"Let's get married," Dhvara abruptly uttered, looking at her boyfriend with her irises filled with love and longing. The man chuckled, his arm around her shoulders squeezing slightly before kissing her forehead. "Marriage? Don't you think it's a bit early for that?" He asked, raising an inquisitive eyebrow.

Dhvara shifted in her seat, her eyes glaring at him. "Forget it." She bit out in a grumble and resumed eating her food, the inanimate chatter of the restaurant numbing her senses. She shrugged his arm off of her and scooted away from him, jabbing her fork at the enticing noodles.

"Amar priyo Dhvara, bishayati shuno." A smile was threatening to peek from his lips but he restrained it, knowing his lover would undoubtedly be irritated by that.

(My love, listen to me)

"I just meant, you're in your last year of undergrad. You always speak about how you want to pursue your PhD, getting married would be putting those plans in the backseat, would it not?" He asked gently, his fingers grasping her chin softly and turning her face towards him. The walls Dhvara had hastily erected around her visage now faded, and she shook her head, the hardened features giving way to the delicate beauty she possessed.

"I know you'll be with me regardless of what I decide to pursue, Raghava. Marriage will not dampen my plans for a career." Dhvara's self-assuredness assuaged the worry he felt, and he grinned back at her. 

"Lekin haa, certificate ke naam pe tho Dhvara Agnosti hee hoga, Dhvara Bagchi nahi." She laughed, pinching his smiling cheeks playfully.

(But, the names on the certificates will be Dhvara Agnosti, not Dhvara Bagchi)

"Dhvara, why do you keep your mother's maiden name as your surname? I mean—" Raghav hastily tried to correct his sentence, stumbling over his words. Dhvara raised an eyebrow and smirked at his discomfort.

"Shut up, you know I don't mind when you ask me about my personal choices, or family really."

Raghav rubbed his jaw, a bashful smile on his face as he tugged Dhvara closer to himself. "I don't know, you know I grew up with my mom's parents." He nodded, and she continued, humming thoughtfully to herself.

"They don't really like my father, perhaps because he married soon after mom died. They probably didn't want me associated with him. So they changed my name legally to Dhvara Agnosti Rana. Edhas had the same thing done to him. Sahir was never allowed to meet our grandparents—"

"Why? I mean, he's their grandson too." He interrupted, his curiosity piqued.

Dhvara shrugged, pursing her lips. "I really don't know. Father and his wife would visit us once every two months in Italy. Nonna and Nonno never really liked that mom married father. It wasn't because he was an Indian, but I guess they saw right through him. But they were afraid mom would cut them off if they didn't support her, so they were always there with us. When mom died and father re-married Kiran, father sent us away to Italy. He didn't know how to raise us, and Kiran never wanted us. Sahir wasn't just a child but also the heir to his company. Father was scared that if Nonno and Nonna raised him, Sahir would never take over the company..."

Dhvara didn't have to finish her sentence; Raghav understood her unsaid words. "I guess only an Italian mother and Indian father would give rise to such a beauty like you." He bumped his shoulder playfully with his, and she chuckled, the mood lightened.

"You still didn't answer my question." He pointed out, and she furrowed her eyebrows before her eyes lit up.

"Aah yeah, so I came to America and Edhas left for India. If he used Agnosti, rumors would arise and the media would go crazy, stating everything isn't right in the family. He didn't drop Agnosti but uses only Rana. Only our grandparents, father, Sahir, and I know his real name. Me? The media hardly bothers about me, and with me being in America, they don't give a damn. So I'm free to use Agnosti. Besides, Rana is a surname I have no memories associated with. The name is a goddamn curse."

Raghav laughed. "I'm sure it isn't that bad."

Dhvara scoffed, "Our paternal grandparents died in an accident, a couple of years before we were born. Mom died four years after she married father. Kiran divorced father after Sahir turned eighteen. Edhas and I never had a relationship with our family. Sahir never grew up with his siblings—The name is like a fucking bad omen."

"Sounds to me as if your father is the bad omen, not the name." He quipped, biting his lip to stop the chuckle that fought to be let through. Their eyes met, and they burst out laughing, his words not only making the couple feel amusement but also bringing mirth to the man listening to their conversation.

The restaurant around them buzzed with the typical clamor of clinking cutlery and murmur of other diners. Dhvara took a sip from her glass of water, her gaze shifting to the candle flickering on their table. "You know," she said thoughtfully, "I've never really thought about what my life would be like if things had been different."

Raghav leaned in, his voice softening. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, if Mom had lived, if we had stayed in Italy, or if Dad had been different..." She trailed off, her eyes distant.

Raghav reached across the table, gently squeezing her hand. "I think you turned out pretty amazing despite everything."

