Paris.

The city of lights glowed under a velvet sky, every corner bathed in golden elegance and whispered charm. The Seine shimmered like liquid stardust, gently reflecting the sparkle of a thousand dreams, while the Eiffel Tower stood tall in the distance—watching, timeless and proud.

Tucked in the heart of this dazzling city stood Hôtel Étoile de Minuit—a name that translated to Midnight Star Hotel. A place reserved for royalty, billionaires, and the kind of people whose champagne glasses never ran dry. Crystals dripped from chandeliers like frozen rain, and walls were painted in soft gold, kissed by candlelight. Every corner breathed wealth, every breath hummed power.

Inside, laughter mingled with violins, and conversations swirled like expensive perfume. Men in tailored tuxedos and women wrapped in designer silks sipped on vintage wine as if the world outside didn't exist.

And then... silence.

All eyes turned.

She sat on a high-back velvet chair, legs crossed with effortless confidence, her presence louder than any orchestra.

Avantika Shekhawat. Ava.

Her dress? A deep midnight blue mini skirt paired with a shimmering silver off-shoulder top that hugged her curves like it was made just for her. Delicate rhinestones glittered across her neckline like stars scattered across skin. Her long, wavy hair cascaded down her back in soft chocolate-brown waves, with a few loose strands teasing her collarbone.

Her makeup was nothing short of art—softly winged liner, warm champagne eyeshadow, and lips the color of ripe cherries. Her heels sparkled with every movement—strappy stilettos, sky-high, silver, and unapologetically bold.

She didn't need a spotlight.
She was the spotlight.

And as her fingers wrapped around the mic, her voice floated like velvet over the room... soft, soulful, and sinfully beautiful.

Yeh nazar bhi ajeeb thi,

Isne dekhe the manzar sabhi,

Dekh ke tujhe ik dafa,

Phir kisi ko na dekha kabhi...

Her voice was like honey melting over fire—warm, slow, and heartbreakingly tender.

The room, once filled with soft murmurs and clinking glasses, now sat frozen—caught in the spell of her words. Some smiled. Some blinked away tears. Most just stared, mesmerized. Because when Ava sang, the world didn't just listen—it felt.

She closed her eyes gently, her fingers gripping the mic a little tighter as the next song melted from her lips like a promise.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

Time paused.
And in that fleeting silence before the music swelled again,
someone watched her.

Hidden behind the shadows, in a perfectly tailored black suit, mask covering half his face—his eyes burned with something unspoken.

Not lust.
Not admiration.
Recognition.

As if his soul remembered hers.

But the night wasn't done writing stories yet.

"Mera pehle junoon..."

Her voice trembled ever so slightly, but the passion in it only grew bolder.

"Tu mera pehla junoon..."

The lyrics fell from her lips like silk, like truth.

"Ishq aakhiri hai tu..."

Every word poured from her like she'd lived them... loved them.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

And just then, the lights shifted—just enough to catch him.

Leaning against a pillar at the far end of the hall, away from the crowd yet somehow impossible to miss... stood a man. He wasn't in a tux like the rest. No. He wore a plain black t-shirt, rolled slightly at the sleeves to reveal strong, veined arms. Faded blue jeans, effortlessly casual. A rugged leather jacket, worn like a second skin. And on his face—a sleek black mask, covering from his nose down, mysterious and cold.

But his eyes...

Emerald green, sharp and untamed. They glowed beneath the golden chandelier like wildfire trapped in glass. They didn't blink. Didn't flinch.

They were fixed on her.

As if his soul knew her voice before his ears ever heard it.

"Gham hai ya khushi hai tu..."

Her voice dropped to a whisper, tender and haunting, the kind that crept under your skin and stayed there.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

Her hands gently clutched the mic stand as if grounding herself, but her body swayed slightly with the music—eyes closed, lashes brushing her cheeks, lost in the world she was painting with every note.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

The soft breeze from the open terrace door tousled her hair, sending chestnut waves dancing across her bare shoulders, catching the stage light like strands of gold.

"Kabhi na bichhadne ke vaaste hi..."

Her voice cracked slightly with emotion, raw and real, and everyone in the room could feel it—that invisible string pulling from her heart to something... someone.

"Tujhse jude hai haath mere..."

And from the shadows, his green eyes burned brighter.

"Kabhi na bichhadne ke vaaste hi..."

"Tujhse jude hai haath mere..."

His hands clenched at his sides, jaw tight beneath the mask.

He didn't believe in fate.
He didn't believe in soulmates.
But right now?
Watching her?
He believed in her.

"Saaya bhi mera, jahaan saath chhode..."

Her voice was a river of silk and ache, cascading through every corner of the grand hall.

"Wahaan bhi tu rehna saath mere hi..."

She sang with her whole soul—eyes still closed, unaware of the storm brewing in a pair of emerald eyes just across the room.

"Sach kahun tere naam pe..."

Glasses clinked softly as guests took slow sips of their vintage wine, completely enthralled. Conversations had long faded. Even the string quartet in the corner had forgotten to breathe.

