Vanya hummed under her breath as she packed the tiffin box with almost ritualistic precision—each item placed exactly so, every bite chosen to coax even the smallest smile from Aariv Khurana.

Soft-boiled eggs, just the way he liked them. Avocado toast with a drizzle of lemon—he'd once offhandedly mentioned it after a trip abroad. No walnuts in the granola. He hated walnuts.
And, tucked between layers of tissue, a handwritten note on her own stationery:

You work too much. Don't skip meals. – VK

Her handwriting was careful and rounded; she even dotted the "i" with a small heart before thinking better of it and scribbling it into a dot instead.

That morning she had dressed like someone preparing for a test she might never pass. Olive-green fitted blouse, black jeans clinging just a little too tightly at her waist. The blouse had pearl buttons and a ruffled neckline she wasn't sure suited her, but it was "on-trend." He liked girls who were stylish. She had even Googled "how to look slim in Western wear," practicing poses in the mirror to see which angles hid what. Ten minutes of contouring from a tutorial video, perfume misted lightly behind her ears—not too strong, not too soft. All of it for the smallest chance that he might look at her and see... more.

At the Khurana mansion, the world shifted into hushed luxury. White marble floors cooled her flats, fresh lilies perfumed the air, and the staff moved like discreet shadows. Vanya stepped inside with the tiffin clutched to her chest, her pulse fluttering as if she were carrying her own heart in the box.

"Arrey, madam. Aariv Baba is upstairs," the guard said kindly.

She thanked him and made her way up the sweeping staircase, smoothing her blouse as she went.

Aariv's study door stood ajar. He was inside, back to her, phone to his ear, speaking in his smooth Harvard-polished Hindi-English blend. She paused at the threshold, waiting for a lull. The warmth of the tiffin seeped through her palms, grounding her.

When he finally turned and saw her, his eyebrows lifted in mild surprise, then drew together almost imperceptibly.

"Oh," he said, ending his call with a quick goodbye. "You didn't need to come all the way here."

"I was passing by," she lied softly, cheeks blooming pink. "And I made you breakfast."

She held the box out like an offering, eyes bright, a hopeful child waiting to be praised.

Aariv took the tiffin without touching her hand. "Thanks."

Just that. No smile. No eye contact. But it was enough. It was always enough.

She watched his profile for a heartbeat longer, drinking in the slope of his jaw, the fall of his hair, and the way his shirtsleeves strained slightly against his forearms. Then she exhaled, schooling her face into composure, and stepped back, telling herself—again—that this tiny exchange was a victory. That one day he would see her. That love, patient and steady, would eventually be returned. Behind her, the scent of lilies lingered like a reminder of how easily beauty fades in silence.

"Vanya beta!"

The voice floated out from the hall, warm and booming.

Vanya turned quickly, straightening her blouse without thinking. "Uncle ji, namaste!" she said brightly, stepping forward with the tiffin still in her hands.

Mr. Khurana beamed, enveloping her in a sideways hug that smelled faintly of sandalwood and expensive aftershave. "Arrey, you've come like spring," he said with real fondness. "You've lost weight, haan?"

Vanya giggled, ducking her head. "Trying, Uncle ji."

"Good, good. And you remembered this fellow's breakfast." He jerked his chin at his elder son. "God knows he'd starve otherwise."

Aariv didn't look up. He simply flipped open the tiffin lid and began eating with the distracted air of a man checking emails. For a heartbeat the warmth in the room wrapped around her like a shawl. Then another voice slipped in—sweet as honey, sharp as glass.

"Vanya."

Mrs. Khurana descended the stairs like royalty inspecting her subjects. Her sari was an immaculate cream silk edged in emerald, her diamond earrings catching the light with every step. Her smile was perfectly polite, perfectly poisonous.

"What's this outfit, beta?" she asked, tilting her head. "Looks a little... tight, doesn't it?"

Vanya's hands flew to her sides automatically. "I—I thought—"

"Oh, it's fine," Mrs. Khurana cut her off with a practiced laugh, the kind that sounded generous but left little cuts behind. "You young girls try so hard. But sometimes simplicity is better, no? Especially when one's... shape doesn't flatter Western clothes."

The words landed like a slap cloaked in silk. Vanya felt heat rush from her chest to her ears, but she forced a small laugh. "Right. I just thought I'd try something new."

Mrs. Khurana's smile didn't reach her eyes. "You always think a little too much," she said, already turning toward the kitchen. "Come, I'll pack some food for you. Something more... homely."

It was an order disguised as kindness. Vanya followed, head slightly bowed, reminding herself—as she always did—to be respectful. That she wasn't here to win over Mrs. Khurana. That she was just trying to be kind.

Behind her, Aariv finally looked up. His eyes slid over her in a slow, assessing sweep: the blouse, the jeans, the nervous fingers smoothing imaginary creases. It wasn't warmth, exactly, that flickered there. Something cooler, more calculating—something she didn't see because she was too busy hiding her blush.

"Thanks again," he said flatly.

"Anytime," she whispered, smiling faintly, her voice almost shy. "You know that."

Mrs. Khurana's earrings flashed as she glanced back at the pair of them, her expression unreadable.

Later, as Vanya stepped out of the Khurana mansion with the bag of food Mrs. Khurana had reluctantly packed, she felt a faint sense of accomplishment. She kept her head down, careful not to meet Aariv's eyes, and whispered a polite "Thank you" to Mrs. Khurana, who had already returned to her throne-like perch in the drawing room.

Behind closed doors, she could not hear the sharp exchange that followed.

"Some girls don't understand boundaries," Aariv's voice said, low and precise, each word deliberate.

Mrs. Khurana's laugh was soft, honeyed with a hint of cruelty. "Maybe they need to be reminded," she replied, her tone sly, almost indulgent—but with a cutting edge that only her son seemed to understand.

Vanya, blissfully unaware, walked down the long driveway into the fading afternoon light, her mind only on the bag of food she was carrying, the effort she had put into it, and the hope that maybe, just maybe, Aariv would finally notice her tomorrow.

That evening, in her small, cozy room with fairy lights strung above the mirror, she hummed softly to herself as she dabbed a soft pink lip tint she'd seen in a video online. She lined up her ingredients for the brownies she planned to bake—less sugar, extra walnuts, the way Aariv liked them—and arranged everything carefully on the counter.

She paused for a moment, looking at herself in the mirror, and smiled faintly. Maybe this time... he'll really see me.

The words were a quiet mantra in her heart as she worked, oblivious to the machinations and whispers of the Khurana mansion, determined that her small, thoughtful gestures would one day matter—not to anyone else, but to the boy she had loved silently for so long.