As the crowd slowly dispersed, their laughter and chatter fading into the ambient hum of the boutique, the tension between Varun and Tanya lingered like the tail end of a storm—tense, heavy, and unspoken. For a few moments, the world felt suspended, the noise of the mall reduced to a faint, distant echo. Varun stood stiffly, hands still clutching the sherwani, and watched as Tanya’s figure receded with measured steps. There was a quiet gravity in her posture that spoke louder than any words could.

Meanwhile, the rest of the group—friends, cousins, and a smattering of curious staff who had lingered too long—swarmed around Kiara like bees drawn to honey. Their collective curiosity was relentless, and Kiara, ever the commander of composure, allowed herself a small, knowing smile before launching into her narration. She painted the scene with meticulous detail: Varun’s rising temper, Tanya’s careful restraint, the tension of a moment that could have spiraled further if not for intervention. She described the subtle rise and fall of his voice, the tightness of Tanya’s jaw, the flicker of hurt in her amber eyes.