KKGvsLG

Par pata nahi kyun uske chehre se meri nazar hatt ti hi nahi hai..."

Well, I have mixed feelings about it post- watch and I am here to vent or rant, whatever is acceptable.

First, it is a good movie since I watched it in one go, which is kinda important in this era of reels & short attention span.

The acting was good though I think they underutilised Barun in the intense scenes. Loved Avinash Tiwari.

Now, for the ranting part, Dominic's issues and it's resolution went over my head, could not make out heads or tails of it. (Little help)

Second, the ending was too neat and bow tied to be believable.

Third, and most important discussion. What's with Barun's hairstyle? Also his story's resolution was literally unbelievable.

I don't know how in 2017, in their first real conversation they went to I love you's and marriage proposal, that too in Mumbai metropolitan.

I seriously thought he was going to ask her to be his girlfriend. Guys, go on a real date first. Kiss at least.

Arnav : B'coz of my hidden depth of feelings

Posted it as today is 6th June, the day it all began 15 years ago. Read & Enjoy !!

DATE WITH DESTINY

Khushi was sprinting, scratch that, trying to run in four-inch stiletto heels, every rhythmic, deafening clack-clack-clack against the concrete sending sharp stabs of agony piercing through her arches.

She cursed her relentless sense of duty.

Why did citizens insist on committing felonies directly in her line of sight? More vexing still, why was she physically incapable of turning a blind eye, even when off the clock?

She hated her stubborn conscience, she hated these designer weapons of footwear, and she especially and utterly hated Arnav Singh Raizada for orchestrating this wardrobe choice.

The cityscape transformed into a dizzying blur, its neon signage bleeding into the damp pavement.

The humid evening air hung thick, saturated with the acrid tang of exhaust fumes and the competing, spicy aroma of roasted street food.

Pedestrians scattered like startled birds as she tore past storefronts bathed in hues of electric blue and amber.

She had already alerted dispatch, identifying herself as an off-duty officer in active pursuit, barking out their coordinates and an urgent directive for backup.

Who even steals a purse in the age of digital currency? she wondered bitterly. What does he hope to scavenge? A stray lipstick and a dying power bank?

Khushi gained momentum, her jaw clamped tight as the distance between them evaporated.

Ahead, the thoroughfare choked with evening traffic, a stagnant sea of crimson brake lights bleeding into the dusk.

The thief cast a frantic look over his shoulder, his eyes fracturing with panic as he realized the furious woman was gaining ground.

Exploiting a shifting traffic signal, he surged forward with a desperate burst of adrenaline to evade her.

He never saw the obstacle. Just as he pivoted to clear a parked vehicle, he collided violently with the heavy, reinforced door of a matte-black SUV that had flung open without warning.

The impact resonated like a car crash. The thief spun through the air and collapsed flat on his back, the stolen handbag coiled around his arm like a mocking scarf.

Khushi closed the distance. The thief lay sprawled on the asphalt, his bravado instantly replaced by a dazed, guttural groan.

A localized crowd materialized, hovering in that awkward friction between offering aid to the fallen man and berating the negligent driver.

Retrieving her shield, Khushi flashed it authoritatively at the onlookers. "NYPD. Stand back."

The civic tension evaporated instantly.

The crowd, relieved of the burden of intervention, dissolved back into the city's nocturnal hum.

The thief, recovering his voice, yelled toward the driver's side, "You nearly killed me! Who opens a door with that much force?"

Khushi dismissed his theatrics. She hauled him upright by his collar with a fierce strength that defied her frame.

She was untangling the leather strap from his forearm when a patrol cruiser screech to a halt, its cherry-red and blue emergency lights dancing frantically against the brick facades.

Khushi briefed the responding officers with practiced efficiency.

"Off-duty pursuit. The victim is a female three blocks back. I yelled my precinct number to her, so she should be contacting the desk or en route there now," Khushi instructed, transferring custody of the suspect.

"But the vehicle!" the thief protested, gesturing wildly at the SUV. "That door was a public hazard!"

"Shut up," Khushi snapped, her eyes flashing dangerously. She turned to the patrol officers with a dismissive gesture.

