As days passed, the atmosphere at the institute began to shift, buzzing now with the approaching grand event. Posters were being pinned up everywhere, and students from all batches were busy, from sketching final designs to fitting garments and preparing stage concepts. Ruhi, too, was growing busier by the day. She had been placed in a senior group as an assistant, and though the workload was intense, she loved every second of it.

Her team had six members—four boys and two girls, with Ruhi being the only first-year. The seniors were kind, enthusiastic, and clearly talented. But there was also a kind of casual confidence in the boys, which often came with a flirtatious undertone.

One evening, after returning from the institute, Ruhi walked into her hostel room to find Prisha lounging on her bed with a sheet mask on, and Aria scribbling something into a small notebook.

"You both look very... relaxed," Ruhi said, flopping onto her bed.

"Because we're done for the day, and this mask is my therapy," Prisha said dramatically. "But you look tired. What happened?"

Ruhi sat up with a sigh, brushing her hair out of her face. "One of the seniors from my group asked me out."

Both girls paused. Aria blinked once. Prisha peeled the mask halfway off her face. "Wait-what?"

Prisha leaned forward, eyes glinting with curiosity. "Is he cute?"

Ruhi shrugged. "He's okay."

"Then why not? If you're single and he's good, it's just a date, not a proposal," Prisha teased.

"I am single," Ruhi admitted, "but I'm not interested in him."

Aria raised an eyebrow. "So are you interested in someone else?" she asked, tilting her head.

Prisha grinned, looking at Ruhi curiously, Ruhi looked away, trying to busy herself with her phone.

"Nope."

Prisha grinning more now, her tone sing-songy. "You are! You totally are!"

Ruhi's cheeks turned pink "I am not."

"Oh, come on," Aria said, nudging her. "Spill it. Who is he?"

"Okay so, I don't like him but I do think about him sometimes," Ruhi said quietly.

Prisha leaned across the bed. " Tell us!"

After a pause, Ruhi gave in.

"Shivaang," she whispered.

The room fell silent for two beats.

"Shivaang?" Aria repeated. "And he is...?"

"A man," Ruhi replied, looking completely serious.

Both her roommates stared at her. Prisha slapped her forehead first. "Wow. Thank you for the very helpful detail."

Aria nodded her head slowly. "A man? That narrows it down to about half the population, Ruhi."

Ruhi giggled. "I mean... I met him just before coming here."

"What does he do?" Aria asked, curious now.

Gunde hain "I... don't know," Ruhi admitted, sheepishly.

Prisha was already reaching for her phone. "Alright, give us his Insta. We'll stalk him and figure out everything."

Ruhi blinked. "I don't know his Id"

"No probs give me his full name." Prisha said already opening Instagram.

Ruhi blinked again.

This time, both girls let out a dramatic groan in unison.

Aria said, "So let me get this straight. You like a guy, you don't know his last name, you don't know what he does, you don't have his Insta., no photo., no evidence that he exists..."

"He does exist," Ruhi protested, with a pout.

"Ruhi," Prisha said in mock-serious tone, "I love you, but you're stupid. Full name, ID, number are the first things we ask if we like somebody."

Ruhi flopped onto her pillow, covering her face. "I told you I don't like him, but yes I do have his number."

That got their attention.

Aria narrowed her eyes. "So you have his number but not his last name?"

Ruhi mumbled from under the pillow, "He saved it in my phone himself. Just as 'Shiv'."

Prisha and Aria exchanged glances. Then burst into giggles.

"This mystery man is getting more and more interesting," Aria said.

Prisha pulled off her face mask completely. "We'll crack this code, Ruhi don't worry and until then..." she raised an eyebrow, "maybe just admit that you like him."

Ruhi didn't reply, but smiled, her voice grew quieter. "I don't think he's single."

That silenced them again.

"Why?" Aria asked gently.

"I don't know," Ruhi admitted. "He never said anything. But he feels... distant. Like there's something he's not telling me. And the way he avoided looking back when I left, it was like he had built a wall."

Prisha frowned. "Or maybe he's just guarded."

"Or already taken," Ruhi murmured.

Aria reached over and gave her hand a small squeeze. "Or maybe he's just complicated. Like most men worth liking."

Prisha nodded solemnly. "Well, now we really need to stalk him."

Ruhi laughed through her uncertainty. Somewhere inside, she knew this wasn't just a silly crush. It already meant more than she wanted to admit.