"Dil dhadakta hai aaj bhi..."

A woman in a red gown dabbed a tear discreetly. A businessman seated at the front leaned forward unconsciously, lips parted in awe. Lovers held hands. Strangers turned emotional.

But only one man didn't blink.

"Dekh ke tujhe ik dafa..."

He didn't sip his drink. Didn't shift his weight. He simply stood there, as if the world would crumble if he looked away.

"Phir kisi ko na dekha kabhi..."

And in that exact moment—her eyes opened.

Warm, liquid brown eyes met dangerous, unreadable green.

And time dared to hold its breath.

"Shaam hai sukoon ki..."

Her voice dipped low, sultry, velvet in the quiet hum of the grand hall.

"Tu shaam hai sukoon ki..."

A hint of a smile tugged at her lips—soft and sad—as her gaze swept across the audience. But it paused... on him.

His green eyes.

Still locked on her like a silent promise.
Unmoving. Unblinking.
Haunted. Intense. Unapologetically captivated.

"Chain ki ghadi hai tu..."

He didn't smile.
He didn't blink.
But something about the way his chest rose and fell—slow and heavy—gave away the battle in his heart.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

Every word seemed to be for him, as if her heart finally recognized the stranger fate kept trying to write into her story.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

Even the waiters had frozen, trays in hand. Time had lost all sense of direction.

"Haal aisa hai mera..."

Her lashes fluttered, breath shallow.

"Aaj bhi ishq tera..."

She didn't look away now. Couldn't.

"Raat saari jagaaye mujhe..."

And something in his jaw twitched. A memory, maybe. A regret.

She sang, he listened.
But beneath that beautiful music, a storm brewed between two souls... who had no idea how deeply fate had already bound them.

"Koi mere siwa jo..."
Her voice quivered with restrained fire,
"Paas aaye tere to..."
A touch of possessiveness laced her tone, like a secret only hearts could decode.

"Bekaraari sataaye mujhe..."
The words spilled like confessions.
"Jalta hai yeh dil mera..."
A fire kindled in her chest—and in his.

He gripped the edge of his glass tighter, those green eyes never leaving her.
The mask hid his clenched jaw, but not the emotion burning behind his gaze.

"Oh yaara jitni dafa..."
"Chaand dekhti hai tu..."
A hush fell over the room.

People forgot their drinks. Their dates. Their thoughts.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."
"Meri zindagi hai tu..."
"Gham hai ya khushi hai tu..."

Her voice rose now—full, fearless, feral with longing.

"Meri zindagi hai tu..."
"Meri zindagi hai tu..."
"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

And finally—

"Ooooo..."

Her final note floated through the air like a prayer wrapped in heartbreak.
High. Clear. Piercing.

And every single person in that luxurious Parisian ballroom... held their breath.

Eyes widened. Mouths parted.

No one clapped yet.

Because it wasn't just a song.

It was a moment.
It was hers.
And unknowingly...
It had just become his, too.

The room erupted into applause.

People stood up one after another, a standing ovation sweeping through the hall like a wave.

Some whistled, some cheered, and some just stood still—completely shaken by the emotion she poured into the melody.

Ava smiled softly, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear.
Then she leaned toward the mic, voice warm yet teasing—

"Hope you all liked it..."

A roar of cheers answered her.
Claps. Laughter. Adoration. Love.
Someone even shouted, "Encore, Ava!"

As she stepped down from the little platform, a man approached—dressed in an expensive beige suit with a crisp white shirt, his dark hair styled back neatly. His accent was French, his smile smooth.

"Bonsoir, Ava..." he said with a flirtatious grin, "You sang... exquisitely. Truly, magnifique."

Ava flashed him a polite nod. "Thank you."

"But I must ask," he continued, stepping a little closer, "Would you honor me with a dinner date tonight?"

Her brown eyes blinked slowly.

She tilted her head.

And then with the sweetest, most dangerous smile, she replied—in pure Hindi:

"Ek kaan ke neeche jhapad pada na... dharti chaat'ta nazar aayega. Jhingoor kahin ka."

The Parisian blinked, confused. "I... beg your pardon?"

From across the room, hidden beneath shadows and a black designer mask, a man let out a quiet smirk.

His green eyes glinted with amusement.
Not just because of her sharp tongue...
But because she didn't fake politeness.
She burned exactly how she sang—fearlessly.

And he liked fire.

Even if he knew fire could destroy.

The laughter and chatter inside faded as the masked man slipped away silently, glass in hand. He moved through the velvet-draped corridors of the hotel, his polished shoes making no sound.

He stepped onto the terrace, greeted by the soft hum of the Parisian night.

Above, the sky stretched wide and ink-dark—scattered with stars.
In the distance, the Eiffel Tower shimmered, drenched in golden lights, casting a romantic glow across the city like poetry written in steel and sparkle.

The wind played with the collar of his jacket, and he leaned forward against the railing, exhaling slowly.