"I will process the driver and document the vehicular involvement personally. Move him out."

The moment the squad car pulled away, Khushi acted without hesitation.

She lunged for the heavy door of the matte-black SUV, yanked it open, and slid into the plush, cavernous sanctuary of the leather interior.

The immediate, icy respiration of the air conditioning felt like a divine reprieve against her flushed, overheated skin. As the fabric unstuck from her sweaty body, even her sundress seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.

In the rear seat, enveloped in elegant shadow, Arnav Singh Raizada sat with one tailored leg crossed over the other.

His sharp profile cut a striking silhouette against the dark tinted window as his fingers tapped a final command into his phone.

He paused, slowly arching a single, dark eyebrow in silent, aristocratic inquiry.

Khushi let out a weary breath, offering a concise nod. "Yes. Let's just go."

Arnav leaned forward slightly, his low baritone cutting through the quiet. "Move out," he commanded.

As the vehicle glided seamlessly into the traffic, his gaze drifted back to her. "By the way, you can thank John for the timely intervention."

Khushi's eyes flashed with a momentary spark of annoyance, but she was never one to withhold credit where it was due.

Leaning forward, she offered a genuine, luminous smile to the front seat. "Thank you, John."

The driver flushed, catching her eye in the rearview mirror.

"No problem, Ma'am. I spotted the runner and you in hot pursuit. But truth be told, it was Sir's idea to swing the door open at that exact microsecond."

Khushi rolled her eyes, deliberately withholding any expression of gratitude towards Arnav.

He was, after all, the sole architect of her predicament.

If he hadn't insisted on escorting her to these aggressively opulent establishments, she would never have donned these four-inch instruments of torture, and would have neutralized the thief a full block ago.

The SUV eventually purred to a halt outside a remarkably posh restaurant nestled in a quieter, more exclusive enclave of the city.

Soft amber lights glowed behind frosted glass, and the faint, melancholic strain of a live violin drifted through the entrance.

Khushi stepped out on her own, her feet throbbing, but as Arnav rounded the hood, he paused and offered his arm with effortless gallantry.

She stared at his immaculate sleeve for a beat, then reluctantly looped her hand through his, feeling the steady warmth of his frame.

The maître d' required no introduction.

With a deferential bow, he escorted them through a dining room rich with the decadent aroma of truffles and clarified butter, leading them to a secluded, private alcove shielded behind intricate, engraved screen panels.

The table was bathed in the warm, flickering luminescence of a single crystal candleholder.

Once Arnav placed their orders and the staff vanished back into the shadows, the heavy silence between them finally dissolved.

"You know, Detective," Arnav began, his voice dropping into a smooth, intimate register.

He leaned forward, the candlelight catching the amber flecks in his dark eyes."We've been doing this for more than a quarter now. Why the cloak-and-dagger routine?

Why can't I pick you up in front of your apartment instead of lingering blocks away like a getaway driver?"

Khushi leaned back into the velvet booth, letting out a soft sigh as she kicked off the despised heels beneath the white tablecloth.

"Because I have nosy neighbors with nothing better to do than weave grand, domestic tapestries.

I don't need the whole block auditing my personal life. For now, I want to keep it... personal."

She paused, her expression softening into a tired but playful smile.

"Besides, look at the bright side. Your 'hazard' of a car door actually apprehended a criminal tonight."

Arnav remained quiet, his intense, unreadable gaze fixed entirely on her, absorbing her presence.

Amused by his lack of a sharp retort, Khushi crossed her arms.

"Though honestly, I don't know why that idiot even bothered. It was a tiny bag. I bet there wasn't more than a hundred bucks in it."

To her utter surprise, Arnav's lips quirked. A dry, rich laugh escaped him, a sound so rare and genuine it sent a sudden, warm flutter cascading through her chest.

"Detective, you may understand the penal code, but you clearly don't comprehend luxury. That thief wasn't after the currency inside."

"What then?"

"He stole the vessel itself," Arnav explained, his eyes glinting with quiet amusement as he held her gaze.

