansh’s eyes burned with intensity as he glared at Aman, his jaw clenched in frustration.

“Tu hi puch le jaake.”

he muttered, his tone sharp, almost a command.

Aman, ever the optimist, shrugged with a grin. “Tu jaake ek baar puch to, kya pata vo tujhe jawab de de,” he teased, his words light, trying to push Riyansh into action. He wasn’t one to back down so easily.

Riyansh let out a sigh, a small, bitter smile curving his lips. “Vo nahi karegi baat,” he said quietly, almost to himself. The disappointment in his voice was palpable, though he tried to mask it with indifference.

Aman’s expression softened as he saw the underlying sadness in Riyansh’s words. “Acha, chal, dono chale,” he suggested, his voice a little gentler now.

Riyansh nodded, but the unease in his chest didn’t ease. Together, they walked toward Niya and Harsh, the distance between them feeling far too short yet agonizingly long.

When they reached them, Niya looked up. Her gaze flicked to Riyansh first, then to Aman, her expression unreadable. It was as if time had stopped, and for a moment, the entire world held its breath.

Aman, not picking up on the tension, grinned widely. “Hey Niya, after so many years, how are you?” he asked, his voice light and playful, as if the years between them had been nothing at all.

Niya’s lips curved into a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yes, I am fine. You’re the same,” she replied, her voice warm but distant.

Riyansh’s heart skipped a beat as he caught the softness in her smile, but the words stuck in his throat. “Hii!!!” he finally managed to say, his voice almost too quiet, as if he was testing the waters after so long.

But Niya’s response hit him like a punch. “Who are you?” Her tone was flat, emotionless—so detached it stung more than he expected.

A lump formed in Riyansh’s throat, and he couldn’t stop the surge of disappointment that flooded him. “I didn’t think you would forget so soon,” he said, his voice tinged with an awkwardness he couldn’t hide. His chest tightened as he forced a small smile, but it was empty.

The silence that followed was deafening. The tension was so thick, it felt like it could suffocate them all. Riyansh stared at her, hoping, wishing she would remember. But there was nothing.

Aman, sensing the unease, shifted his focus to Harsh, trying to break the silence. “Niya, who is he?” he asked, his voice light, but the curiosity was unmistakable.

Before Niya could respond, Harsh stepped in, placing his hand on her shoulder as if to protect her, or perhaps to stake his claim. “Her close friend,” he said smoothly, his tone cool, almost possessive.

Riyansh’s fists clenched again, the jealousy bubbling up in his chest. He couldn’t help but feel the weight of Harsh’s hand on Niya’s shoulder, the possessiveness in the gesture. The frustration swelled within him, tightening around his chest like a vice.

Harsh extended his hand toward Aman, his smile friendly, almost too perfect. “I am Harsh Joshi,” he introduced himself, his voice warm, his handshake firm.

Aman shook his hand, his usual confidence not faltering. “I am Aman Rajput, Niya’s school senior,” he replied, his grin still intact, though his eyes flickered between Harsh and Riyansh.

Then, Harsh turned toward Riyansh, extending his hand with a confident smile that Riyansh couldn’t bring himself to return. Instead, he took Harsh’s hand, his grip strong, almost too strong, as if trying to convey everything he couldn’t say.

“I’m Riyansh Yaduvanshi,” he said, his words clipped, his tone tight, forcing the words through gritted teeth.

Harsh’s eyes widened as the realization hit him, and he blinked in disbelief. “Wait, you’re the Riyansh Yaduvanshi? The best business tycoon in India and the most famous bachelor?” His voice was a blend of awe and surprise, as if he’d just discovered a hidden legend standing right before him.

Riyansh could feel the weight of his words, a mixture of discomfort and something else he couldn’t quite place. But before he could react, Niya’s expression shifted. She furrowed her brow, her curiosity piqued. “How do you know him?” she asked, her tone soft yet laced with genuine surprise. The question hung in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts.

Harsh grinned, the enthusiasm barely contained in his voice. “Who doesn’t know him?” he replied, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. His words carried a sense of reverence, as though he had just named someone of great importance.

Aman, ever the cheerful one, bounced in with his usual flair. “Come on, our boy is famous!” he said, giggling, as if this entire encounter was just one big, unexpected surprise.

But then, his tone shifted, growing serious as he turned his attention back to Niya. “Acha, ye batao, raat ke 12 baje tum yaha kya kar rahi ho?” he asked, his voice now laced with genuine concern, a far cry from the playful banter from earlier.

Niya hesitated for a moment before answering. When she did, her voice was tinged with frustration. “Ab mujhe samajh nahi aa raha kya karu!” She let out a sigh, the weight of the situation pressing down on her.

Aman, ever the problem-solver, turned to Riyansh. “Don’t worry, main kuch help karta hu,” he said confidently, his gaze shifting to Riyansh as if silently asking for his help. "Please drop them."

