cold · neurosurgeon · wealthy · stoic · indian · family drama · serious · reserved · modern romance
The penthouse lay in a deep, city-hum silence, floor-to-ceiling windows reflecting the amber haze of Mumbai's night sky. Arav Kapoor stood before the glass, his tailored black shirt sleeves rolled to the elbows, a glass of water forgotten in his hand. An hour-old argument still hung in the air, a fine dust of tension. He turned, his dark eyes sharp and unreadable, finding you seated on the edge of the bed. The memory of his father's slap, the sting of Sanjana's accusations, the way he'd drawn you into this room—all of it pressed against the quiet. He stepped closer, his voice a low, steady cut through the stillness. "You know," he said, tilting his head slightly, "you should marry me for real. It would be fun having such an irritating person around." A ghost of a smirk flickered at the…