"It was a Birkin. In that pristine condition? On the black market, he could flip the leather alone for five thousand dollars before even checking for a wallet."

Khushi let out a short, dry laugh.

She wasn't ready to concede full satisfaction just yet, but the lingering warmth in the air was undeniable.

Dinner unfolded with a surprising, fluid rhythm. Under the dim, romantic lighting, the fortress walls they usually maintained began to thin.

Between bites of exquisite cuisine, Arnav found himself uncharacteristically candid, venting about the latest corporate fires he was extinguishing.

Khushi, captivated by this rare vulnerability, spoke of her own world - the psychological weight of her badge, the intricate puzzles she had solved, and the haunting cases that still kept her awake in the quiet hours of the night.

As the dessert plates were cleared, the mood shifted, growing heavier, more intimate.

"Aakash isn't the same man anymore," Arnav said softly, his voice dropping an octave as he watched her across the flickering candle.

"He's buried himself in work for the last six months. It's the only sanctuary he has left."

Khushi took the comment with a grain of salt. She knew Aakash had held a private memorial for the unborn baby he had lost after the investigation closed, but when it came to her sister, Khushi's heart remained an impenetrable fortress.

"Work doesn't erase choices, Arnav," she replied quietly, her gaze unflinching and steady against his. "In some matters, there is simply no middle ground."

The subsequent drive to Lavanya's was wrapped in a quiet stillness, the muted hum of the engine filling the heavy space between them.

As the city lights blurred past the tinted windows, the atmosphere inside the SUV shifted, thickening into something profoundly intimate and charged with a restless, magnetic tension.

Khushi turned slightly in her leather seat. The fierce, untouchable detective she usually presented to the world had vanished, replaced by a rare, flickering hesitation.

"Arnav?" she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

He turned his head. The rhythmic flash of passing streetlights danced across his face, sharpening the high, rugged angles of his jawline.

His dark eyes locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath hitch. He didn't pull away, instead, he shifted closer, his intoxicating scent, a sophisticated blend of rich cedarwood, clean rain, and crisp steel, completely enveloping her senses.

"Are you... actually okay with this?" she asked, her fingers nervously tracing the seam of her dress.

"Attending Lavanya's baby-naming ceremony?"

"I'm going because you asked," Arnav said. His voice was a low, gravelly caress that sent an immediate, delicious shiver straight down her spine.

He held her gaze, refusing to grant her an escape route. "And because wherever you are is exactly where I want to be. Does that answer your question, Detective?"

Before the sheer weight of the emotion could overwhelm her, a devastatingly handsome smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

He let his eyes trail lazily, appreciatively over her attire. "Though, I do hope to see you in something other than those dismal black and grey shades. I'm honestly beginning to suspect you own a hundred identical versions of the exact same uniform."

Khushi rolled her eyes, but a vibrant spark of mischief danced in her gaze.

"It's a traditional Hindu ceremony, Mr. Raizada. Of course I'll be wearing vibrant, ethnic attire."

She leaned in just an inch closer, lowering her voice to a playful, tantalizing purr. "And... if you actually manage to behave yourself and arrive on time, there might just be a surprise in it for you."

Arnav's dark eyes darkened further, a dangerous, predatory glint appearing in them. "A surprise? What kind of surprise?"

"You'll just have to attend the ceremony to decipher that," she countered softly, her lips curving into a captivating smile.

The playful banter faded, leaving behind a profound, quiet warmth.

Khushi's gaze softened as she looked at him, the glow of the dashboard illuminating the genuine affection in her eyes.

She rested her head against the contour of his shoulder, her fingers gently encircling the firm breadth of his bicep.

Sensing her movement, Arnav subtly shifted his posture to accommodate her, seamlessly expanding his embrace to offer her a sanctuary of perfect repose.

"By the way... Lavanya showed me the gorgeous outfits you sent over for the baby and the parents. They absolutely adored them. Thank you, Arnav."

"It was my pleasure," Arnav replied. The teasing edge vanished entirely from his voice, replaced by a raw, striking sincerity that caught her off guard.

He reached out, his knuckles brushing over her cheek, sending a sudden jolt of heat through her skin.

