The Oberoi Foundation’s charity festival shimmered beneath the open sky, every corner of the garden alive with laughter, lights, and the scent of jasmine. Children darted around with painted faces, vendors called out from their stalls, and lanterns swayed gently in the evening breeze. It was a night that celebrated hope — something Aarav Malhotra had long stopped believing in.

He had come only because Meera wanted to. She tugged his sleeve like a child, her eyes sparkling. “Bhaiya, they have a puppet show here! Just like we used to see when Papa took us out.” Her voice carried an innocence that Aarav could never say no to.

He nodded slightly, scanning the crowd with that familiar sharpness. And then he saw her.

Anaya Oberoi stood near a group of children, helping them write wishes on paper lanterns. She wore a simple yellow kurta, her hair tied loosely, strands falling around her face. There was no sign of the powerful businesswoman here — only warmth, light, and grace that made even the lanterns look dim. Aarav froze for a heartbeat before he forced his gaze away. She was the enemy. The daughter of the man who had destroyed everything his family once was.

But fate had its own cruel humor.

“Mr. Malhotra,” Anaya’s voice called softly from behind him. “You came.”

He turned, his tone even. “You make it sound like I shouldn’t have.”

“Not at all,” she said, smiling faintly. “Just unexpected. You don’t seem like someone who enjoys festivals.”

“That’s because I don’t,” he replied bluntly.

“Then why are you here?”

His eyes shifted toward Meera, who was laughing with children near the sweet stall. His voice dropped lower, quieter. “For her.”

Anaya followed his gaze and her smile softened. “She’s kind. There’s a rare light in her.”

Something twisted inside him. He wasn’t used to an Oberoi speaking kindly about a Malhotra. It unsettled him more than he wanted to admit.

As the evening deepened, the crowd gathered near the lake for the lantern release. Hundreds of paper lanterns lay ready, each holding a wish inside. Anaya stood holding one, the golden glow touching her face as she wrote something before lighting it carefully. Aarav found himself watching her without realizing it.

“What did you write?” he asked when she looked up.

She smiled faintly. “A wish. That one day, people will stop carrying hate like it’s their only inheritance.”

The words struck deeper than she knew. Aarav didn’t answer for a moment, his chest tightening with the weight of memories — his father’s humiliation, the loss, the cold nights of rebuilding himself through anger.

“And you?” she asked softly. “Won’t you make a wish?”

He took a lantern, lit it, and released it into the air without writing anything. The flame flickered briefly before the lantern rose into the night.

“You didn’t write,” Anaya said.

“My wishes don’t belong to the sky,” he replied quietly. “They belong to reality. And reality doesn’t listen to stars.”

She studied him, her eyes reflecting the lantern’s glow. “You speak like a man who doesn’t believe in happiness.”

He looked back at her, and for the first time, his voice held a trace of something fragile. “I don’t believe in illusions.”

Neither of them looked away. The sky above them filled with lights — hundreds of tiny lanterns floating like golden souls — but neither noticed. Something unspoken passed between them, something neither could name.

Across the crowd, Karan Oberoi watched silently, a glass of wine in his hand and his jaw set. His sharp eyes missed nothing — the way Aarav looked at his sister, the way Anaya’s laughter softened around him. “Interesting,” he murmured under his breath. “Malhotra’s mask is slipping.”

His assistant hesitated beside him. “Sir, should we—”

Karan raised a hand, cutting him off. “No. Let him play. But from now on, I want every move of his watched. Every call, every contact.”

He turned away, but his gaze lingered. Aarav Malhotra was walking on Oberoi ground — and he had no idea that the walls were closing in.

Meanwhile, Meera had wandered toward the quiet end of the garden, away from the music. She stopped near the rose bushes, brushing a petal absently, and that was when she heard a voice behind her.

“Back again, Miss Malhotra?”

She turned sharply. Karan was leaning against the tree trunk, that same unreadable smirk on his face. His white shirt sleeves were rolled up, his eyes glinting in the lantern light.

“I didn’t mean to intrude,” she said softly.

“Intruders don’t apologize,” he replied. “You’re too honest for this world.”

There was something different in his tone — not teasing, not cruel, almost weary. She tilted her head. “Why do you always say things that sound like riddles?”

“Because truth is dangerous when spoken plainly,” he said, looking away for a moment. “And people only see what they want to see.”

For a moment, their eyes met — two hearts carrying names they were not supposed to love or trust. The silence between them felt heavier than the music around.

Before she could reply, Aarav’s voice called from the distance. “Meera, let’s go.”

She turned immediately. Karan straightened, his mask returning as quickly as it had slipped. “Goodnight, Miss Malhotra,” he said, his smirk back in place.

She gave a small nod before walking away. Karan watched her leave, jaw tightening, his heart caught between curiosity and warning.

Later that night, Aarav drove Meera home. She spoke about the children, the sweets, the lights, her words tumbling like soft bells. But Aarav barely heard her. His mind was still at the lake, where Anaya’s voice echoed — a wish that people will stop carrying hate like it’s their only inheritance.

The words wouldn’t leave him. They tangled with his vow, made it heavier somehow. But when his phone buzzed, the message that appeared hardened him again.

Shipment delay confirmed. Oberois’ investors are restless.

He put the phone down, his lips curling into a faint smile. The first step of his revenge was done. Yet as he looked out the window, his eyes caught the faint glow of a lantern still drifting across the night sky. For a long time, he watched it rise, small and golden, carrying someone’s fragile wish into the dark.

And though he didn’t believe in wishes, for the first time in years, he felt something stir deep within him — something dangerously close to doubt.

Because he wasn’t sure if he wanted that wish to burn… or to come true.