Sharda Vidyalaya, Indore, Madhya Pradesh.

The echo of dhol beats, patriotic songs, and children screaming at the top of their lungs had completely taken over the school building since morning. Every corridor was crowded with running students wrapped in tricolour dupattas, paper badges pinned crookedly on uniforms, teachers shouting instructions nobody was properly listening to, and helpers carrying plastic chairs from one corner to another. The entire school looked less like an educational institution and more like controlled chaos decorated with orange, white, and green ribbons.

Inside the activity hall on the second floor, the condition was even worse.

"Baccho kitni baar bata diya..." (Children, how many times have I told you...) a frustrated yet soft voice echoed through the room, "aap log phir steps galat kar rahe ho... aaj performance hai na aapki..." (you are doing the steps wrong again... you have your performance today...)

The scolding had no effect. Mostly because it did not sound like scolding at all.

Standing in front of nearly eight students was Preeti Parmar, trying very hard to look strict while the children clearly knew she could never actually shout at them properly.

Her saree pallu was tucked at her waist after continuously demonstrating dance steps for the last two hours, a few loose strands of hair had escaped her neat ponytail, and tiny sweat droplets had formed near her forehead despite the cold January morning.

Still, she patiently clapped twice and adjusted the formation again.

"Nahi Shiv, beta right side... RIGHT side..." she corrected gently before turning toward another girl. "Aur Diya smile karo thoda... patriotic dance hai, funeral nahi kisi ki..." (And Diya, smile a little... it is a patriotic dance, not someone's funeral...)

A few students giggled.
Preeti closed her eyes for one second.

God, give me patience.

Being a social science teacher was already exhausting enough. But every Republic Day and Independence Day, somehow the entire school management suddenly remembered she also knew dancing, anchoring, decoration, stage management, and apparently every other skill required to run a function.

And because she could never refuse anyone directly, she always ended up overworked.

"Okay listen everyone..." she clapped again, finally gathering their attention. "Ab panic nahi karna. Bilkul calmly perform karna. Stress lene ki koi zarurat nahi hai. Mujhe pata hai exams bhi chal rahe hain aur practice bhi karni pad rahi hai... but bas try karo ki hum presentable lage, okay?" (Now don't panic. Perform very calmly. There is no need to take stress. I know exams are also going on and you are having to practice as well... but just try that we look presentable, okay?)

The children nodded obediently this time.
"Good. Again from second line."

The patriotic remix started once more from the smart board on wall, and the children began dancing. This time slightly better than before.

Preeti folded her arms and watched carefully, mentally counting the mistakes.

Three students off beat. One forgot hand movement. Two nearly collided.
Manageable. Maybe..

Before she could stop them again, someone peeked inside the hall.

"Preeti ma'am!"

"Haan?" she turned immediately.

"Ma'am principal ma'am bula rahi hain." (Ma'am, principal ma'am is calling you.)

"Abhi?" (Right now?) she asked tiredly.

The girl nodded sympathetically. Preeti inhaled deeply.

Of course. Why not.

Turning back toward the students, she pointed at the screen. "Theek hai baccho, ye video dekho aur ek baar aur rehearse karo before function begins. Main bas five minutes mein aayi."
(Alright children, watch this video and rehearse one more time before the function begins. I will be back in just five minutes.)

"Okay ma'am!"

As she hurried out of the hall, the children instantly became louder.
The video playing on the screen was hers only, a recording she had made for her students. Choreographing a new dance on the potato of every national festival.

Desh Mera Rangila.

Not because Preeti was burdened as dance teacher but because she was a trained classical dancer who occasionally choreographed free style as well.

The corridor outside was buzzing with preparations. Junior class children ran carrying tiny flags bigger than their faces, two teachers argued over missing balloons, and somewhere downstairs someone tested the microphone loud enough to destroy ears.

"Hello... hello... one two three..."

The horrible screeching sound made Preeti wince.