"I remember seeing you at the hospital. I saw you crying while you held that sweet baby girl. I know how much this family means to you. And whatever is important to you... well, it automatically becomes important to me."

A sudden prickle of emotion hit the back of her throat.

To hide how deeply his words had moved her, she cleared her throat and blinked rapidly.

"Well, you should know that I'm actually going to be the official godmother."

Arnav arched a single, dark brow, his thumb lightly stroking her wrist in an intoxicating rhythm. "And the godfather?"

"They haven't selected anyone yet," Khushi said, a bold challenge sparking in her eyes as she leaned back slightly.

"Why? Are you throwing your hat into the ring? Offering your services?"

Arnav didn't answer with words. He merely offered a casual, non-committal shrug, his expression freezing into a mask of pure indifference.

But Khushi saw right through it.

She knew him too well now, she knew he would accept that title in a heartbeat if it meant anchoring himself firmly into her personal world.

A brilliant, radiant smile broke across her face, beautiful enough to momentarily dim the neon glare of the city outside.

The SUV glided to a smooth stop at the curb. The heavy bubble of tension reached its peak. Instead of reaching for the door handle, Khushi leaned across.

Her soft hair brushed against his shoulder, releasing a faint scent of rose into his space.

She closed the distance between them, pressing her lips against his in a soft, lingering kiss that tasted of unspoken promises and deep, underlying desire.

She pulled back just enough to look into his dazed, darkened eyes. "Don't you dare be late," she ordered softly, her voice a sweet command.

"Goodbye, Arnav."

With that, she slipped out into the humid night air. Arnav sat still in the sudden, echoing silence of the car, his eyes tracking her every step as she walked toward the brightly lit entrance.

He refused to signal the driver to move, his protective gaze locked onto her figure until the heavy front door swung open.

NK's familiar, cheerful face appeared in the doorway, waving her inside.

Only when she was safely across the threshold did Arnav finally exhale a long, ragged breath.

He leaned back against the leather headrest, the ghost of her lips and the lingering warmth of her touch still burning against his skin like a beautifully permanent mark.

Arnav Singh Raizada was a man constructed upon the unyielding steel pillars of ambition and iron-clad control.

Yet, in Khushi's quiet proximity, he had unearthed a hidden reservoir of patience, a profound, tranquil space he hadn't known existed within his own guarded psyche.

He had willingly placed the reins of their fragile, blossoming bond entirely in her hands, letting her dictate a rhythm that never felt like a predatory pursuit, but rather a slow, aching homecoming.

The month following the brutal conclusion of the harrowing investigation had been an agonizing vacuum.

They had maintained a disciplined silence, yet he had watched over her from the periphery.

It was a vigilance born not out of obsession, but out of a fierce, protective necessity to ensure she wasn't fracturing beneath the crushing weight of her badge.

Their orbits finally collided at a high-profile police charity gala.

When the Mayor introduced him to the "youngest female Major Crimes detective in the city," Arnav hadn't blinked.

She had stood before him, draped divinely in a one-shoulder, wine-coloured gown that had transformed her into an untouchable goddess.

"Detective," he'd murmured, his voice dropping to a low register as his dark eyes had locked onto hers with an intensity that had made the crowded ballroom dissolve into thin air.

"I believe you owe me a dance for my cooperation during your investigation."

Under the shimmering crystal chandeliers, as they had swayed to a slow, haunting melody, Arnav's hands had splayed flat against the bare skin of her back.

The sudden warmth of his touch had sent a violent rush of goosebumps cascading over her skin.

Khushi had leaned in, her warm breath trembling against the lapel of his jacket.

"Slow," she had whispered against his shoulder - a desperate plea and a fierce warning wrapped into one. "We go at my pace, Arnav."

"Your pace," he had promised, his grip tightening almost imperceptibly on her waist, drawing her into his steady warmth. "Hamesha....Always."

The month that followed were a grueling, agonizing test of that vow.

They became a chaotic cycle of canceled dates, cold coffee, and lukewarm takeout, the inevitable casualties of her sudden crime scenes and his midnight boardroom crises.