Dhvara smiled, a genuine smile that reached her eyes. "Thanks. Sometimes I wonder if my life would have been easier without all this baggage, but then I think about how much stronger I am because of it. And how much more I value the people I care about."

"You know, it's funny," Raghav said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Here I was thinking you were the epitome of strength and independence, but it turns out you're just as sentimental as the rest of us."

She laughed, the sound light and carefree. "Oh, I'm definitely sentimental. I just keep it buried under a layer of sarcasm and practicality."

Raghav grinned. "Well, if sarcasm and practicality were Olympic sports, you'd be a gold medalist."

"And you'd be the reigning champion in making me laugh," Dhvara retorted, giving him a playful nudge.

He looked at her, his expression growing serious. "You know, I meant what I said earlier. About marriage."

"Really?" She raised an eyebrow.

"Yeah. I think you're right. If we're going to build a life together, it should be because we want to, not because it's convenient or traditional. And if that means waiting until you're ready, then so be it."

Dhvara's eyes softened, and she squeezed his hand in return. "That means a lot to me, Raghav."

He smiled, leaning back in his chair. "Besides, I'm not exactly in a rush. I mean, look at us. We've got time, and we're doing just fine."

"You're right," Dhvara agreed, her gaze tender. "We've got all the time in the world."

Their conversation drifted to lighter topics, as they reminisced about their favorite movies, their latest adventures, and their plans for the future. The restaurant's atmosphere seemed to envelop them in a cozy bubble of intimacy, making their laughter and affection feel like a world unto itself.

As the evening wore on, Dhvara and Raghav lingered over their dessert, their conversation becoming more animated with each passing minute. The flickering candlelight cast a warm glow over their faces, and their hands remained intertwined across the table, a silent promise of their commitment to each other.

When they finally left the restaurant, the night air was crisp and cool, and they walked closely together, their shoulders brushing. The stars above seemed to twinkle in approval as they strolled hand in hand, their hearts light and their spirits high.

As they reached their car, Raghav turned to Dhvara with a mischievous smile. "So, should I start calling you Mrs. Agnosti then?"

Dhvara laughed, leaning in to kiss him softly. "Only if you promise to call me that with all the love and affection in the world."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," Raghav replied, his eyes shining with genuine affection.

And with that, they got into the car, the promise of their future together glowing as brightly as the stars above.

----------------------

The soft hum of machinery filtered through Dhvara's consciousness as she slowly awoke, her eyelids heavy and her body weighed down with exhaustion. The pain in her head throbbed like a distant drumbeat, making her instinctively scrunch her eyes shut. Her senses stirred awake gradually, pulling her from the darkness.

It wasn't the sterile scent of antiseptic she expected. Instead, she was greeted by a faint trace of cologne mixed with a familiar earthy wood scent she couldn't quite place. No beeping machines, no clinical white walls—it was softer, homier.

Her brow furrowed in confusion, and she blinked her eyes open, trying to focus on her surroundings. A dimly lit room came into view, the soft glow of a lamp casting a warm hue over sleek furniture. She wasn't in a hospital. As her gaze wandered, she noticed the minimalist decor: a modern, elegant design. The furniture was all clean lines and muted colors, every piece placed with careful precision.

This was Sahir's house.

Before she could fully process everything about her dream and the low but familiar ache in her heart, a low, familiar voice broke the silence. "You're awake."

Dhvara's head slowly turned toward the voice. There, sitting in a chair beside her, was Sahir. His face was impassive, as always, but his eyes—a stormy shade of deep brown—were filled with something she couldn't immediately place. Concern, perhaps? Relief? It was hard to tell with him.

She shifted, attempting to sit up, but the sharp pain in her side made her hiss softly. Immediately, Sahir was beside her, his hand gently pressing on her shoulder to stop her from moving too quickly. "Don't," He said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. "You're still hurt."

Dhvara's eyes narrowed slightly, a mixture of frustration and embarrassment bubbling up inside her. She hated feeling weak, hated being in a position where she needed anyone's help—especially Sahir's. "What happened?" Her voice came out hoarse, her throat dry.

"You don't remember?" His gaze met hers, and she noticed the faintest flicker of something in his eyes—perhaps irritation? It was always hard to read him, especially when it came to her. He exhaled, running a hand through his dark hair. "You were in an accident. I brought you here."

Dhvara blinked, fragments of memory starting to float back to her. The accident. The sudden swerve of the car, the screech of tires, the impact—then nothing. It all came back in flashes, disjointed and foggy.

Her eyes scanned the room again, taking in more details this time. She wasn't in a guest room. No, this was Sahir's room. The realization made her tense.