She quickly walked toward the store room attached near the auditorium, but before she could even knock properly, the door suddenly opened and someone shoved a samosa directly near her mouth.

"Ritika.. what.."

"Chup chaap kha pehle," (Eat quietly first) Ritika, her bestfriend forever, ordered dramatically.

Before Preeti could protest, she literally dragged her inside the room and pushed her to sit on the table nearby. The room smelled strongly of fresh fried snacks.

"Ritika!" Preeti whispered in shock. "Koi dekh lega!" (Someone will see!)

"Toh dekhne de." (Then let them see.)

Ritika shut the door carelessly before crossing her arms. Unlike Preeti's constantly composed personality, Ritika was pure chaos wrapped inside a teacher's saree. Loud, dramatic, and completely unfiltered.

"Tere baap.." (Your father's...) she bit her teeth and then corrected herself, "I mean uncle ji ka school nahi hai ye jo tu mari ja rahi hai subah se," (I mean this is not uncle ji's school that you are killing yourself since morning,) she started. "Inka function hai, dekh lenge ye log. Tu baith." (It is their function, these people will manage. You sit.)

Preeti tried speaking while holding the half samosa awkwardly, chewing the rest, "Maine breakfast kar liya tha..." (I had breakfast...)

"Jhoot."

"...Chai pi thi." (...I had tea.)

"Exactly. Chai breakfast nahi hota meri Jaan." (Exactly. Tea is not breakfast, my dear.)

Ritika snatched another samosa from the box and sat beside her. "Subah se bhag rahi hai. Dance practice, decorations, attendance, costume checking... principal Sir na tujhe employee kam aur machine zyada samajh rakha hai.."
(You have been running since morning. Dance practice, decorations, attendance, costume checking... principal Sir considers you less of an employee and more of a machine.)

Preeti finally smiled softly.
That was the thing about Ritika. She could reduce even the most stressful situations into comedy within minutes.

"Ye garma garam samose bacchon ke liye aaye hain," (These hot samosas have come for the children,) Ritika continued shamelessly while eating one herself. "Aur hum bhi toh kisi ke bacche hain technically." (And we are also someone's children technically.)

"Arey!" Preeti stared at her. "Bacchon ke liye aaye hain toh tu kyun kha rahi hai?" (If they have come for the children then why are you eating them?)

"Abey chup kar. Bacche ye bacche wo..." (Oh just stop. This child that child...) Ritika waved dismissively. "Tu unki maa nahi ban gayi hai." (You have not become their mother.) she completed angrily.

Preeti shook her head helplessly. Honestly, sometimes she wondered how Ritika even became a teacher.

"Waise bhi," (Besides,) Ritika continued casually, "aise Independence Day aur Republic Day functions mein aadhe bacche aate hi nahi hain. Chill kar meri jaan."
(in these Independence Day and Republic Day functions half the children don't even come. Chill, my dear.)

"Tu na kisi din marwayegi mujhe," (You will get me killed one day,) Preeti muttered while finally eating the rest peacefully. The samosa was genuinely good.

And maybe because she actually had not eaten anything properly since morning, her body instantly relaxed after the first bite.

Outside, patriotic songs blasted through the loudspeaker again. Someone shouted for extension wires. Another teacher screamed for class eighth students. The school had officially entered disaster mode.

Preeti checked the time quickly and immediately stood up again after finishing only one samosa.

"Chal main jaati hoon. Mujhe principal Sir se milna hai aur chief guest ke liye gift bhi wrap karna hai." (Come on, I am going. I have to meet principal Sir and also wrap the gift for the chief guest.)

"Areyyyy," Ritika suddenly remembered something. "By the way, chief guest hai kaun?" (Who is the chief guest?)

Preeti adjusted her pallu absentmindedly before replying,

"IPS Shobhit Agrawal.."

Meanwhile, across the city.. A black government car slowly entered the gates of the central police station.

The gravel beneath the tires crunched sharply before the vehicle came to a smooth stop in the middle of the compound.