Later that night, the hostel room hummed with a warm, sleepy quiet. The girls had brushed off the day's chaos, fabric scraps, flirtatious seniors, and Ruhi's mysterious Shivaang and now lay in their bunks, the soft yellow glow of a single lamp casting long shadows on the ceiling.

The teasing had faded, what remained was the kind of silence that invited confessions. Prisha was the first to speak, her voice light but layered with something deeper.

"You know, I've never ever been to India."

Ruhi turned her head from her bunk, surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," Prisha sighed. "I was born here. Milan is all I've ever known. But my parents both from Delhi, they left after they got married and never looked back. I don't know why... they just shut that chapter forever. They won't talk about it, never visited, never let me either."

Ruhi frowned. "But you love Indian culture."

"I do," she said with a soft smile. "I wear bindis secretly when they're not home, sneak Bollywood music into my playlists, follow Indian designers religiously. Seeing you dress up in kurtis and jhumkas makes me want to go even more. There's something about that... identity. I want to understand what it means to belong to a place I've never seen."

There was silence again, but it was heavy this time, thick with longing and loss.

Aria broke it next, her voice barely above a whisper. "I want an escape."

Ruhi turned again, and even Prisha shifted to listen.

Aria kept her eyes on the ceiling. "From the world of Romano. Everyone thinks it's privilege. Rich family, big name, spotlight. But it's suffocating. Expectations, control, shadows." She paused, her jaw clenched. "I want to be something on my own, not someone's daughter, not someone's investment. Just... Aria."

Neither Ruhi nor Prisha spoke right away. They knew there was more beneath her words wounds she hadn't shared, and maybe never would.

Ruhi's voice came next, soft, steady.

"Strange how you want an escape from your family and how I want one, her fingers clutched the edge of her blanket. "I just have my sister, Pakhi Di... my everything. She gave up her everything, took care of me like a second mother. Worked with her studies, shielded me from every storm, just so I could have wings. Whatever I am today... it's because she let herself be the ground I stood on. Sometimes I feel if only we had a family it would have all been so better more for her than me."

A hush followed quiet, but full.

Three girls, three stitched souls, different battles, different hopes. But somehow, in this little shared room under the soft lamp glow, a quiet thread of sisterhood began to form.

And as silence finally settled again, Ruhi closed her eyes, her heart full with memories, with gratitude, with purpose.

_______________________________________________

It was just a few days before the institute's grand event. The campus was buzzing with energy, fabric rolls being carted in, mannequins dressed in delicate embroidery, lights being rigged above the runway-in-the-making. Everyone, from faculty to interns, was working overtime. Ruhi's group of seniors had begun to treat her as one of their own, or so she thought.

She was reviewing embroidery layouts when Adrian walked up.

"Well, Ruhi, yesterday we seniors had a meeting, and we were all talking about you, how your creative mind has brought life to some of our dead designs. And we don't want that to go unnoticed. As a junior, you wouldn't be given the chance to stand on stage, and even if we mention you in our end speech, not many will notice."

Ruhi looked at him, confused. "I know, Adrian, and I didn't join the group to get noticed. I just wanted to gain internal experience so that when it's my turn, I'll shine."

"Yeah, but we've decided something. We have a total of 12 minutes to present, right?"

"Yes?" she asked.

"We want you to prepare something for one and a half or two minutes, to open our ramp walk."

Ruhi looked at him as if he had grown horns. "You're kidding, right?" she said with a nervous smile.

"Nope. You're going to open," Adrian replied.

"You want your show to fail before it even begins?"

Adrian laughed at that. "No, Ruhi. We trust you, add some of your Indian magic, and you'll make the start unforgettable."

"But-"

"No buts! Fighting!" he said, flashing a grin before walking off.

Ruhi was still staring at the way Adrian left when one of the seniors from her assigned group strolled over casually, a grin playing on his lips. He leaned on the table beside her.

"Hey, Ruhi," he said, brushing back his perfectly tousled hair. "So... dinner after the show?"

Ruhi looked up, confused. "Dinner?"

"Yeah," he shrugged coolly. "You've been working hard. I figured we could celebrate, just the two of us."

Before Ruhi could even form a response, a sharp voice cut through the hallway.

"Oh, so this is the girl?" Everyone turned.

A tall girl in black heels and a fierce expression walked toward them, her eyes blazing and locked on Ruhi. The Guy's face dropped.

"Zac, you said she was just some junior in your team. And now you're asking her out?"