Niya’s gaze hardened a little, shaking her head firmly. “No, we will manage. Don’t bother him,” she insisted, but there was a hint of vulnerability in her voice that betrayed her words.

Harsh, seeing the hesitation, wasn’t ready to give up. His voice softened, pleading. “In itni raat ko ham kya hi manage karenge? Inki help le le na, please naa,” he murmured, the desperation in his words unmistakable.

The back and forth continued for what seemed like an eternity, but finally, Niya sighed in resignation. “Fine! Yes!” she agreed, her voice a reluctant surrender.

Without wasting another second, they all headed toward Riyansh’s car. Aman, ever the punctual one, bid everyone goodbye with a cheerful wave, heading off toward the terminal to catch his flight.

As Riyansh opened the door, Niya hesitated for a moment, her hand lingering near the handle. Her gaze flicked to Harsh, and for a split second, she caught his eyes. Wordlessly, she gestured for him to switch seats.

Riyansh, with his trademark coldness, spoke first, his tone cutting through the tension like a blade. “I’m not a driver,” he said flatly, his words carrying an underlying bitterness that made it clear he wasn’t fond of this arrangement.

Niya’s eyes widened at his bluntness, and without missing a beat, she signaled again to Harsh. Understanding her cue, Harsh’s shoulders drooped slightly in understanding. He nodded, moving to the passenger seat without a word, leaving Niya to sit quietly in the back. The tension between them was palpable, an unspoken understanding forming without the need for words.

Riyansh’s grip tightened on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed on the road ahead, his expression unreadable, though the turmoil beneath the surface was evident. Niya sat silently behind him, the distance between them a chasm neither could quite bridge, not yet.

The car hummed with an uncomfortable quiet, the air thick with unspoken thoughts and lingering tension.

The only sound was the occasional flick of the tires against the road, but even that felt like it was swallowed by the silence hanging between them.

Finally, Harsh, unable to stand the stillness any longer, broke the quiet with a question that carried a hint of frustration. “Itni shanti kyu hai?”

Niya, her voice laced with a spark of sarcasm, shot back without missing a beat. “Kyuki tera muh band hai!”

Her words hung in the air for a brief moment, and for the first time in what seemed like hours, a small smile tugged at the corners of Riyansh’s lips. The sarcastic wit in her voice, so familiar, felt like a fleeting reminder of a time when things had been simpler.

In response, Harsh, unfazed, put on his headphones, retreating into the world of music. His eyes closed, and his head lulled slightly with the rhythm, seeking solace in the beats that drowned out everything else.

The car once again grew quiet, but this time, it was different—there was a sense of ease in the space between them, even though no one spoke.

Riyansh’s gaze shifted to the rearview mirror, his eyes naturally falling on Niya. His focus softened as he watched her, captivated by the way her hair cascaded gently over her shoulder, the way her eyes seemed lost in thought, oblivious to the quiet scrutiny she was under. He didn’t know why, but in that moment, he couldn’t pull his gaze away.

Niya, feeling the weight of his stare, noticed the intensity with which he looked at her. But instead of acknowledging it, she chose to turn her attention to the world outside the window, watching the blurry scenery as it sped by. Her mind drifted, images of their past flashing like an old film reel. The memories were bittersweet, and though they made her heart ache, the present felt like an entirely different lifetime.

The stillness of the night stretched on until they finally reached Thakur Mansion. It was 1 AM, and the air outside was cool, thick with the quiet of a city that had long since fallen asleep.

Niya gently nudged Harsh awake, who had long since succumbed to the comfort of his music and had dozed off.

“Hey, we arrived so early,” he mumbled, rubbing his eyes and trying to adjust to the unfamiliar silence of the surroundings.

Niya, a mischievous glint in her eyes, rolled her eyes. “You were asleep, that’s why you feel that way, idiot!” she teased, shaking her head in mock disbelief.

Harsh pouted exaggeratedly, trying to feign offense, but it didn’t last long before he broke into a sheepish grin.

“Mat bnaya kar, ye suar lagta hai!” Niya laughed, her voice light, teasing, and full of life as she made a playful jab at him.

Riyansh, despite himself, couldn’t suppress a chuckle at their banter. The sound of his laugh, quiet but genuine, surprised him, as though something inside him had been held back for far too long. His lips curled into a soft smile, and for a brief second, the weight of everything seemed to lift.

Niya, noticing his reaction, glanced back over her shoulder, her smirk playful. “Ho gaya aapka?” she asked, her tone teasing yet somehow sincere.

Riyansh, still slightly amused by the lighthearted exchange, nodded silently, a small smile still playing on his lips.

.

.

.

.

To be continued.

I know the starting chapters are boring but trust me there is nothing boring after some chapters.

Thank you for reading...🫶🏻