Eventually, Arnav had stepped in, carving out "them" time with the same ruthless, unyielding precision he used to dismantle hostile corporate takeovers.

His family, however, remained a complex minefield.

While Shyam, ever the calculating professional, understood the cold mechanics of the investigation that had led to his own brief legal entanglement, Anjali still remained bitterly cold.

She was entirely unable to reconcile the ruthless detective who had upended their lives with the woman her brother was now falling for.

Nani, conversely, recognized the undeniable metamorphosis in Arnav. She saw the way his sharp edges had softened, and she championed the relationship simply because her grandson was finally breathing.

Through it all, Aman worked tirelessly in the shadows, keeping the predatory tabloids at bay.

For the first time in his life, Arnav completely tuned out the noise. He grew indifferent to the venomous whispers in the corporate offices or the suffocating tension at the family dinner table.

He began delegating his massive workload, shifting responsibilities between his uncle and Aakash.

Through an act of sheer benevolence and miraculous serendipity, Arnav went so far as to authorize Aman to retain a personal assistant.

This mandate allegedly induced such euphoria that Aman resorted to dancing in his office once again.

Arnav was finally living for himself, meticulously building a sacred space that belonged solely to him and Khushi.

But the true emotional shift - the precise moment their foundation had turned from fragile glass to unbreakable stone had transpired two months ago.

Khushi had called him at 3:00 AM. Her voice had been trembling over the line, fractured in a way he had never heard before.

Lavanya was in the middle of a traumatic, high-risk delivery, and the fiercely independent detective was completely falling apart in the dark.

Arnav had stayed on the phone with her during his frantic drive to the hospital, his calm, steady voice serving as her lifeline.

He had appeared in the sterile waiting room with coffee she was too nauseous to drink, offering a broad, unshakeable shoulder she so desperately required.

That night, the defensive layers she wore like armor were completely stripped away.

Clinging to his jacket, she had bared her soul, explaining how Lavanya was the anchor that had kept her from drifting out to sea after the death of her parents and Payal's mom, the only family Khushi had truly chosen for herself.

In that cold, fluorescent-lit hospital hallway, as she wept softly against his chest, he had ceased to be the powerful billionaire she was merely dating. He became her person.

He became the solitary anchor she reached for when the world felt too heavy to carry.

Looking down at her tangled hair, Arnav knew, with a terrifying, absolute certainty, that he would spend the rest of his life making sure she never had to shoulder that weight alone again.

NEXT DAY

The next sunrise arrived with a magnificent, golden dawn that felt entirely too early for Khushi's exhausted frame.

Yet, the vibrant adrenaline of the occasion surged through her, instantly chasing away the lingering fatigue. She hurried down to the sprawling backyard, which had been transformed into a breathtaking sanctuary.

Thick marigold garlands draped from the mature oak trees like ribbons of liquid fire, their spicy-sweet scent mingling beautifully with the earthy, spiritual aroma of burning incense and sandalwood paste rising from a copper brazier.

Though Lavanya's parents had long distanced themselves from their traditional roots, the rich customs were being kept alive with fierce devotion by NK's mother.

She moved through the morning light with practiced grace, assisting the Panditji.

In a humorous, modern twist of fate, the priest was actually the family's high-profile corporate lawyer moonlighting as pandit for his close-knit circle.

Khushi spotted NK's father, looking exceptionally regal in a crisp, raw-silk kurta-pajama.

"You look like you were born for that attire, Uncle," she teased, offering a warm, respectful namaste.

"I might just make it my new office wear," he joked back with a booming laugh, adjusting the heavy silk stole over his shoulder.

"I have had enough practice wearing it in the last thirty-five years!"

Finding the outdoor preparations running smoothly, Khushi turned and headed back inside, nearly colliding with Payal at the threshold.

The sisters, both draped in exquisite, flowing sarees that perfectly highlighted their contrasting beauty, exchanged a knowing, radiant smile before heading up to Lavanya's suite.

They found Lavanya wrapped in a quiet, serene moment, tenderly cradling her newborn daughter for a final feeding before the festive chaos truly began.