And immediately, the atmosphere shifted.

Constables casually standing near the entrance straightened within seconds. One officer who had been laughing loudly a moment ago instantly fell silent. Another quickly kept away the steel glass of tea from his hand and fixed his uniform properly.

"He reached..." someone said.

"Aaj hi Indore posting hui hai na sir ki?" (Sir got posted to Indore today only, right?) the other asked.

"Haan... subah landing aur seedha duty." (Yes... morning landing and straight to duty.) the third one added.

"First day pe hi station visit..." (Station visit on the very first day...) the fourth one completed. The whispers spread low but fast.

Nobody wanted to be caught looking careless in front of the new IPS officer. The rear door of the car finally opened.

Polished black shoes touched the ground first. Then he stepped out.

IPS Shobhit Agrawal.

Tall enough to stand out naturally in a crowd, with a solid build shaped by routine discipline instead of showmanship. His uniform looked perfectly pressed, every crease sharp, every badge placed with exact precision. The dark aviators resting over his eyes hid most of his expression, but the calmness in his face itself carried enough authority to make people alert around him.

Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Just composed in a way that automatically commanded seriousness..

He shut the car door himself instead of waiting for the driver and adjusted the cuff of his sleeve once before looking toward the station building ahead.

But then his eyes shifted slightly.
Near the entrance courtyard, the tricolour moved softly against the cold January wind.

For a brief moment, everything around him seemed to slow.
The murmurs faded.

Even the restless movements of the station staff unconsciously paused.

Shobhit removed his sunglasses calmly.
His posture straightened instantly.
Not for appearance. Not because anyone was watching.
But because respect had already become instinct for him long ago.

He stepped toward the flag with measured movements, the sound of his shoes against the ground echoing faintly through the quiet compound. And then, standing properly before the tricolour, he raised his hand in a clean salute.

Sharp.
Steady.
Unwavering.

The morning sunlight fell across his uniform while the flag moved proudly above him, and for those few seconds, not a single officer behind him dared move unnecessarily.

After a moment, he lowered his hand slowly, wore the sunglasses back again, and the officer returned instantly.
Focused.
Professional.
Controlled.

"Good morning, sir!"

The greetings followed immediately as he walked inside the station building.

"Morning," he replied briefly, his tone calm and even.

Yet somehow the simple word itself carried enough weight to make the entire station more disciplined within seconds.

A junior inspector hurried behind him carrying a stack of files nervously while another constable rushed ahead to inform the SHO that the new IPS officer had entered.

Inside the cabin, SHO Manish Singh stood up the second Shobhit walked in.
"Good morning, sir."

Shobhit removed his cap and placed it neatly over the table before taking the chair. "Morning. Sit."

But Singh barely relaxed even after sitting. The pressure inside the room remained intact.

"Pending files?" Shobhit asked directly.

The SHO immediately pushed a pile toward him. "Mostly local disputes, theft complaints, sir. Ek smuggling lead bhi aayi thi pichle month but investigation slow ho gayi..." (Mostly local disputes, theft complaints, sir. A smuggling lead also came last month but the investigation slowed down...)

Shobhit opened the first file silently.
The room fell quiet except for pages turning.

His way of working was unsettlingly calm. He did not speak unnecessarily. Did not shout to establish dominance. Did not try acting superior. He simply observed.

And noticed everything.
Fast.

"Witness statement incomplete hai." (The witness statement is incomplete.)

The SHO stiffened slightly. "Sir vo actually-"

"Medical report aur FIR timing match nahi kar rahi." (The medical report and FIR timing are not matching.)

Another page flipped.

"This complainant visited three times?"

"Yes sir..."

"And no proper update?"

"Sir workload-" (Sir, workload-)

"Workload aur negligence alag cheezein hoti hain, Singh ji." (Workload and negligence are different things, Rathore ji.)

His tone never rose.
Still, the sentence landed harder than yelling.

The SHO straightened immediately. "Yes sir."

