The gallery hall of Istituto Marangoni had transformed. The event had started.

Under the canopy of dazzling chandeliers, silks flowed like whispered poetry, and every detail from the runway to the lighting, reflected brilliance. Milan's finest were present: designers, celebrities, industrialists, and press, all gathered for the institute's annual showcase.

Backstage, Ruhi was a blur of quiet efficiency. She checked final stitches, fixed a fraying border, adjusted drapes. Her group of seniors were nervous, but she was calm or at least pretending to be. This was the moment they had all been building toward.

Across the hall, among the elite, Shivaang stood in a tailored charcoal suit. Confident, composed. Every movement was calculated. He had already met Isabella Mancini, exchanged diplomatic small talk with Agnelli Trussardi, and ensured his position gave him both visibility and access.

Everything was on track.

Until he saw her.

The curtains drew back, and there she was standing on stage, mic in hand.

And Shivaang's heart stopped.

Ruhi.

His world froze. For a moment, he wasn't Agent Mirage, he wasn't on a covert mission. He was just... Shivaang.

His heart began to race uncontrollably, thudding against his chest like it had never done before.

Not even during shock-based RAW trainings, not even when strapped to pain simulations or thrown into high-risk psychological drills had he felt this. But seeing her now in this light, in this place, it undid everything.

He had seen her last in the quiet of his flat, wrapped in everyday warmth. Now she looked like a poem, a memory he didn't know he missed so badly until he saw her again.

And then she spoke.

"Next, we have Section B, Group D students presenting their designs, with a touch of South Asian spice."

The music began. She handed over the mic and took her place.And then, The magic happened.

Hey... Dhin Tadaak, Dhin TadaakAaja Udd Ke SaraatPairon Se Bedi Zara KholNagada Sang Dhol Baaje, Dhol BaajeDhaanye, Dhaanye, Dham Dham Dhaanye...

The rhythm echoed through the hall, vibrant and electric. The lights caught her just right. The crowd erupted in applause non-stop.

And then, Her eyes found him.

Right in the second row. In a crisp suit, tall, devastatingly composed. Looking only at her.

Their eyes met and her body stilled. His gaze dark, intense, unblinking held hers. Speaking things her ears couldn't catch, but her heart could hear.

Was he real? She blinked. Looked away. Then back.

He was still there, watching.

A strange flutter rose in her chest, like something had cracked open, like a dream had stepped into her reality.

Her lips parted, as if to say something, but what? The moment had swallowed the words whole.

And in the crowd, Shivaang couldn't look away either, not even if he tried.

The next track hit—

Meri mannaton mein
Meri jannaton mein
Tera hi tera shumaar hai
Meri chahton pe
Meri rahton pe
Tera hi tera khumaar hai
Malang malang mein
Tere hi liye hoon malang mein...

She danced, bold and beautiful for a full minute, looking at only one person.

Main yahaan wahan jaoon jahaan
Darbadar badar
Tere liye rehti hoon besabar sabar
Teri bekarariyon mein ishq ishq hai malang mera...
Dum malang malang dum dum malang malang
Malang malang dum dum malang malang
Malang malang dum ishq ishq hai malang mera....

The applause was thunderous as Ruhi finished her performance and stepped back. The models began their walk down the runway, showcasing each design with confidence and flair.

After the event, the air buzzed with praise for the successful showcase. Everyone was talking about the precision, the creativity, and the energy that lit up the stage.

Ruhi's group was met with hugs, cheers, and proud nods from their mentors. They had done it, flawlessly. No last-minute malfunctions, no missing accessories, no wardrobe slips.

Everyone surrounded her, praising her performance as well as the embroidery details she had adjusted, the way she saved the head drape from slipping, the tiny touches no one saw but that mattered deeply.

But Ruhi wasn't present. Her eyes kept darting toward the guest section.

She waited for the cue to leave, then slipped away, dodging compliments, ducking behind the backstage curtain and weaving through the corridor that led to the side entrance of the hall. Her heart beat faster as she approached the spot, her gaze shot immediately to the second row.