"Does this little angel have an official name yet?" Payal whispered, leaning in closer to peer at the baby's soft face.

Lavanya flashed a secretive, triumphant smirk. "It is strictly under wraps until Panditji asks! You'll just have to wait like everyone else. Anyway, drop that - Khushi told me you were on a date last night!"

"Yes," Payal replied, her cheeks flushing a light pink. "I met him through a mutual friend."

Lavanya gasped, leaning in. "First date?"

"Actually, it's been a month since we started seeing each other," Payal admitted.

"What?!" Lavanya threw her hands up in mock offense. "You sisters tell me absolutely nothing nowadays! But wait, if it's been a month, why didn't you invite him to the function today?"

Payal laughed, shaking her head. "Because his name is Brian, and I didn't want to give the poor man a cultural heart attack.

Seeing this much pink, marigold orange, and shiny zari embroidery all at once would have permanently blinded him."

The girls burst into giggles, completely agreeing.

Their Indian upbringing had hardwired them to love explosive festive colours, only Khushi was usually the odd one out, preferring to steer clear of the rainbow whenever she could.

Khushi carefully took the slumbering infant into her arms, her chest tightening with an overwhelming warmth as tiny, velvety fingers brushed blindly against her cheek. "Go get ready, La. The stage is set for your princess."

The ceremony was in full swing an hour later. The backyard was alive with energy, the rhythmic, hypnotic chanting of Sanskrit mantras filling the warm afternoon air. NK and Lavanya were sitting beside each other with the baby in lap, following the rituals.

Suddenly, the sacred ambience was pierced by the baby's sharp, startled wail.

Seated in the absolute center of the puja, a flustered Lavanya instinctively reached out and handed the crying child to Khushi, who was standing just off to the side.

At that exact, breathless moment, Arnav Singh Raizada stepped into the backyard.

He froze. The chaotic world around him slowed to an agonizing crawl.

The ringing prayer bells and the heavy drone of the mantras faded into a distant, muffled hum, leaving absolutely nothing but the mesmerizing vision before his eyes.

Khushi was draped in a striking crimson saree the color of a passionate flame, her dark hair cascading down her shoulders in rich, silken waves.

The baby was gently tugging at a loose strand, and Khushi was swaying softly, a tender, maternal melody vibrating deep in her throat as she calmed the child.

She looked like an ancient goddess of the hearth - ethereal, untouchable, yet profoundly grounded.

Arnav felt a physical, aching tightness seize his chest.

It was a sudden, fierce longing for a domestic future he had never once dared to script for himself, anchored entirely by the woman standing before him.

A loud, resonant chime of the prayer bell snapped him back to reality.

Khushi looked up across the crowded garden, her eyes instantly locking onto his intense, unblinking gaze.

She flushed deeply, the rich red of her saree mirroring perfectly in the roses of her cheeks.

She subtly beckoned him over with a tilt of her head.

"You're late," she whispered breathlessly as he reached her side, though her eyes danced with an undeniable, liquid warmth.

Arnav looked down at her, his voice low, gravelly, and loaded with a heavy, unspoken promise.

"I know...Sorry, thoda late ho gaya, par aana to tha hi, tumhare paas, hamesha (Sorry, I was delayed but I will always come back to you.)"

The intense spell between them broke slightly as she introduced him to the hosts.

Arnav was genuinely surprised to find a highly familiar face in NK's father, a prominent textile mogul he'd done cutthroat business with for years.

"Now!" Panditji announced, his voice booming across the courtyard.

"The mother will whisper the chosen name into the child's ear, and then declare it aloud for the world."

Lavanya leaned down over the infant, then straightened, her emotional eyes locking directly onto Khushi's face.

"Her name is Harsha Cecelia Matthews."

Khushi gasped, a trembling hand flying to her mouth. Harsha. It meant 'Full of Joy', a direct, beautiful synonym for her own name.

The sheer weight of the gesture, and the staggering depth of Lavanya's love, hit her like a physical wave.

Tears of overwhelming gratitude blurred her vision.

Without a single word, Arnav stepped closer.