Another file opened.
Another loophole identified within seconds.
Within barely twenty minutes, the station staff looked more nervous than they usually did under officers who screamed abuses every five minutes. Because men like Shobhit Agrawal were harder to read. The calm ones always were.

A knock interrupted the cabin.
"Come."

A constable entered carefully holding an envelope. "Sir, Republic Day function invitation."

The SHO quickly explained, "Nearby Sharda Vidyalaya se invitation hai sir. Chief guest ke liye."

Shobhit took the card casually and opened it. His eyes scanned the details briefly.

Flag Hoisting Ceremony, Cultural Program.

He checked the watch on his wrist once before leaning back slightly. "Distance?"

"Twenty minutes approximately, sir."

The SHO hesitated. "Sir agar aap busy ho toh hum.." (Sir if you are busy then we..)

"We'll go," Shobhit interrupted simply.

The SHO looked mildly surprised for a second before nodding immediately. "Ji sir."

"Security minimal rakhiye," (Keep security minimal,) Shobhit added while standing up again. "School function hai." (It is a school function.)

"Yes sir."

He picked up his cap smoothly and walked out of the cabin while officers automatically moved aside from his path.

Outside, the driver had already opened the car door again. Before entering, Shobhit looked once more toward the tricolour flying above the station building, the same steady calm resting in his eyes.

Then he entered the vehicle. The engine started smoothly.

Meanwhile, In the school Preeti had said his name casually busy adjusting her saree, but Ritika's eyes widened.

"THE Shobhit Agrawal?" she whispered like she had seen a celebrity.

Preeti blinked. "Kaunsa THE?"

"Arey wahi!" Ritika almost jumped. "2017 batch ke Upsc topper... strict IPS officer... crime branch... jinke interviews viral hote rehte hain..." (UPSC topper from 2017 batch... strict IPS officer... crime branch... whose interviews keep going viral...)

"Haan shayad," Preeti replied casually, completely unaware why her friend looked so shocked.

Ritika stared at her in disbelief. And then suddenly smirked.

"Oho..." Ritika dragged the words teasingly, her eyes narrowing mischievously. "Toh aaj hamari Preeti ma'am important logon se milengi..." (So today our Preeti ma'am will meet important people...)

"Pagal hai kya?" (Are you mad?) Preeti rolled her eyes instantly while folding the wrapping paper properly around the gift box. "Main bas bouquet dungi aur stage handle karungi." (I will just give the bouquet and handle the stage.)

"Tu bhi na Preeti..." (You also, Preeti...) Ritika sighed dramatically, hopping onto the table again. "Kabhi excited ho jaya kar. Teri un chand kitaabon mein duniya khatam nahi ho jaati." (Be excited sometimes. The world does not end in those few books of yours.)

Preeti laughed softly at that while tying the ribbon carefully. "Hmm... same tere liye bhi. Bas kitaabon ki jagah social media kar de." (Hmm... same for you too. Just replace books with social media.)

"Excuse me?" Ritika placed a hand over her chest in fake offense. "Social media is important information source."

"Haan haan reels university."

"Jealous mat ho." (Don't be jealous.)

Preeti shook her head helplessly, but then suddenly remembered something and looked at her friend seriously.

"Achha sun na Ritika, ek kaam tha." (Listen Reema, there was one thing.)

Ritika immediately straightened proudly. "Tere liye jaan de du. Tu bas bol ek baar." (I would give my life for you. Just say it once.)

"Nautanki," (Drama queen,) Preeti muttered before speaking, "mere bacchon ka dance ho jayega na uske baad unki dresses return kar aana. Mujhe thodi jaldi nikalna hai school se." (after my children's dance is done, return their costumes. I need to leave school a little early.)

Ritika's teasing expression dropped instantly. "Kyun? Ghar pe sab theek hai na?" (Why? Everything is fine at home, right?)

Preeti let out a long exhausted sigh and leaned against the table.

