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"She's turning 18," he announced, a faint smile spreading across his face. Veeransh Oberoi's dark black eyes twinkled with nostalgia as he gazed at the family photos adorning the walls. With a sharp jawline and neatly styled hair dusted at the temples, he carried a quiet strength in his presence.
Zaenia Oberoi's expression turned wistful. Even now, there was a youthful glow about her - smooth skin, soft features, and expressive hazel eyes that held both grace and warmth. She barely looked like a mother to an eighteen-year-old.
"Time flies. It feels like yesterday our golden little bird entered our lives," she said, her voice tinged with emotion.
Her eyes misted, memories of Aeni's childhood flooding her mind.
Veeransh's brow furrowed slightly.
"Are all preparations done? I don't want any hiccups on my princess's special day. Ensure everything unfolds according to her wishes."
Zaenia reassured him with a soft smile.
"Everything's perfectly arranged, just as our princess desires."
Veeransh, lost in thought, hummed softly before asking, "By the way, where is she?"
Zaenia rose from her seat, exchanging a knowing glance with Veeransh.
"She's getting ready for her birthday party. I was just about to check on her."
Veeransh nodded, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"Make sure she's comfortable. Today's her day."
As Zaenia exited the room, Veeransh 's gaze lingered on Aeni's childhood photos, a mix of nostalgia and joy swirling within.
Inside, Aeni's light blue Cinderella gown weighing heavily on her petite frame. Her slender fingers struggled to wear the delicate sandal.
God, even her shoes were made of glass.
If innocence had a face—it would look just like hers.
She had those gorgeous, wide black eyes—far too big and pure for this world. Her naturally pink cheeks and lips made her look like she’d just stepped out of a fairytale, even as she fought with her footwear.
Her mother's gentle warning, "Wait Aeni, or you'll fall!" halted her efforts.
A radiant smile spread across Aeni's face as she met Zaenia's concerned gaze.
But irritation quickly replaced her joy, and she pouted.
"Mumma, look! This stupid gown is too irritating. I can't even wear my sandals!" Aeni exclaimed, dramatic flair coloring her tone.
Zaenia's chuckles filled the room, warm and soothing.
Aeni's eyes narrowed. "Here I'm having too much trouble, and you're laughing at me?"
Zaenia's mirth faded, replaced by teasing affection. "You wanted the fairytale Cinderella gown, na? Toh jhelo ab (Now, bear it)."
Aeni's pout deepened.
Just then, Ila emerged from the bathroom, her gaze instantly drawn to the struggling duo.
She looked like a beautiful mess—haunted yet breathtaking.
The kind of girl whose eyes whispered of storms survived, whose presence always carried a quiet strength.
"Wait, let me help, Aeni," Ila offered, her voice melodious.
Aeni's relief was palpable. "Yeah, please Ila, I'm in too much trouble."
Ila knelt gracefully, securing Aeni's sandals while Zaenia adjusted the gown.
“Thank you soo much,” Aeni said, gratitude shining in her wide, innocent eyes.
Zaenia and Ila exchanged warm smiles, nodding in unison.
Aeni's confidence wavered as she asked, "Ummm...h-how do I look?"
Zaenia and Ila exchanged a fleeting glance, their hesitation fueling Aeni's insecurity.
Her face paled, fresh tears welling up in her eyes like morning dew.
"I-I don't look good, do I? I knew it. I look like crap! Huh?" she stuttered, hiccupping.
Silent sobs racked her delicate frame, shaking her very foundation.
Zaenia and Ila's faces mirrored alarm, realizing their playful mistake had backfired.
"Hey baby, no! We were just kidding...Shshshs....stop crying baccha. Please," Zaenia cooed, enveloping Aeni in a warm, reassuring hug.
Ila joined the reassurance, her voice laced with conviction. "Yeah, aunty is right, Aeni. You're looking stunning, truly Cinderella-esque."
But Aeni's doubts ran deep, her voice laced with despair.
"No, you guys are saying this just to make me happy. I don't look nice." Aeni insisted, shaking her head.
Zaenia's voice turned soothing, gentle. "It's not like that, baby."
Both Zaenia and Ila tried to stop Aeni's tears and overthinking, but she remained unconvinced.
"Shut up! What the hell are you saying, hun? If you keep talking crap about my bestie, I'll bang your head against the wall," Ila exclaimed, frustration boiling over.
Aeni's eyebrows shot up. "As if I'll let you do it? Huh?"
Ila began to retort, "You know wh-"
But Zaenia intervened, firm. "Enough, this is too much!"
"Shut up! Both of you," Zaenia scolded, her voice stern but loving.
"But mumma, why are you scolding me?" she asked, her tone playful, her lips protruding in a perfected pout, one she had mastered to manipulate hearts.
Zaenia's expression softened. "Shh, quiet! Why don't you understand, beta? We were just teasing you a little, but you took it serious."
Her voice turned gentle, accompanied by a warm smile. "Aeni, listen, you're gorgeous. Your beauty shines from within."
Ila nodded vigorously. "Yeah, aunty is right."
Aeni's pout lingered, but her eyes sparkled with hope. "Aap sach keh rhe ho?" (Are you telling the truth?)
Zaenia and Ila responded in unison, their conviction unwavering. "Of course, yes!"
Aeni's face transformed, a giggle bubbling up, erasing her concerns.
Zaenia and Ila's faces mirrored Aeni's joy, their smiles harmonizing in relief.