Empty. Her breath hitched, she scanned left, right, looked behind pillars, over shoulders, at exits.

Nothing.

"He was there. Right there..." she whispered, her hands falling limp by her side. "Or was I dreaming again?"

A strange emptiness settled in her chest. She turned slowly, letting the soft murmur of the crowd fade behind her. Pushing the side door open, she stepped into the moonlit back garden, a quiet patch behind the institute. The world outside felt slower, lit only by soft fairy lights draped across iron railings and the silver brush of the moon.

Ruhi sat on the edge of a low stone bench, the cool air brushing against her warm cheeks. She didn't know what to think, her hands curled slightly over her lap, her heart heavy, not just from disappointment but from confusion.

Why did it feel like he was calling to her when they locked eyes? Why did it hurt, this not seeing him again?

And then, a quiet rustle of footsteps behind her.

Before she could turn fully, a familiar voice - low, smooth, slightly teasing filled the air beside her.

"Missed me? Designer Sahiba."

Ruhi turned her head sharply.

Shivaang sat beside her, as if he had always belonged there. His smile was small, but unmistakably genuine. His eyes found hers like they had been looking for nothing else.

She blinked at him, stunned, her voice caught somewhere between a gasp and a laugh.

"You really were here."

"I was," he nodded, gaze unwavering. "Watching you dance onto that stage like you owned it."

Ruhi looked away, suddenly aware of everything, how close he was, how her heart was misbehaving again, how she probably looked flushed and overwhelmed.

"You were staring," she said, softly accusing.

Shivaang chuckled under his breath. "Guilty."

A pause. The fairy lights above twinkled like they approved.

He turned slightly toward her, voice quieter now. "I knew you'd do something big, but I didn't expect to feel like this. Seeing you up there..."

He didn't finish the sentence, he didn't need to.

Because in that silence, Ruhi understood.

And for the first time in a long time, she smiled, not the polite one she gave professors or classmates. But the quiet, real kind. The one that came only for him.

Shivaang watched her for a second more before speaking again, his voice a notch softer.

"Theek hain aap?" [Are you okay?]

She glanced up at him, surprised. "Yeah... I mean, I'm fine."

He tilted his head, clearly unconvinced. "You sure? You look like you've lost weight."

She blinked. "What?"

"I'm serious," he said, leaning slightly closer, his brows furrowing in genuine concern. "Do you even eat properly here? Or are you living on espresso and adrenaline like most of Milan?"

That made her chuckle a little, but she looked away again.

"I do eat... sometimes. I just... forget, I guess."

His voice turned serious. "Ruhi."

She swallowed him calling her by her name did something in her stomach, she looked at him then down towards her feet. "It's not just that. There's a lot going on Classes, assignments, seniors, pressure, the event... and-" She hesitated.

"And?" he gently nudged.

She shook her head. "Nothing I can't handle."

He was silent for a beat, then said quietly, "True."

Her eyes met his, there was something in the way he said it. She turned to him, her expression softer now, eyes reflecting the twinkle of the fairy lights above.

"So..." she began slowly, narrowing her eyes at him, "you're Shivaang Shrivastav from Shrivastav Textiles?"

He glanced sideways at her, the faintest of smirks on his lips.

"Hmm," he hummed in response, nonchalantly.

Ruhi shook her head, pretending to be annoyed. "You knew I didn't know, didn't you? You let me live under your roof for a week and never said a word."

He gave a lazy shrug, eyes twinkling. "You never asked."

Her jaw dropped in disbelief. "Unbelievable. I did."

"Besides," he added, now watching her more seriously, "what difference would it have made?"

She went quiet for a moment. Then whispered, "None. But..."

"But?" he prompted gently, turning his full attention to her now.

Ruhi looked down at her hands, fiddling with the edge of her sleeve."I wouldn't have embarrassed myself offering you 30 euros." She shook her head.

He chuckled. "But I am waiting for my 30 euros."

She blinked at him, "Sone ka katora lekr bheekh kyu maang rahe hain aap?"