"Ghar wale hi peeche pade hain mere." (The family members themselves are after me.)

"Kis baat ke?" (About what?)

"Meri shaadi ke." (My marriage.)

Ritika gasped loudly. "WHAT?"

"Mummy ne na jaane kitne ladke dekh liye," (Mummy has seen god knows how many boys,) Preeti continued tiredly. "Aur finally unhe ek pasand aa gaya hai." (And finally she has liked one.)

For two seconds Ritika stared at her silently.
Then suddenly exploded.

"KYA BAAT HAI!" (How wonderful!) she almost screamed. "Matlab main maasi banne wali hoon.." (Meaning I am going to become an aunt..)

Preeti instantly hit her arm. "Pagal!"

"Mera matlab..." (I mean...) Ritika corrected herself dramatically while laughing, "teri shaadi hone wali hai! Waah meri jaan... main toh jhoom jhoom ke nachungi." (your wedding is going to happen! Wonderful my dear... I will dance with great joy.)

"Chup kar," Preeti muttered, unable to stop smiling. "Dono ki haan hogi tabhi rishta fix hoga na. Tu toh seedha bacchon tak pahunch gayi." (Both will have to say yes only then the match will be fixed. You directly reached children.)

"Achha theek hai," (Okay fine,) Ritika grinned shamelessly. "Par bata toh sahi... munda karta kya hai?" (But do tell... what does the guy do?)

Preeti shook her head lightly. "Mujhe kuch nahi pata. Mummy ne bas bola mil lo. Vo aaj hi Indore aaye hain... iske alawa honestly mujhe kuch nahi pata." (I don't know anything. Mummy just said go meet him. He has come to Indore today itself... apart from this honestly I know nothing.)

"Hawww. Matlab blind Date?"

"Blind date?" Preeti asked with confusion.

"Haan use vahin kehte hain.."

Before Ritika could continue the drama further, a student suddenly came running breathlessly toward them.

"Preeti ma'am!"

"Haan?"

"The chief guest arrived!"

Preeti's eyes widened instantly.
"Oh god!"

She looked down at the half-crushed wrapping paper in horror.

"Main toh gift bhi properly pack nahi kar payi!" (I could not even pack the gift properly!)

Without wasting another second, she looked toward Ritika,

"Tu jaa please, bacchon ko handle kar. Main bas five minutes mein aayi." (You go please, handle the children. I will be back in just five minutes.)

Ritika nodded immediately and hurried outside while Preeti quickly fixed the wrapping somehow, pressing the edges neatly before taking a deep breath.

Calm down.
Bas ek function hi toh hai.

Adjusting the pleats of her saree one last time, she tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear and stepped outside.

Meanwhile, near the school entrance, the black government car had already stopped.

The moment IPS Shobhit Agrawal stepped out, the students standing near the gate immediately started clapping excitedly. A few teachers straightened nervously while the management hurried forward to welcome him.

Shobhit acknowledged everyone with a small nod before removing his sunglasses calmly.

His presence carried the same composed authority even here. Crisp uniform. Sharp posture. Calm expression. Not intimidating deliberately, yet difficult to ignore.

The principal himself walked forward hurriedly with folded hands.

"Thank you so much for visiting us on such short notice, sir."

Shobhit looked at him briefly before replying in an even tone, "Baat short notice ki nahi hai. Maine bas socha agar mere aane se bacchon mein utsaah aata hai... toh wahi sahi." (It is not a matter of short notice. I simply thought if my coming brings enthusiasm among the children... then that itself is right.)

The principal smiled instantly. "That is very kind of you, sir."

Students standing nearby looked at him with visible admiration already. Some whispered excitedly among themselves seeing a real IPS officer up close for probably the first time.

As he walked further inside the campus, his eyes moved around quietly.

The school was beautifully decorated despite the visible chaos of preparations. Tricolour ribbons moved softly with the wind, patriotic songs played faintly somewhere in the background, and children dressed for performances ran around excitedly.