And then, softly...
Without even realizing it—
He hummed.

"Mera pehla junoon..."
"Ishq aakhiri hai tu..."
"Meri zindagi hai tu..."
"Gham hai ya khushi hai tu..."
"Meri zindagi hai tu..."

His voice—deep, roughened with something that sounded like heartbreak—floated into the night, low and haunting.

Just as he closed his eyes, lost in the melody that wasn't supposed to touch his heart...
A light tap on his shoulder pulled him back.

He turned, slowly.

And there she was.

Ava.

Her curls framed her face like moonlit waves. Her lips slightly parted. A little breathless—maybe from following him, or maybe from something else she couldn't name.

Their eyes locked.

His green ones—reflecting the city lights and secrets he never told.

She smiled softly. "Nice voice..."

He tilted his head slightly, still not removing the mask, his tone rich, yet unreadable—

"Thanks."

Even behind that mask... his voice did things.

To her chest. To the moment. To the silence between them.

And for the first time that night, it wasn't the crowd... or the lights... or even the music that made her heartbeat skip.

It was him

She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the Paris wind brushing her bare shoulders as she looked at him curiously.

"Are you... Indian?" she asked, one brow arched.

He gave a small nod, his gaze still steady on her, unbothered by the question but not ready to offer more.

She extended her hand with a warm, playful smile.
"Hi, I'm Ava."

A pause.

He didn't take her hand.
Instead, his voice—low and rough like velvet over gravel—spoke from behind the mask.

"Sorry... I can't tell you my name."

She blinked. "Ajeeb ho..." she said with a dramatic sigh, crossing her arms. "Naam hi toh pucha hai... property ke papers thodi maang rahi hoon."

His lips curved just slightly beneath the mask.

"I'm like that only."

Ava rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Jhingoor kahin ka..."

He tilted his head, amused.
"What was that?"

She gave him an angelic smile. "Nothing. Just... admiring the view."

He turned his gaze back to the city for a moment, but his smirk said it all.

This girl wasn't like the ones he met.
And for the first time in a long while, something—or rather, someone—felt dangerously... real.

She folded her arms, looking away dramatically.

Then muttered under her breath, eyes glinting with mischief—

"Naam toh main jaan kar rahungi... either by hook or crook."

He was about to say something when she leaned over the railing beside him.

"What's down there?" she asked casually, tilting her head toward the street below.

He glanced down.

"...Road," he replied slowly, suspicious now.

Before he could react, she suddenly pushed him closer to the railing—one hand firmly on his chest, eyes locked with his, teasing but just dangerous enough to make his heartbeat spike.

"Wrong answer," she said with a sweet smile.
"It's your death—unless you tell me your name right now."

His eyes widened. "What the hell—are you insane?"

"A little," she said proudly.

He raised his hands in surrender, voice panicked but amused.

"Okay! Okay! Fine—I'll tell you. Rakshit. My name's Rakshit."

She squinted. "Rakshit? I don't believe you. Show me your ID."

He stared at her, jaw ticking.

"Clever... very clever."

Finally, he let out a deep sigh, pulling back just slightly.

"Okay. You win."
"It's Aakash. Aakash Singh Rathore."

She narrowed her eyes. "Proof?"

He held his hand up, palm open, eyes serious now.

"I swear on my maa."

She studied him for a long second... then backed off with a satisfied grin.

"See? That wasn't so hard, was it, Aakash Singh Rathore?"

He looked at her, still catching his breath, but his smirk returned.

"You're insane..."

"And you're mysterious. We're even."

Their laughter mixed with the Paris wind as the Eiffel Tower sparkled behind them—
Two strangers, one secret shared, and a night neither of them would ever forget

As she reached the doorway, Ava turned around one last time, flipping her hair with flair and a wicked grin.

"Remember me, Mr. Arrogant... I'm Ava."
"Never learned to back off."

With that, she disappeared down the staircase, her heels clicking against the floor—leaving behind her chaos, her charm, and something else.

He stared after her, stunned for a second.

Then, slowly, Aakash pulled off his mask.

Sharp jawline. High cheekbones. Light stubble dusting his chiselled face.
His skin glowed faintly under the terrace lights, but it was those piercing green eyes that stole the moment—deep, intense, and now filled with a spark of something dangerously intrigued.

His lips curled into a rare smirk.

"Daring..." he murmured to himself, a touch of admiration in his voice.
"No one's ever stood in front of Aakash Singh Rathore like that."

He slipped his hands into the pockets of his bomber jacket, but paused.

Something was there.

He pulled it out.

A delicate silver bracelet.
Minimalistic, yet classy—with a small charm shaped like a crescent moon, and a tiny dangling letter "A" studded with baby-pink stones that shimmered under the moonlight.

A whisper of perfume still lingered on it—hers.

"You left... but left a part of you behind," he muttered, brushing his thumb across the charm.

He held it between his fingers, eyes distant, but heart strangely stirred.

"Beautiful... like you," he said under his breath.
"Ms. Star."