Present Day – Mumbai
In the heart of Colaba, a district steeped in art and colonial architecture, a small flower shop stood quietly among the bustling streets.
A beautifully carved wooden sign hung above the door.
Flowers in Time
Inside, the air was filled with the fresh, soothing fragrance of countless blossoms, arranged with understated artistry. The shop was not extravagant like others in the area, yet it carried a warmth—an intimacy that made one feel as though they had stepped into someone's home rather than a place of business.
In one corner of the shop stood Ambika Chauhan, her slender figure clad in a simple white cotton kurti. With gentle, deliberate movements, she arranged white tulips into a glass vase.
She was no longer the same woman she had been two years ago.
The honey-colored eyes that once sparkled like distant stars now held a quiet composure, touched with contemplation. They were still beautiful—but beneath their surface lingered thoughts she could never fully put to rest.
Ring…
The soft chime of the bell announced the arrival of a familiar customer.
A middle-aged British woman stepped inside—one of Ambika's regulars. Having retired to Mumbai with her husband, the woman's kind smile and graceful features made Ambika feel as though she were greeting a beloved aunt.
"Good morning, Ami. Do you happen to have any lovely lilies today?" she asked warmly.
"Good morning, Mrs. Rose," Ambika replied with a gentle smile. "Yes, we do. They arrived fresh this morning."
Since moving to Mumbai a year ago to begin anew and gather life experience, opening a small flower shop had been one of Ambika's quiet dreams. This place was her sanctuary—a safe space where she could live among the things she loved.
Another dream lingered in her heart as well…
to become a teacher for children in rural areas.
She had studied education for that very purpose.
But her father, Pramod Chauhan, had never given his consent.
And so, this flower shop became a compromise—the one dream he had allowed her to pursue.
Ambika selected several white lilies with tender care, wrapping them delicately in paper.
"You really love these flowers, don't you?" Mrs. Rose said softly. "Every time I come here, my heart feels lighter."
"Because flowers are what I love," Ambika replied with a smile. "Seeing them feels like seeing my family. My mother adored flowers—especially roses. She loved growing them."
She handed the bouquet to her customer with quiet grace.
"Thank you, dear," Mrs. Rose said before leaving the shop in high spirits.
As the door closed, Ambika turned back to tidy the shop. Closing time was near, but just then, a delivery staff member arrived with the latest batch of business and lifestyle magazines—right on schedule.
She carried the stack to the counter, preparing to arrange them in the reading corner as she always did.
Then—
Her gaze froze.
On the magazine cover were two faces she knew all too well.
Rafi Sheikh and Ammavadi Chauhan: Power Couple of the Year
Her elder sister stood elegantly in a sari from her own designer brand, smiling beside Rafi Sheikh—now a rising political star with undeniable influence. Their expressions were radiant, confident, and powerful.
That smile dragged Ambika's consciousness back into the past…
to two years ago, to the day her heart shattered—just as completely as the heart of the man her sister had left behind.
"P'Amu… how could you do this?"
Her voice that day had trembled with disbelief.
"You broke up with Shiva for a man you just met?"
"Ami, listen to me," Ammavadi replied calmly. "I don't love Shiva anymore."
"Don't love him?" Ambika snapped, unable to hold back.
"You were with him for three years! And the moment that man entered your life, you tell me you don't love Shiva anymore?"
Her chest burned.
"You're leaving a man who did everything for you—who devoted years of his life to you. Haven't you thought about his heart at all?"
"I have," Ammavadi said quietly.
"But how long can someone force their heart to lie? Being with someone you no longer love brings no happiness. It's nothing but self-deception."
The words echoed endlessly in Ambika's mind.
She remembered her sister's eyes clearly—filled with determination and undeniable passion whenever she spoke of that man.
Rafi Sheikh.
The man who changed her sister's heart forever.
"I love him, Ami," Ammavadi had pleaded.
"This love isn't like the ones before. Please… trust me just once."
Ambika had stared at those pleading eyes, her own heart aching.
And in the end, she nodded.
"Alright," she said softly. "I'll trust you one more time."
But deep down, she had never believed that Rafi Sheikh was a good man.
And she knew—
that her sister's decision that day had left an irreversible scar on the heart of the kindest man she had ever known.
A wound that would never truly heal.
Ding!
The sharp sound of a new email notification jolted her back to the present.
Startled, Ambika dropped the magazine onto the floor. She inhaled deeply, then bent down to pick it up—placing it face-down beneath the counter, as though hiding it could silence the memories.
She brushed her hair back gently and turned her attention to the laptop screen.
Subject: Project Proposal & Floral Design Order – The Phoenix Gala
Her brows furrowed in confusion as she opened the email—only for her eyes to widen in disbelief.
The message was from Elysian Events, a nationally renowned event management company.
Why would a company of this caliber contact her—a small flower shop owner—for a prestigious, once-a-year charity gala?
More astonishing still, the email stated that the chairman of the event himself had personally recommended Flowers in Time.
The proposed budget was shockingly high.
It was the biggest opportunity she had received since opening her shop.
Yet… it felt too perfect.
Too good to be real.
Who would recommend a modest flower shop like hers for an event of this scale?
A faint sense of unease crept into her heart as she continued reading—until her gaze stopped at the final line.
This project is sponsored and overseen by Phoenix Ventures Group.
"Phoenix Ventures Group…?" she murmured.
She had never heard of the company before.
And yet, for reasons she couldn't explain, a strange intuition stirred within her—as though someone unseen was standing behind this opportunity, watching her closely.
Ambika remained seated before the screen long after, until the final golden light of day spilled gently into the shop. The warm orange glow wrapped the room in a comforting embrace.
But the woman at its center was lost in thought.
Was this an opportunity sent by fate itself…
Or a trap—
carefully laid by someone waiting for her to step into it willingly?