It felt... warm.

Different from police stations.
Different from meetings.
Different from the controlled harshness his routine usually carried.

"Sir this way please," the principal guided respectfully toward the flag area. Everyone stood on their seat, and the flag was hosted by Shobhit and just as the tricolour stood proudly the Nation Anthem began.
And then, a steady salute.

After that, the principal stepped ahead on the stage smiling.

"Now I request our respected chief guest IPS Shobhit Agrawal sir to light the ceremonial lamp."

A student quickly brought forward the diya setup decorated with flowers.
Shobhit stepped toward it calmly.

By the time Shobhit climbed the stage, Preeti had also arrived there with a group of students dressed in white and saffron costumes.

For the first time, their paths crossed.
Though neither properly noticed it yet.

Preeti stood near the microphone with the children gathered behind her before the Saraswati Vandana began softly across the auditorium. Her voice joined the students', calm and melodious enough to naturally quiet the restless crowd.

Shobhit stood near the ceremonial lamp while the prayer continued. And for the first time since entering the school, his attention shifted fully.

Toward her.
Simple cotton saree.
Minimal jewellery.
Soft voice. Singing naturally, calmly.
No artificial sophistication.
Yet somehow she carried a strange calmness around herself.

Shobhit lit the lamp and offered flowers, but Preeti's brows frowned slightly.
He still had his shoes on.

Her grip tightened faintly over the tray she was holding.
For a second, irritation crossed her face instantly.

Because for her, Saraswati Vandana and diya lighting were sacred rituals. Shoes near the ceremonial lamp felt disrespectful.

She looked at him once properly for the first time.

Tall.
Composed.
Apparently mannerless too.
But despite the annoyance rising inside her, she said nothing aloud.

Only watched silently as he lit the lamp moved toward his seat, completely unaware that the sweet-looking teacher beside him was already annoyed at their very first meeting.

After the ceremonial lamp was lit, the function finally began properly.

Ritika walked onto the stage with confidence, adjusting the mic once before smiling brightly at the audience.

"Good morning everyone..."

Usually, this part was handled by Preeti. The anchoring script, the flow of performances, even the order of announcements, everything had still been written by her only. But today she had purposely handed over the mic to Ritika because handling backstage arrangements and students together was already exhausting enough.

Behind the curtains near the side wing of the stage, Preeti remained busy managing children instead. Fixing dupattas, adjusting caps, calming nervous students, making sure nobody forgot props.

"Beta smile karna stage pe..."
"Arjun, drink some water first..."
"Arey tumhara badge ulta hai rukho..."

Meanwhile, one performance after another continued smoothly.

Patriotic speeches.
Poems.
Tiny children forgetting lines midway.
Parents clapping proudly even when performances went completely offbeat.
And surprisingly, The Shobhit Agrawal stayed through all of it.

Most chief guests usually left after flag hoisting and one formal speech. But he remained seated calmly, watching every performance with patience that visibly impressed the staff members.

Even the principal looked relieved.

By the time the dance performance approached, Preeti's nervousness had returned completely.
More than her own performances ever did.

She stood near the stage wings holding her hands tightly while the students prepared themselves in formation.

"Ma'am darr lag raha hai..." (Ma'am, I am feeling scared...) one little girl whispered.

Preeti immediately bent slightly toward her and fixed the child's dupatta gently.

"Kuch nahi hoga. Sab perfect hoga. Bas smile karna aur music enjoy karna. Okay?" (Nothing will happen. Everything will be perfect. Just smile and enjoy the music. Okay?)

The girl nodded slowly.
The patriotic remix finally started.
And the children walked onto the stage. The audience clapped loudly.

Preeti's heartbeat instantly increased.

God..please bas steps yaad rahe inhe.

Standing at the corner of the stage, she unconsciously began guiding their movements herself through expressions and hand gestures.

"Turn..."
"Smile..."
"Hands up..."