Ruhi stepped back slightly, her brows knitting in confusion. "I didn't know-"

"You didn't know what? That he's taken?" the girl snapped. "Do you just go around trying to lure taken guys?"

Ruhi's cheeks flushed with shame and shock. "What? No! I never-he asked me-"

"Oh please," she scoffed. "Always the innocent act."

Zac opened his mouth, but his girlfriend cut him off. "Save it, I'm not talking to you."

People had started to glance their way. The hallway that had been full of creativity now bristled with whispers.

Ruhi stepped back again, her voice soft but firm. "I didn't know he was in a relationship, and I don't want anything to do with him. Please don't misunderstand."

"Of course you don't," the girl sneered. "That's why he's asking you out."

The accusation, loud and cruel, left Ruhi stunned. She turned and walked away fast, heart pounding, vision blurring slightly.

She didn't stop until she reached a quiet staircase near the back of the building. Sitting down on the steps, she finally let her breath out in a shaky sigh.

She had come here for dream, for art not for this mess.

Ruhi closed her eyes. She got up slowly, brushing off her kurta, and made her way back toward the hostel. The corridors felt heavier now, like they held onto judgment. She kept her head down until she reached the safety of her room.

As soon as she opened the door, Aria stood up from her bed, her arms crossed but eyes soft. "Are you okay?"

Prisha didn't wait. She rushed over and hugged her. "You should've pushed that girl down the stairs."

Ruhi gave a weak laugh. "I didn't even know he had a girlfriend."

"Of course you didn't," Aria said. "And even if you did, that doesn't give anyone the right to talk to you like that. That guy's trash, and she's insecure."

Ruhi sat on her bed, head resting on her knees. "I just... didn't come here for this."

"We know," Prisha said, handing her a tissue. There was silence for a while, the comforting kind. Aria finally spoke, her tone lighter. "Honestly though... if some guy ever comes near me again with his I-have-a-girlfriend-but-you're-different energy, I might just throw a sewing machine at him."

Ruhi smiled, wiping her eyes. "Thanks, both of you. Waise, how do you even know about this?"

"You're famous, Ruhi. Someone posted it on our unofficial forum," Prisha said as she sat beside her.

"Soon we're going to have the big day. Let's just focus on that, okay? On your designs, on your dreams."

"Oh right! I forgot to tell you guys, I'm going to open our team's walk."

"Meaning?" asked Aria, raising an eyebrow.

"Means I have to perform something for two minutes, and then the actual ramp walk will begin."

"Wow, Ruhi! That's amazing!" Prisha said excitedly.

"Yeah, but what do I even perform? I'm not a born singer, and dancing! I can only dance in front of a mirror, definitely not in front of people."

"So this is clearly a sign to dance in front of everyone," Aria said with a smirk.

"I can't-" Before Ruhi could finish, Aria and Prisha had already rushed to the corner of the room.

"This song? ...No, this one has more views. Let's go with an Indian song... yeah, Hindi- it'll be a total tadka, bro!" Prisha and Aria were already deep in discussion about Ruhi's performance.

"You guys!" Ruhi said, watching them in disbelief.

"Stop doubting yourself, Ruhi. Focus on the positive, you're getting a chance to shine," Prisha said warmly.

"And think about how amazing you're going to look," Aria added with a wink.

________________________________________________________________

The day of the grand event arrived like a thunderstorm loud, chaotic, and full of electricity. The campus, normally a serene blend of old stone walls and artistic chatter, had transformed into a hub of urgency.

Backstage, fabric swatches fluttered in the air like butterflies as last-minute adjustments were made. Models rehearsed their walks, designers argued over lights, coordinators barked instructions into walkie-talkies.

Ruhi had been on her feet since early morning cross-checking embroidery alignments, managing last-minute stitch corrections, running errands for her senior group. Her kurta was smudged with chalk, her hair half tied, her hands aching. But her eyes sparkled.

This chaos? this was her dream.

The runway was almost complete. The lighting rig cast golden beams across the velvet-draped stage. On the walls around the courtyard, large posters of the graduating students' collections fluttered in the breeze. Guests had started to arrive...diplomats, industrialists, journalists, designers, and people from all over Europe. It wasn't just a student showcase, it was a scouting ground for talent. And Ruhi, though not one of the final-year students, was playing a small but crucial part.

She took one last round backstage, checking the senior group's lineup and making sure the outfits had been handed to the dressers.

"Done," she whispered to herself, breathing deeply.

Her phone buzzed.

Prisha: RUHI. WHERE ARE YOU?