Silence, complete silence, eyes locked on her, but soul already left his body out of embarrassment, mind already questioning is existence.

He didn't say anything. He just looked at her for a long moment, then "I-I don't want your 30 euros."

"Hum de bhi nahi rahe" she said with a smirk, looking ahead now.

He kept looking at her as if trying to memorize every flicker of emotion on her face.

And for a while, they sat in silence comfortable, steady, a soft thread pulling them ever closer. The gentle rustle of the night air was interrupted by a voice, calling out from the direction of the event hall.

"Ruhi! Ruhi, they're waiting for you!"

It was one of the classmate. Ruhi sighed, standing up slowly, her heart sinking just a little. The event wasn't over, and she knew she couldn't stay out here forever.

She glanced back at Shivaang, who was still sitting with his long legs stretched out, the soft glow of the fairy lights casting shadows on his face.

"I have to go," she said quietly, her voice almost reluctant. But there was no real choice, she had to face everyone, her seniors, the event coordinators, the buzz of congratulatory words.

Shivaang didn't move, just nodded slowly. "Take care, Ru." His gaze softened as he gave her a small, knowing smile. "And please eat a little more."

She froze for a second, his words hanging in the air between them. For a moment, she didn't want to leave. For a moment, it felt like she could just stay here, with him, away from all the chaos. But the event called her, and she knew she couldn't ignore it.

She took a step back, then turned towards the gate.

But then, something in her chest tightened. She stopped mid-step and, without thinking, turned back to him.

"How's your girlfriend?" The question left her lips before she could stop it, and she almost regretted it immediately. But it had been on her mind ever since the silent pull she had felt toward him that night. She had to ask, even if she regretted it afterward, she needed to know.

Shivaang's brow furrowed, and he blinked, looking completely caught off guard.

"What?" His voice was low, confused, like he hadn't expected to hear that from her. "Girlfriend?"

Ruhi stood there for a moment longer, her mind spinning with thoughts she couldn't seem to untangle. The words that slipped out of her mouth hung in the air, but the answer she didn't want to hear was already too close. She couldn't bear the thought of hearing a confirmation, of him telling her about someone else.

Her heart hammered against her chest. She didn't want to hear about his life, about a girlfriend, about the world where she didn't belong. The world he would never see her in.

Without waiting for his response, she turned quickly, her feet carrying her away from the soft glow of the garden. Her breath hitched as she ran toward the hall, her heart pounding too loudly to listen to anything else.

She didn't want to hear him tell her he was taken. She couldn't bear the thought of it.

So, she ran away from the confusion, away from the vulnerability of wanting something that might never be hers. She didn't need to hear him, to confirm it. She had already made peace with her one-sided feelings.

At least if it was a one-sided crush, it came without guilt. She could keep her distance, and in a way, keep it safe. And that was enough for now.

Ruhi walked back into the main hall, her thoughts a blur. She tried to focus on the event, on the guests mingling, the designers presenting their creations, but the room felt suffocating. It wasn't the bright lights or the bustle of conversation, it was the heavy feeling in her chest that wouldn't go away.

She tried to shake it off, offering a weak smile as people congratulated her on the success of the showcase. But deep down, she knew it wasn't enough to quiet the turmoil inside.

But now, as the night wore on, the reality set in. She had felt something, yes but it wasn't a connection they could build on. Not with the world they lived in.

Shivaang remained seated on the bench, the ghost of a smile still lingering where Ruhi had just been. The warmth of her presence faded too quickly. But her last question clung to the air like static.

"How's your girlfriend?"

He blinked. Girlfriend? The words echoed louder than the garden's stillness. She thinks I have someone? It almost made him laugh but the ache in his chest wasn't amusing. If only she knew.

There had never been room for anyone, not in the world he walked in, not with the shadows he answered to.

He stood up, still processing the moment, when his phone buzzed in his inner coat pocket.

A secure message blinked across the screen.

Echo: Vortex got access.

Shivaang's jaw tightened. A rush of relief surged through him. He looked once more toward the gate Ruhi had disappeared through.

