I was fixing the strap of my blouse when I saw him in the mirror behind me.

Black shirt.

Black pants.

Chelsea boots.

A gold watch resting around his wrist while one hand stayed casually inside his pocket like the entire wedding belonged to him.

For one second—

I forgot what I was doing.

He wasn’t smiling.

Wasn’t talking.

Just standing beside my cousin with that dangerously calm expression that made him look less like a wedding guest and more like someone every man in the room avoided naturally.

And God—

he was staring directly at me.

Not at my face.

Lower.

My exposed back.

The loose dori hanging from my blouse.

My breath caught instantly.

I turned around too quickly, pretending to look for my phone while my heartbeat started embarrassing me for absolutely no reason.

I didn’t even know him.

Then why did his attention feel this intense?

“Who is that?” I whispered to my cousin softly.

Before she could answer—

his eyes met mine again.

Slowly.

Deliberately.

Like he heard the question without standing close enough to actually hear it.

“That’s Aryan,” she said casually. “My friend.”

Aryan.

The name sat strangely inside my chest.

And before I could stop myself—

I looked at him again.

Big mistake.

Because this time he didn’t look away.

Not even slightly.

The loud wedding music suddenly felt distant while his gaze stayed locked on mine from across the haldi decorations and yellow lights.

Confident.

Bold.

Like he already knew what he was doing to me.

I hated that.

I hated the way my stomach tightened when another girl laughed near him.

Hated the way my eyes kept searching for him in every crowd afterward.

And maybe the most dangerous part?

He noticed that too.

I was grabbing a glass from the drinks table later that evening when someone stepped behind me close enough for expensive perfume and cigarette smoke to wrap around my senses instantly.

“Careful.”

His deep voice brushed against my ear softly.

My fingers slipped against the glass.

Strong hands caught it before it could fall.

Then his hand stayed over mine for one unnecessary second longer.

Warm.

Large.

Possessive enough to make my breathing uneven.

I turned slowly—

and nearly lost every coherent thought in my head.

Up close, Aryan looked even worse for my sanity.

Sharp jaw.

Dark eyes.

Slightly messy hair falling over his forehead.

That black shirt stretched perfectly over his shoulders while the top two buttons remained open just enough to feel intentional.

His gaze dropped briefly toward my lips before returning to my eyes again.

Slowly.

Like he was taking his time.

“You keep staring at me,” he said quietly.

Heat rushed into my face instantly.

“I do not.”

A small smirk appeared on his face.

“Cute lie.”

My throat went dry.

No boy had ever spoken to me like this before.

Like he wasn’t trying to impress me.

Like he already knew I was affected.

Aryan stepped closer until my back almost touched the table behind me.

Not touching.

But close enough for his watch to brush lightly against my wrist when he reached past me for another glass.

“You look nervous around me,” he murmured near my ear.

I swallowed hard. “Maybe you stand too close.”

“And yet,” he said softly, eyes dragging slowly over my face again, “you haven’t moved away once.”

“Is this how you flirt with every girl at weddings?” I asked quietly.

Aryan’s eyes dropped to my lips before he smiled slightly.

“No,” he murmured. “Just the ones I keep thinking about after going home.”