Chapter One: The Collision
The crowd at Gate 4 buzzed with low excitement —
whispers of high-profile names, raised phones, and men in suits scanning faces like files.
All of them were waiting for the same man.
Ansh Raichand.
He stepped out of the sliding doors, dressed in black —
suit flawless, shoes spotless, not a wrinkle on him.
Eyes sharp. Posture lethal.
A man carved not from flesh, but control.
There was no smile. No nod.
No acknowledgment of the people who had gathered.
Only silence.
He moved like the floor belonged to him.
Trailing behind him was Ishaan — 28, sharp-eyed, grey-suited.
His presence was never loud, only necessary.
He didn't speak unless spoken to.
Didn't advise. Didn't question.
He followed Ansh like a shadow follows light — silently, faithfully, invisibly.
"Your mother has been informed," Ishaan said in a neutral tone.
Ansh gave a small nod. "She'll want a full report by evening."
"Yes, sir. I'll prepare it once we're back."
There was no rebellion in his tone.
Just structure. Like every part of his life had been filed, labelled, and approved by the one woman he bowed to —
His mother.
---
They walked through the terminal toward the VIP exit when, from the other side, chaos arrived.
A girl — in a flowy sky-blue kurti, matching leggings, long silver earrings swaying, and hair flying in the airport breeze — came rushing past people, weaving between suitcases and trolleys.
> "Yes, sir! I told you I'm at the airport!" she snapped into her phone.
"I'm here to receive Mrs. Mehra, not the President of India! Please calm down!"
The manager kept yelling in her ear, but she didn't slow down.
Her ID card bounced against her chest with every step.
> "No, I haven't seen her yet! I'm near Gate 4! I—"
And then it happened.
---
She collided.
Side by side.
Her shoulder brushed hard against Ansh's.
Her body swayed for half a second, but she didn't stop.
Didn't look.
Didn't even realize what she'd done.
She muttered quickly — not out of guilt, but habit.
> "Oops. No need to say sorry,"
and kept running without even turning.
Gone.
---
Ansh stood there, frozen in his step.
First, his jaw tightened.
His lips pressed into a hard, disapproving line.
His eyes narrowed in disgust.
Then — just as he turned to shake off the moment —
he caught a glimpse of her face.
That second.
That fraction of an instant.
It hit him harder than the collision.
For someone who believed beauty was a distraction,
she looked like a painting he couldn't tear his eyes from.
His heartbeat stuttered once.
A soft, unfamiliar thud.
But his face remained stone.
He reached into his coat, pulled out his sanitizer spray, and sprayed the spot where she touched him.
Once.
Twice.
> "Bloody unmannered people," he muttered under his breath.
Ishaan stood at his usual one-step-behind distance.
Silent.
Observing.
Memorizing.
---
Ansh Raichand didn't believe in accidents.
And yet — something had entered his perfectly structured life…
without permission.
The glass doors of the Raichand mansion glide open, revealing silent grandeur.
Anshuman Raichand walks in — controlled steps, unreadable face, suitcase in hand. The air shifts as soon as he enters, like the house holds its breath.
From the grand staircase, his mother appears.
Modern. Polished. Impeccably poised in her silk saree and diamond studs.
She stops at the last step, looking down at him.
> "Anshuman."
> "Mother."
He walks over and bends to touch her feet.
She places her hand gently on his head — not affection, but approval.
> "On time. As always."
> "Your time, Mother. I follow it."
She nods. That was the right answer.
Just then—
> "Bhaiii!!"
Priya comes running from the hallway, arms flinging around him.
> "Finally! I thought you'd forgotten you had a little sister."
> "You're unforgettable," he murmurs, allowing a rare smile.
From the corner, Kartik walks in — crisp blazer, Rolex flashing, too-perfect hair.
Not a drop of alcohol in sight, but the smugness is there.
> "Ansh bhai," he says smoothly, "welcome back. The house feels like Raichand House again."
> "It was never not," Ansh replies flatly.
Nisha enters, adjusting her designer shawl and glancing at her reflection in the mirror.
> "You've brought gifts, I hope?" she chirps with mock sweetness. "Though your presence is the real gift, obviously."
> "Your gift's in the car," Ansh replies coolly. "It'll match your latest shopping spree."
She giggles.
> "You know me so well."
Their mother observes silently — proud that even her stepchildren know where the true power lies.
They had just finished exchanging pleasantries when his mother adjusted the pallu of her saree and turned to Ansh.
> "I've finalized your marriage alliance."
Her tone was casual — like discussing tomorrow's weather.
Everyone in the room froze except Ansh.
He didn't blink.
> "Okay."
One word. No reaction.
Priya narrowed her eyes and tilted her head.
> "Okay? Just like that? Don't tell me you didn't fall in love with anyone while living in the US?"
Before Ansh could respond, his phone buzzed.
The screen lit up:
Rhea 💬 Calling...
Priya's lips curved into a sly grin.
> "Girlfriend?"
Their mother turned sharply, her gaze slicing into him.
Ansh looked down at the phone.
Let it ring once more.
> "Nothing serious, Mom."
And cut the call.
Kartik cleared his throat politely.
> "A wise decision, Ansh bhai. Relationships abroad never last. You need someone rooted."
Nisha chimed in sweetly, adjusting her bangles.
> "And no one knows better than Mom. She'll find someone who fits this family."
Their mother smiled slightly, turning back to Ansh.
> "Our future daughter-in-law is a well-cultured, elegant girl. Traditional Odissi dancer. She has a performance tomorrow evening. I'm attending as chief guest. We'll all be there."
Ansh nodded silently.
Behind them, Priya muttered, arms crossed.
> "Wow. How could you decide who Bhai will spend his entire life with without even asking him?"
Their mother glanced at her daughter, then turned her gaze to Anshuman.
> "He trusts me."
And Ansh, calm as ice, replied:
> "Never, Mom. I will never choose anyone over you."
That made his mother's lips curve — faintly proud.
But Priya wasn't done.
> "You think everyone here is your puppet. I really hope Bhai falls in love with someone else one day… and chooses her over your plans."
That wiped the smile off her face.
> "Everyone," she said slowly, "needs my permission for marriage. Even you."
Priya laughed — bold, defiant.
> "No chance. I already have a boyfriend."
The room went silent.
Kartik coughed.
Nisha gasped with a dramatic, "What?!"
Only Ansh remained still — no change in expression, just watching.
Priya glanced at her brother, eyes softening.
> "I'm not your puppet, Mom."
And walked away.
Their mother said nothing. Her jaw tightened. Her eyes followed Priya's steps like a hawk.
Ansh finally broke the silence.
> "Choose the future daughter-in-law you want, Mom. I will marry her."
And turned.
---
He walked up the spiral staircase toward the top floor — the fifth level, where his private world lived. Away from all of them.
As he reached the landing, he saw Pranay, his stepfather, walking toward him with a polite smile.
> "Ansh, good to see you back—"
> "Thanks."
Ansh didn't stop.
Didn't look again.
Just walked past him like he was a wall.
And disappeared into the shadows of his room —
The only place where silence didn't ask questions.