Ayaan was getting ready, adjusting his suit with excitement for Anaya's singing semi-final. As he combed his hair, an annoyingly familiar noise from the living room caught his attention—the loud clashing sounds of swords from a video game.
Irritated, he stepped out, ready to scold Rohan. But before he could, he noticed the game. From what Ayaan knew, it was a multiplayer battle royale focused on sword and melee combat. His frustration grew as the noises intensified.
Just as he was about to shut it down, he heard Rohan speaking into his mic, "F.. this outdated game console! Only two years left until VR gaming launches!"
Without a second thought, Ayaan unplugged the console.
"What the hell, bro?!" Rohan spun around, glaring at him.
"If you're going to be this loud, at least play a proper game," Ayaan retorted.
Their argument escalated until their mother's sharp voice cut through.
"Enough, both of you!" she scolded, stepping in. But then, her eyes landed on Ayaan's suit. With a spark of excitement, she asked, "Who is she? When are you introducing her to us?"
Ayaan's face heated up. "Mom, it's not like that! I don't have any feelings for her!"
His mother smirked. "Oh, blushing? Just like your fath—" She trailed off, her expression momentarily sad before she quickly masked it. "Forget it," she muttered before turning her attention to Rohan. "Learn from your brother and stop wasting time on these games!"
"Mom, seriously, I don't have feelings—" Ayaan started, but his protest was cut off by a loud voice from outside.
"Yo, Ayaan!" Dev shouted. "Only two hours left for the competition! I think Anaya's waiting for you!"
His mother's grin widened. "Ayaan and Anaya… nice matching names."
Rohan suddenly perked up, remembering something. "Oh, right! I saw the singing competition poster when Ayaan brought it home." Then, puffing his chest with pride, he added, "Mom, I don't need to learn from him! Just like him, I got into a relationship during a gaming competition, so praise me instead!"
His mother grabbed his ear, twisting it. "Who's that poor girl?"
Ayaan sighed, shaking his head as he followed Dev outside. In no time, they were on a bike, heading toward the semi-finals venue.
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When Ayaan and Dev arrived at the singing competition venue, both immediately noticed the heightened security. Their training made it easy to spot the additional undercover personnel stationed around the news reporters, rather than around the singers or judges.
Dev leaned in and whispered, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Ayaan nodded. "Yeah. There's way too much undercover security… but why around news reporters instead of the performers , guests or judges of this venue? Anyway, not our concern."
Shaking off the thought, they proceeded inside, only for Dev to be stopped by a bouncer.
"Mister ! Are you that stalker?"
Dev groaned. "Oh, it's you again! I already told you—I'm not a stalker! Ayaan, say something!"
Ayaan smirked. "Bouncer, I can confirm he's not a stalker. But…" He paused dramatically. "He is a pervert."
The bouncer's glare intensified.
Dev's face paled. "Oh, shit. I f***ed up."
Laughter rang out from a familiar voice.
"You deserved that," Riya teased, stepping forward.
Dev shot her a glare. "Oh, it's you, Riya. It's been a month. So, you're still alive?"
Riya clutched her chest in mock pain, fake tears welling up. "Mr. Bouncer, not only is he a pervert, but he's also a murderer!"
The bouncer's glare deepened, and Dev muttered under his breath, "Oh, shit. It's happening again."
As the entire scene drew amused glances from the crowd, Ayaan's attention shifted. His eyes met Ayana's, who stood nearby, smiling at him.
Taking a step closer, he spoke. "It's been a month. How are you? You're looking beautiful."
Ayana tilted her head teasingly. "Time flies fast. And what, does that mean I was ugly last time?"
Ayaan panicked. "That's not what I meant—"
Ayana stepped closer, adjusting his suit. "Hee hee. How many times do I have to remind you to fix your—" She paused, then smiled. "Forget it. You look handsome in this suit."
Before Ayaan could respond, a voice interrupted them.
"He's wearing a brandless suit, yet you're calling him handsome, Ayana?"
Ayaan turned to see a sharply dressed man—handsome, confident, and draped in luxury. He held a black bouquet, and behind him stood a news reporter holding a file.
Ayana's smile faded. She didn't even glance at the man as she continued adjusting Ayaan's suit. Her voice was cold.
"It's none of your business, Mr. Ajay."
After fixing the suit, Ayana looped her arm around Ayaan's, standing beside him like a married couple. Both of them faced Ajay head-on.
Ajay's smirk widened. "I never would have guessed… The top student of our class, the beauty of our college, is in a relationship with a guy from a weak economic background. So, tell me—" His eyes flickered with arrogance. "Is this a normal relationship or an immoral one?"
For the first time, something inside Ayaan stirred. A feeling foreign to him. The desire to protect the girl beside him. His fist clenched, and he stepped forward—but Ayana's hand gently stopped him.
Ajay continued his mockery, but before Ayaan could react, a firm hand landed on Ajay's shoulder.
"Security," a familiar voice said. "This person is causing a nuisance."
Ajay swatted the hand away and turned. His smug expression wavered slightly. "Oh, I see. And why does a judge of this venue have the authority to interfere in others' personal lives? Do you even know who my father is?"
The man before him smirked. "Oh, I know him. Even after suffering a massive loss in the presidential elections, his son is still showing off?"
Ayana tensed. Her grip on Ayaan's arm tightened at the mention of the presidential elections.
Ayaan noticed. His eyes flicked between Ayana and the man standing before Ajay.
General Rathore.
Rathore's voice was calm but sharp. "I'm curious to see what schemes you'll try to pull, son of a loser."
Ajay's face twisted in rage, but Shyam the news reporter beside him quickly held him back.
As Ajay stormed off, Ayaan turned back to Rathore, preparing to greet him.
But Rathore spoke first. "Miss Ayana, correct? I saw your name on the participant list. Best of luck." He offered a small, unreadable smile. "Let me introduce myself. I am Mr. Rathore, one of the guest judges for the semi-finals."
Ayaan immediately understood. Rathore was deliberately hiding his true identity.
Dev also picked up on the atmosphere, keeping quiet.
Just then, an announcement echoed through the venue.
"Miss Ayana, welcome to the stage, please."
Ayana exhaled softly and let go of Ayaan's arm, stepping forward.
Before Rathore could return to his seat, he turned to Ayaan and Dev, his gaze sharp.
"Ayaan Ranade. Dev Kollari. I need to speak with you in private after the event."
Ayaan and Dev exchanged glances.
From a distance, Riya frowned, murmuring to herself. Why did the judge use their full names? How does he know them? What's their connection?
Meanwhile, Ajay fumed. "Shyam, I'm disappointed in you," he snapped at the news reporter. "You failed to collect proper details on that brandless bastard."
The reporter sighed. "This isn't the time to argue. We need to leave before things get worse. Your father won't tolerate another scene. As for that person's details…" He flipped through the file. "Give me a few days. I'll have answers."
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On Stage…
The crowd erupted into cheers as Ayana took her place under the spotlight.
Yet, amidst the applause, her gaze remained fixed—locked onto one person in the audience.
Ayaan.
She took a deep breath, microphone in hand.
"Tonight, my song is—The Song for Petals of Love."