Aria: Event's starting in 45 minutes. You better be dressed and glowing.

She smiled, she hadn't even looked in a mirror since morning.

Jogging back toward the hostel block, Ruhi climbed the stairs two at a time and reached their room, pushing the door open breathlessly.

"There she is!" Prisha exclaimed, arms folded but eyes gleaming.

"Took you long enough," Aria said, already pulling her towards the dresser. "You've been dressing others all day. Now let us do our job."

Ruhi tried to protest, but Prisha had already brought out the outfit a handcrafted fusion lehenga in peach colour, paired with a modern blouse stitched with mirror work. It was one of the pieces Ruhi had altered herself, and yet hadn't imagined wearing.

"You're putting me in a showpiece?" Ruhi laughed nervously.

"You're a showstopper," Aria said without blinking.

As the evening sun dipped below the Milan skyline, its light spilling amber into their room, the girls got to work. Aria curled Ruhi's hair in soft waves while Prisha added delicate jewellery. A light bindi, subtle liner, and just a tint of rose on her lips.

Ruhi stood in front of the mirror, staring at herself.

"Wow," she whispered.

"Told you," Prisha said proudly. "You look like... if royalty was a textile student."

Aria grinned. "Let's go, princess, Milan is waiting."

Ruhi looked at them, the nervousness clearly visible on her face. "Guys, I don't think I can perform. Oh God, there'll be so many people. What if I mess everything up? What if everyone laughs at me? What if-"

"Stop, stop, stop!" Prisha interrupted, waving her hands. "Ruhi, stop before your cute little brain overheats from your enormous overthinking skills."

"Yes, Ruhi," Aria chimed in gently. "Now's not the time to spiral. We've seen your performance, and you have to trust us you're going to make the whole crowd rise to their feet. A full standing ovation, we promise."

As they exited the hostel, the sound of music in the distance drifted toward them. Laughter, lights, and life had filled the institute grounds.

Ruhi clutched her small notebook just in case she needed to check anything backstage and let herself breathe.

She didn't know that in the crowd gathering beyond the runway, someone else had arrived.

Wearing a sharp Indo-Western suit. Eyes scanning the campus.

Shivaang Shrivastav, textile exporter of Shrivastav Textiles was here. Hidden in plain sight, and the night was only just beginning.

Shivaang adjusted the cuff of his blazer as he stepped into the grand marble-floored lobby of Istituto Marangoni. The institution's pristine glass walls reflected both history and ambition an apt setting for the next phase of his operation.

To the world, he was Shivaang Shrivastav, the reserved heir of "Shrivastav Textiles," a reputed Indian fabric house breaking into European luxury markets. To those who mattered, he was Mirage, a RAW operative following the trail of illicit funds disguised as fashion capital. And today, his threads would begin weaving through Milan's most coveted names.

He spotted Isabella Mancini near the display area, speaking animatedly with a group of designers. Her elegance commanded the room. Sharp eyes beneath well-drawn brows, and a voice that carried calm authority.

She turned when he approached. "Signor Shrivastav," she greeted with a smooth Italian accent. "It's a pleasure. I've been admiring your company's work, your silk embroidery is exquisite."

Shivaang offered a polite nod. "Thank you, Director Mancini. It's an honor to be part of your institution's event. I believe collaboration is the soul of evolution in this industry."

She smiled. "You'll fit right in."

Before more could be exchanged, another presence arrived - Agnelli Trussardi, tall and impeccably dressed in a tailored black suit. The renowned Italian fashion mogul. And more importantly, a suspected pawn in a deeper, dirtier game.

"Ah, Isabella," Trussardi said, giving her the briefest air kiss. Then turning to Shivaang with a smooth voice. "And you must be the textile genius from India."

"Just a learner, Signor Trussardi," Shivaang replied, with a measured smile. "I'm here to see how Milan threads its magic."

Agnelli's grin tightened. Shivaang didn't miss the subtle flicker in his eyes. Recognition? Or caution?

As the three conversed surface-level niceties exchanged under chandeliers, Shivang's mind stayed razor-focused. Beneath every handshake, every charm-laced compliment, he was analyzing body language, watching the proximity of associates, mentally noting gestures exchanged between Trussardi and a man in a beige suit.

Every second, he was recording.

His inner comms were off for now, but he knew Echo was monitoring the institute's backend database, and Wolf, from India, had already set up a ghost tracker around Isabella's charity foundation servers.

This event was step one: gain access, build rapport, confirm ties.

****************************************************************************

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