For a moment, just a moment, he considered going after her. But the mission called. And he'd learned long ago, emotions had no place in shadows.

He slipped the phone back into his coat and turned toward the exit, his silhouette merging into the darkness of the garden.

1 hour ago...

Mirage straightened his jacket and made his way to the restricted corridor behind the institute's guest section. He scanned the crowd. Trussardi stood with a small knot of men, his voice low but not cautious, talking casually "...global regulation isn't the obstacle, it's the flexibility in Geneva that's the key...,"

Mirage stilled

That phrasing. Almost identical to a line Lorenzo Fausti had uttered at a private trade conference just two weeks ago. "The obstacle isn't global regulation. It's the flexibility in Geneva."

No Milanese fashion mogul would casually quote a senior trade diplomat's confidential remark. Unless...

He didn't finish the thought. Fingers flew over his encrypted phone.

To Vortex: "Trussardi – Fausti. [Consul Nero]"

Present Time...

From Vortex: "Confirmed. signature found on three textile shipment clearances matching Trussardi's brand logistics. Route: Milan–Lux–Budapest. Beginning trace inside."

Access was a word that meant everything now. And access had a name Lorenzo Fausti aka Consul Nero.

Mirage standing in the secret chamber of his apartment added a picture and a name in the web of pictures already present on the board in front of him.

They were getting close one by one until they reach the person sitting in the shadows.

He reached for his tablet, pulled up customs logs. Three containers. One cleared within forty-eight minutes at Luxembourg customs a time frame almost impossible without diplomatic override.

His phone buzzed again. This time, it wasn't Vortex.

From Wolf: "Flag raised on Container 7D9. Contents: 'handwoven silk'. Manifest forged. Fausti's stamp matches."

Mirage's jaw tightened. They were circling him now. Whoever "he" was behind Fausti—he was careful. But not careful enough anymore.

He muttered under his breath, "You may sit in a palace of treaties, Consul Nero... but the walls are cracking."

He took one last glance at the board. One more step closer. But the closer they got, the more dangerous it became. Mirage knew the next move had to be precise. One misstep, and they'd lose months, maybe agents.

He picked up his encrypted communicator, speaking into the mic with the calm sharpness of a man trained to chase shadows.

"Echo. Tell Vortex: Secure any internal pass Fausti offers. Stay deep. We move only when we see the king on the board."

He ended the call, and somewhere in the dark map of Europe, pieces began to shift.

________________________________________________________

Ruhi stayed until the event ended, pretending to enjoy the evening, but her heart wasn't in it. She told herself it was just a fleeting infatuation, something that would fade with time. She could move on.

When the guests started leaving and the hall began to clear, Ruhi headed back toward the hostel to change. Prisha and Aria found her as she was about to head out, their faces full of excitement.

"You were amazing!" Aria said, throwing her arms around her in a hug. "That was some serious talent you showed tonight."

Prisha beamed, too. "Everyone was talking about you bro!. You've got this in the bag, Ruhi. I'm so proud of you."

Ruhi smiled at them, though it didn't reach her eyes. "Thanks. You know it was all because of you guys so thank you so much."

But they could tell something was off. Aria gave her a sideways glance, clearly sensing the change in Ruhi's mood.

"What's going on?" she asked gently. "You seem different, is everything okay?"

Ruhi hesitated, her fingers lingering on the hem of her dupatta "Yeah... I think I just need to clear my head."

Prisha frowned. "okay what is it about? Did anyone say anything?."

Ruhi took a deep breath, trying to keep the emotions at bay. "No, it's nothing like that. I was just... I was thinking about some things."

Aria raised an eyebrow. "If you say so, but don't be too hard on yourself. If there's anything you know you can talk to us anytime."

Ruhi smiled softly, though her heart wasn't in it. "Thanks, I'll be okay."

As the night came to a close, she found herself walking back to the hostel with her roommates, the streets of Milan quiet beneath the moonlit sky. She tried to push all thoughts of Shivaang from her mind, but it was impossible. She knew what it was. The feeling wasn't going to disappear.

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

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