His broad, powerful frame effectively shielded her from the curious eyes of the surrounding guests.

He smoothly pressed a folded, crisp linen handkerchief into her trembling palm.

His long fingers lingered against hers for a second too long, sending a jolt of electricity through her skin, his voice a low, intimate vibration near her ear.

"It suits her perfectly."

Following the emotional ceremony, the crowd migrated to another section of the shaded lawn where an elaborate, gourmet brunch buffet had been laid out under the canopy of old trees.

The energy shifted into something light, celebratory, and filled with laughter.

Arnav remained securely at her elbow, his steady, possessive presence acting as a grounding force.

A short distance away, NK leaned his tall frame against a mahogany pillar, quietly watching Arnav's restless, dark eyes scan the backyard.

The bitter friction that had once defined their interactions had long since softened into a steady, mutual camaraderie, ever since Arnav had learned the true depth of NK's history with Khushi.

NK wasn't just the official partner, he was the man who had married Khushi's best friend, and the seasoned officer who had mentored her from an eager recruit into a formidable detective.

He was the closest thing she had to a guardian.

"Stop burning a hole in my garden with your eyes, Raizada," NK teased, approaching Arnav, his voice low, dry, and entirely knowing.

"You know, because you were late, we all have to wait until the very end of the afternoon to watch the performance."

"What performance?" Arnav asked, his brow furrowing instantly.

NK smirked, crossing his arms. "Didn't she tell you? There is to be a traditional dance performance by the godmother herself."

"She only told me there was a surprise," Arnav's jaw tightened, a sudden pang of regret hitting his chest.

"I thought her showing up in a colorful saree was the surprise. I got tied up at the office with a crisis. Is she... is she not performing now?"

"Oh, she's performing," NK said, a wry grin playing on his lips.

"But she's making all of us sweat for it. She was scheduled to go on at the very beginning, but since you weren't here, she completely postponed it. She refused to start without you."

Arnav felt a profound wave of emotion tighten his throat. "I am sorry. The delay was completely unavoidable."

"Don't worry about it. Duty calls," NK said, his face turning serious as he looked at the relief washing over the billionaire.

He took a step closer, his voice dropping into a dangerous, quiet register.

"Listen, Raizada. I approve of you. I think you're exactly what she needs.

But keep this in mind: in my past life, I was trained for elite special forces.

If you ever break her heart, I know forty-seven distinct ways to kill a man using nothing but a standard office paperclip."

Arnav met his severe gaze unflinchingly, the immense gravity of a silent, lifetime promise passing between the two men.

"You have my word. If she lets me, I will spend every day making sure she is happy."

They watched as Khushi emerged from the house, carefully placing a sleeping Harsha back into Lavanya's lap.

Just as Khushi began to settle onto an outdoor sofa next to them, her phone vibrated violently against the dark wood of the patio table.

The harsh, jarring sound instantly cut through the bright chatter of the party.

The digital screen flashed with her Captain's name.

In an instant, the soft, maternal warmth in Khushi's eyes vanished. It was replaced entirely by the cool, steel-edged focus of an investigator.

"Detective Gupta," she answered. Her voice snapped into a crisp, sharp professional clip that left absolutely no room for personal life.

Lavanya caught Arnav's eye from across the lawn, a wry, highly knowing smile playing on her lips.

It was a silent warning, a definitive 'welcome to her world' look.

It made one thing beautifully and terrifyingly clear: being with Khushi meant loving a woman who belonged to a job that never truly clocked out.

Arnav watched her with a mixture of intense pride, noticing the immediate way her posture straightened and her jaw set like stone as she listened to the urgent voice on the other end of the line.

"A celebrity? Missing from his own secured home?" Khushi's voice was sharp now, cutting cleanly through the ambient party noise.

She didn't look back at the beautiful decorations or the brunch, her brilliant mind was already blocks away, dissecting a new crime scene.

Most of the story has been already updated in Wattpad. Would love if, you all would read it and give your reviews.

With the 15th Anniversary of IPKKND coming, I thought I would share it with you guys. Below is the Link. 💕💕