"Why didn't you take me back to my apartment?" She asked, her voice sharper than intended. Her visit to India was not just to meet her family, it was also to expand her business that she and her partner had set up here in Mumbai too. The office space was covered and though

Sahir's jaw clenched slightly. "You were unconscious, but not in critical condition. Besides, I didn't want to deal with the media circus if anyone found out you were in the hospital. This was safer."

The logic made sense, but it still unsettled her. Dhvara had never been comfortable in Sahir's space, despite their shared blood. He was her brother, yes, but that title had always felt more symbolic than real.

She shifted again, this time managing to prop herself up on her elbows, ignoring the protests of her body. "You should've just called Edhas."

Sahir's expression smoothened at the mention of their other brother, and he leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms. "Edhas is halfway across the world. I was the closest."

His tone was tinged with a quiet fondness, Edhas and Sahir were as brothers should be. When Edhas was young, he was the closest to Dhvara, the epitome of twins. But after she left to the States and he arrived to India, he had become more attached to his elder brother. 

For a moment, silence stretched between them, thick and heavy. Dhvara could feel Sahir's gaze on her, but she didn't meet it, instead focusing on the minimalist details of the room—the polished concrete floors, the floor-to-ceiling windows, the modern art on the walls. Everything here screamed of Sahir's meticulously curated life. Perfect, controlled, and cold.

Just like him.

After a moment, Sahir broke the silence. "You should rest."

"I don't need to be coddled, Sahir," She snapped back, her frustration finally bubbling to the surface. Her body ached, but her pride burned stronger.

His eyes flashed, and for a split second, Dhvara thought she saw a crack in his stoic facade. "This isn't about coddling, Dhvara. You were nearly killed."

The words hung in the air between them, the weight of them sinking into her chest. Dhvara's retort died on her lips as the memory of the accident washed over her again. She swallowed hard, her hands curling into fists around the soft blanket.

"I'm fine," she said, her voice quieter now. "I just...need to get back on my feet."

Sahir's gaze softened, just barely. "You need time to recover. Don't push yourself."

His words, though laced with an underlying tension, were almost...kind? It was strange coming from him. Sahir had always been distant, calculating—someone who operated from a place of logic rather than emotion. Growing up, he had always kept a certain distance from her and Edhas, as if they were more acquaintances than siblings. The strained relationship between their father, their stepmother, and their respective families had only added to that tension.

But now, here he was, sitting beside her bed, looking at her with something close to genuine concern. Dhvara wasn't sure what to make of it.

"How long have I been out?" She asked, needing to change the subject.

"A day, maybe a little more," Sahir replied, standing up and moving toward the sleek nightstand. He grabbed a glass of water and handed it to her. "Drink."

She took it, her fingers brushing his as she did. The simple gesture felt oddly intimate, given their usual cold interactions. As she sipped the water, she caught Sahir watching her, his arms crossed over his chest again, as though he was still assessing her condition.

"You've always been so stubborn," He said after a moment, a faint hint of amusement in his voice.

Dhvara raised an eyebrow at him. "Says the most stubborn person I know."

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of Sahir's lips, but it disappeared just as quickly as it came. He pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down again, his expression once again unreadable.

"Why did you come for me?" Dhvara asked, her voice softer now. It was a question that had been burning in her mind since she realized where she was.

Sahir's eyes met hers, and for a moment, he said nothing. Then, with a shrug, he replied, "Because you're my sister."

The simplicity of his answer caught her off guard. She stared at him, waiting for some kind of sarcastic remark or cold retort, but none came. He just sat there, watching her with that same unreadable expression.

"You never cared before," She muttered, unable to help herself.

His jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze fixing on something in the distance. "That's not true."

Dhvara blinked in surprise. "What?"

Sahir sighed, rubbing his hand over his face. "I know I've been distant, Dhvara. But that doesn't mean I haven't cared."

The admission hung between them like a fragile thread. Dhvara wasn't sure if she believed him, but there was something in his voice—something raw, something real—that made her pause.

"I thought you were too busy being Father's perfect heir to care about anything else," She said, her words biting, but there was no real venom behind them.

Sahir's expression darkened again at the mention of their father, but he didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he just shook his head. "You don't know as much as you think you do."

Dhvara frowned, about to ask what he meant by that, but before she could, he stood up. "You should rest," He said, his tone back to its usual cool, distant cadence.

She wanted to argue, wanted to demand answers, but her body betrayed her. The exhaustion was pulling her back under, and as much as she hated to admit it, she needed rest. She could push him for answers later.

"Fine," she muttered, sinking back into the pillows.

Sahir watched her for a moment longer before turning toward the door. Just as he was about to leave, he glanced back over his shoulder. "I'll be here if you need anything."

And with that, he was gone, leaving Dhvara alone in the quiet room. She stared at the closed door for a long moment, trying to make sense of the strange interaction she'd just had with her brother.

Maybe things between them weren't as simple as she'd always believed.