On the other side, Pranati listened, his words cutting through the fog of her despair. They weren't empty platitudes; they carried the weight of someone who had faced his own impossible corners.
"But what if…" her voice trembled, "what if saying 'no' destroys someone else?"
"Then your choice isn't about the act," Arnav responded, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "It's about the how. You find your line. You hold your ground on it. And you make them understand that crossing it comes at a cost—even to them."
He heard a slow, steadying breath from the other side.
"You make it sound simple."
"It's not," he admitted. "It's the hardest thing you might ever do. But it's yours. And that matters."
For a long moment, there was no sound. Then, a faint but determined shift.
"Thank you," Pranati whispered, her voice firmer now. "Stranger."
"Don't thank me," Arnav said, pushing off the wall. "Just… choose your version of the fight."
He heard the soft click of a stall door unlatching on the other side. Without another word, he turned, finished drying his sleeve, and walked out of the men's room, leaving the whispered echo of shared strength behind him.
He never saw her face.
She never heard his name.
But in that sterile, temporary space, a choice was quietly reclaimed.
Meanwhile, Neil took the mic, tapping it once as chatter slowly died down.
"Alright, gentlemen," he announced with a grin, spreading his arms wide. "Let's heat things up a little. After all, this is a bachelor night—we can't let it stay dull, can we?"
A cheer rose from parts of the crowd.
Neil smirked. "To brighten the evening, I've arranged a special surprise package. Something… entertaining."
Music swelled.
As silhouettes began moving toward the stage, the tone of the gathering shifted—louder, brasher, more reckless.
Arnav's jaw tightened instantly.
He didn't even look twice before reaching out and sharply tugging both Ranav's and Arav's ears, pulling them closer. "This," he hissed under his breath, "is what you dragged me into?"
Ranav winced. "Bhaiya—"
"You're a police officer," Arnav snapped at Ranav, barely containing his irritation. "And you," he turned to Arav, "an advocate intern. Is this the kind of place either of you should be standing in?"
Arav pulled his ear free, equally uncomfortable. "We swear, Bhaiya—we had no idea this would happen."
Ranav nodded quickly. "If we'd known, we wouldn't have come either."
Arnav let go, running a hand through his hair, disgust written clearly across his face. "Then this party has officially lost its meaning," he said coldly. "I don't know what kind of celebration this is supposed to be—but it's not one I respect."
The brothers exchanged a look.
Around them, the noise grew louder. Laughter. Whistles. Applause.
But for Arnav, something else had begun to churn—unease, restlessness, a feeling he couldn't quite place yet.
And somewhere below deck, unseen, Pranati stood at the edge of a moment she never should have been forced into.
---
Neil lifted the mic again, clearly enjoying the growing noise around him.
"And now," he announced, drawing out the pause just long enough, "for the highlight of the night. Our lead dancer—make some noise!"
Cheers erupted. Glasses clinked. Someone whistled.
Shubham forced a smile, but his hands tightened around the edge of the table. His unease was visible now. He leaned toward Neil, lowering his voice. "Yaar… I'm getting married in a few days. This doesn't feel right."
Neil scoffed, slinging an arm around his shoulder. "Relax. One night doesn't change anything. Stop thinking like a husband already—man up."
Before Shubham could respond, the lights dimmed.
The music shifted.
Not louder—steadier.
Then three figures emerged onto the stage.
The crowd fell into confused silence.
They weren't dressed like the others.
No glittering excess. No forced boldness.
Three women stood poised beneath the lights, clad in black and gold lehengas, elegant, dignified—commanding attention without asking for it.
In the center stood Pranati.
Her posture was calm. Grounded. The fabric flowed around her like armor rather than costume—designed to be worn, not exposed. On either side of her were Swara and Anokhi.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke.
Shubham froze.
His breath left him in a stunned exhale. "Swara…?" His voice barely carried.
Neil's grin vanished completely.
"What the—" he muttered, staring at the stage as realization dawned, sharp and unwelcome.
Pranati met their gaze unflinchingly.
Then—she smiled.
Not timid. Not apologetic.
A smile that said she was here by choice, on her own terms.
Somewhere in the crowd, confusion rippled. Whispers followed. The energy of the room shifted—no longer indulgent, no longer careless.
And across the deck, Arnav looked up.
Something about the moment—about her—made his chest tighten.
Unaware of the storm she was about to unleash, Pranati stood still at the center of the stage.
Waiting.