Every emotion on her face reflected alongside the children's performance. When they smiled, she smiled. When they forgot a beat, her own expression panicked for a second before correcting them silently from backstage.

And there, Shobhit noticed her again.
Her expression. Her hand gestures as if she was made for dance. The soft smile resting on her lips. The tiny black bindi decorating her forehead. The concern in her eyes every time one child slightly missed timing.

And strangely, that sincerity stood out more than the actual performance.

Most people performed duties. But Preeti Parmar actually cared.
That difference was visible.

Shobhit looked back at the children dancing confidently on stage now and for the first time that morning, a faint smile appeared on his face.

Because despite the chaos...

When the dance ended, the audience burst into applause while the students beamed proudly. Preeti instantly clapped for them from backstage like an excited child herself.

The children rushed toward her happily after exiting stage and immediately hugged their favourite Preeti Ma'am.
Preeti two hugged them back, kissing on their heads.

Shobhit quietly watched the scene from his seat.
Simple.
Warm.
Peaceful.

A few more performances and award distributions followed after that. Certificates were handed out, photographs clicked, students called repeatedly onto stage while teachers struggled to maintain discipline.

And throughout all of it, Shobhit stayed till the very end.

The staff members themselves looked surprised. And the appreciation continued around him constantly.

But somewhere nearby, Preeti still held onto one irritation in her heart.

As soon as the program ended and students dispersed, Ritika came running toward her excitedly.

"Yaar IPS Agrawal kaafi ache nikle honestly," (Friend, IPS Agrawal turned out to be quite good honestly,) she spoke dramatically. "Itne grounded... itne patient... pura function attend kiya." (So grounded... so patient... attended the entire function.)

Preeti instantly replied sharply while collecting props from a table nearby.

"Pooja karne se pehle joote toh nahi utare unhone. Kaahe ke bhale manush." (He did not even remove his shoes before the pooja. What kind of a good person.)

Reema blinked once.
Then almost laughed.

"Arey itti si baat? Tu bata deti." (Hey, such a small thing? You could have told him.)

"Chup kar," Preeti muttered. "Chief guest banke aaye the vo. Main kaise tok deti?" (He had come as the chief guest. How could I have stopped him?)

Honestly, that moment had bothered her more than it should have.
Not because she disliked him.
But because rituals mattered to her.
Respect mattered.

And in her head, disciplined people usually understood these things automatically.

But then shaking off his thoughts she spoke,

"Achha chal mujhe late ho raha hai," (Okay come on, I am getting late,) she hurriedly checked time on her phone. "11 baje tak pahuchna hai mujhe." (I have to reach by 11.)

Ritika narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

"Kahan?" (Where?)

Then suddenly gasped dramatically.

"ACCHA HAAN! Teri first blind date hai na!" (Oh yes! You have your first blind date, right!)

Preeti shook her head helplessly while picking up her bag.

"Theek hai meri maa, ab jaaun main?" (Alright my dear, may I go now?)

"Ja ja," Ritika grinned. "Best of luck."

Preeti only smiled faintly before finally walking toward the school parking area.

The winter sunlight had softened slightly by then.
Preeti unlocked her scooty absentmindedly and adjusted her saree once before wearing her helmet.

And that was when her eyes briefly fell toward the other side of the parking lot.

The black government car still stood there. Beside it, IPS Shobhit Agrawal was talking on phone calmly.

One hand rested inside his pocket while the other held the phone near his ear. His tone remained low and composed, not rising even slightly despite the traffic noise nearby.

"Ji maa... aap address bhej dijiye. Main pahunch jaunga."
(Yes maa... please send the address. I will reach there.)

Preeti looked away almost instantly, not interested enough to observe further.

But, the moment she started her scooty and drove out of the gate, Shobhit's eyes unconsciously followed her.

He watched until her scooty disappeared beyond the school road.

Then slowly lowered the phone. And got inside his car. Not knowing that his path will take him back to the girl who was irritated by his smallest action.

Not knowing that she might become his forever..