Throughout the wedding of your sister, your dupatta keeps slipping from your shoulder as you rushes between guests & adjusts flower decoration, every time you bends down or turns around the fabric slides further until finally, in frustration, you yanks it off and tossed it onto a couch.

**

Later that night, when the ceremony ends. You rushes back to retrieve your dupatta but spot nothing, it's gone. You searched everywhere but finds nothing but scattered rose Petals where the dupatta once lay.

**

You dressed in a stunning designer saree for the grand wedding reception. your golden saree shimmering under the lights, as your long hair cascading over your waist. You steps into the reception hall, your eyes widen as something unexpected catches your attention, the grumpy ACP who rarely smiles, known for his stern demeanor & unwavering bachelorhood. Your very own sibling's brother-in-law. He's sporting an expensive suit, but what shocks you is the familiar sight of your lost dupatta. wrapped around his neck like a chic accessory!

**

You stare at him, almost forgetting about the reception and going to see your sister in shock, while the previous encounter with him flashes in your mind, how once your scooty broke down and you stormed inside the police station and forced him to drive you to college, and how you called him at 2 PM to find something you lost, how he hurried over to your place and searched for hours to find your lost hamster. Suddenly, his mom walks over to you, you didn't notice at first, smiling teasingly as she nudges your arm softly. “Stay away from my son,” she teases. Suddenly He approaches you, closing the distance between you. wearing the same stoic expression, his voice firm yet authoritative, “Ask your son, Mom — can he stay away from her?” he says while wrapping your dupatta around you gently, never taking his eyes off you.

**

You get flustered, completely speechless for a moment, the words dissolving before they can leave your throat. Heat rushes to your cheeks, and without daring to look back, you hurry away from there. He just stands still, eyes locked on your retreating figure until you disappear into the crowd, his expression unreadable, but his gaze unwavering. His mother studies him, amused at first. then curious. He exhales slowly, “BOHOT PASAND KARTA HU INHE, MAA,” he says quietly, but with certainty. A pause. “SHAADI KARNA CHAHTA HU.”