Laksh stood just outside the room, unnoticed, his hand frozen on the doorknob of the slightly ajar door. His eyes were locked on the sight inside—Aarohi in Armaan's arms, holding on like he was her whole world.
Something twisted painfully in his chest.
He didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there, a strange, unfamiliar ache building deep inside him. It crawled up from his chest to his throat, burning as it went.
What the hell is this feeling?
He pressed a hand over his heart, trying to breathe through the tightness.
"Why does it hurt so much?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else. "Why does it feel like something's being ripped out of me?"
His jaw clenched.
"Why does seeing them together feel like someone's stabbing me? Why do I want to go in there right now, punch Armaan in the face, and drag Aarohi away?"
He shut his eyes for a second, trying to calm the storm swirling inside him. It didn't help.
Frustrated, Laksh ran both hands through his hair, letting out a harsh breath.
"What the hell is happening to me?" he muttered under his breath. "No. No, I can't feel like this. I can't let it happen. I won't."
His eyes darted to the small side table beside him. Without thinking, driven by the surge of everything he couldn't name, he grabbed the delicate glass showpiece resting there—and hurled it against the floor.
The sharp, sudden sound of it shattering echoed through the hallway like a scream.
But even that didn't quiet the chaos inside him.
Startled by the noise, Aarohi and Armaan pulled apart and rushed outside. Their eyes quickly searched the corridor until they found Laksh standing there, his face flushed, his breathing heavy. Shards of the broken showpiece lay scattered at his feet.
Armaan stepped forward, concern tightening his features.
"What happened? How did this break?"
Laksh didn't meet his eyes. His voice was calm—too calm.
"I came to call you both. My hand brushed the table by mistake… it fell. That's all."
Aarohi's gaze dropped to his hand—and her breath hitched.
A thin line of blood was trailing down from a fresh cut across his knuckles. Her eyes widened in alarm.
"Laksh!" she gasped, rushing toward him without a second thought. She grabbed his hand gently, her fingers trembling slightly as she examined the wound. "Where's your mind even at? Look at this—you're bleeding!"
Her voice was a blend of scolding and concern, soft but firm. The kind that showed she cared, even when she was annoyed.
Laksh tried to pull his hand back, brushing it off. "It's nothing. Just a scratch—"
"Don't argue," she cut in, not letting go. "Come on, I'll clean it. You can't just leave it like this."
Before he could say another word, she turned and started walking, still holding his hand—gently but firmly pulling him along.
Laksh stood frozen for a second, completely still.
She was mad at him—clearly. But she had noticed. She still cared.
And that was enough to send a strange warmth fluttering through his chest. A quiet smile crept onto his face—soft, almost boyish. He didn't say a word. Just followed her, obediently, like her concern had wrapped itself around him and pulled him in without asking.
Behind them, Armaan watched it all unfold, standing quietly.
He let out a short, breathy chuckle.
It wasn't loud—just a faint exhale of air—but it held weight.
There was something oddly peaceful in that sound… and something painful too.
His lips curved into a small smile, but his eyes… they told a different story.
A flicker of something deeper passed through them. Something he didn't name.
Something he wasn't ready to say out loud.
Maybe not yet.
Maybe not ever.
Aarohi held onto Laksh's hand, her steps quick as she led him down the stairs into the living room. On the couch sat Geeta Oberoi, Vijay Oberoi, and Naaz — all chatting until they noticed the urgency in Aarohi's movement.
Without a word, she pulled Laksh to the couch and made him sit down. Then she sat beside him, still holding his hand like it might fall apart if she let go.
All three elders stared at them, clearly surprised. Geeta opened her mouth to ask something, but Aarohi beat her to it.
"Naaz, quick — get the first-aid box," she said, glancing toward Laksh's bleeding knuckle. "Hurry!"
It wasn't until then that everyone's eyes dropped to his hand — and the thin trail of blood running down it. Their casual expressions turned into alarm in seconds.
Naaz shot up immediately and rushed out of the room.
Geeta leaned forward, her brows furrowed. "How did this happen?"
Aarohi let out a huff, still clearly annoyed. "Your son has zero spatial awareness. He walked straight into the side table like it didn't even exist. Ended up breaking the glass piece—and his own hand, apparently."
She threw a pointed look at Laksh, who just sat there like a scolded schoolboy.
Vijay tried to hold back a chuckle, while Geeta looked horrified. "Laksh!" she scolded. "Seriously?"
Laksh shrugged, mumbling, "I said it was an accident…"
Aarohi rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well… next time try not to take down a whole showcase with you."
Just then, Naaz came rushing back into the room with the first-aid box clutched tightly in her hands. She handed it to Aarohi, who took it without missing a beat.
"Thanks," Aarohi said quickly, already opening it up.
She shifted closer to Laksh, gently pulling his injured hand toward her. Without saying much, she got to work—cleaning the blood with soft cotton, careful not to hurt him more than necessary. Her touch was light but confident, each movement calm and practiced.
Laksh sat still, barely breathing.
His eyes were locked on her—on the way a few loose strands of hair framed her face, on how her brows knit together in focus, on the quiet way she cared without even realizing it.
He didn't know why, but in that moment, it was like the world had gone quiet. He wasn't hearing the chatter in the background, or even feeling the sting from his cut. All he could see—was her.
Her.
And something about that scared him a little.
Once she finished wrapping the bandage, Aarohi looked up and met his gaze. "There," she said softly, "Your first aid's done."
Her voice snapped him out of whatever trance he had fallen into. Laksh blinked a few times, quickly pulling his hand back like he'd just touched fire.
He cleared his throat, trying to play it cool, even though his heart was doing somersaults. "Uh… yeah. Thanks."
But his mind?
Still stuck on the way she looked at him. On the way her fingers felt against his skin.