The tension dissipated, replaced by warmth and laughter, a testament to their unbreakable bond.
—
Ayden sat motionless in his car, awaiting his family’s arrival, his gaze resting on the mansion’s grand entrance. But his mind was elsewhere—drifting far from the luxury and silence around him.
It was her. Always her.
The girl who had unwittingly claimed a piece of his heart and mind.
Ayden Rai Singhaniya—24, intensely private, and dangerously magnetic—wasn’t the kind of man who lost control. With dark brown hair always a little messy like he’d just run a hand through it, and those piercing light brown eyes that gleamed like a lion’s in the sunlight, he didn’t need to speak much. His stare alone could silence a room, or scare the hell out of anyone who dared challenge him.
But none of that helped now.
Because ever since their eyes had met, Ayden's grip on control had unraveled. She’d become his obsession.
She was the unexpected spark that ignited a fire within him. A fire that burned deeper every passing day.
In 24 years of life, he had never experienced anything like this. No woman had ever pulled him in like she did. No one had made him feel so alive—and so powerless.
Time only deepened the feeling. Now, her presence ruled his thoughts. Every breath he took felt like it belonged to her.
His fairy.
And one overwhelming desire burned through his veins, singular and consuming:
To make her his.
Lost in the depths of his reverie, Ayden remained oblivious to his ringing phone, its persistent tone fading into the background as his thoughts revolved around her.
The world outside receded, leaving only the ache of longing and the unrelenting determination to claim her heart.
Ayden's reverie was shattered by his ringing phone. He picked it up from the passenger seat, seeing "Dad" flashing on the screen.
"Hello!" he answered.
"Where are you? We arrived," Arzhel Rai Singhaniya, his father, asked from the other end.
"I'm in the parking area," Ayden replied.
"Okay, stay there. I'm coming," Arzhel instructed.
Ayden merely hummed, already lost in thought again.
After some time, a hand on his shoulder broke the spell. He turned to find Arzhel standing beside him, frowning.
Tall and composed in a sharp black suit, Arzhel Rai Singhaniya looked every bit the man people rarely dared to cross.
Ayden was often told he was the mirror image of Arzhel. Same sharp jaw, same striking features, same stormy stillness when anger brewed beneath the surface.
Except for the eyes.
Arzhel's were a dark, unreadable black—like storm clouds before the thunder. Ayden’s, though equally intense, held a firelight softness. Light brown, inherited from his mother, Eira—warm, unpredictable, and far more telling than he liked.
"What happened?" Ayden asked, noticing his father's unusually watchful expression.
Arzhel's frown deepened. "This should be my line, shouldn't it?"
"Why?" Ayden asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Why indeed?" Arzhel echoed. "You initially declined the party invitation, and now you're here. What suddenly changed your mind?"
Ayden's past conversation with Arzhel replayed in his mind.
"Today is the birthday of one of my business associates' daughters," Arzhel said, "and I want you to join us for her party."
Ayden, engrossed in business files, replied without emotion, "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for such parties."
Arzhel's frustration was palpable. "For God's sake, Ayden, why don't you socialize? You need to interact with people."
Ayden's calm demeanor remained unwavering. "I have more pressing matters than attending birthday parties."
Arzhel shook his head, his voice laced with irritation. "Fine, do as you please." He exited Ayden's office, slamming the door.
Later, a knock interrupted Ayden's focused work.
"Come in," he said, without looking up.
Zeyaan Sikander and Aizel Merchant stepped in, the air around them shifting.
Zeyaan, effortlessly handsome, leaned against the wall, his half-lidded eyes carrying that signature sleepy charm—the kind that could hypnotize someone without trying. A calm aura followed him, like a peaceful storm waiting to unfold.
Aizel, in contrast, was all intensity. His dark, stormy eyes held weight—like the night sky moments before thunder broke. Everything about him was sharp, restless, and alive.
"Why did you decline the party invitation?" Aizel asked, crossing his arms.
"You know I’m not fond of parties," Ayden replied, keeping his tone casual.
Zeyaan’s voice was light, but his words held weight. “But you shouldn’t miss this one.”
Ayden finally looked up, curiosity flickering in his brown eyes. “Why?”
Zeyaan smirked slightly. “Because this party might just change everything.”
Ayden raised a brown. "Be clear."
Zeyaan's revelation stunned Ayden. "The birthday girl is Aeni—your fairy. And Veeransh's Oberoi's only daughter."
Ayden's eyes narrowed. "What?"
Aizel elaborated, "Our investigation, as per your request, led us to her whereabouts. And today, coincidentally, is her birthday."
Zeyaan added, "Uncle Arzhel mentioned it."
With that revelation, Ayden had grabbed his coat and exited his office.
Back in the present:
Arzhel's inquiring gaze awaited Ayden's explanation.
"Actually, the work wasn't that pressing, so I decided to come," Ayden said nonchalantly, downplaying his true motives.
Arzhel's skeptical gaze lingered, but he chose to let it slide. After all, Ayden rarely attended social gatherings. The last party he had attended was the farewell party of their alma mater, where Ayden now served as a trustee.
It had been a long time since Ayden had mingled with people outside of his business and philanthropic circles.
Together, they stepped into the grand mansion. Ayden's mother, Eira, and his uncle and aunt, Ruan and Azara, were already mingling with the other guests.
The party was an intimate gathering of elders, the atmosphere refined and elegant.
As they joined the group, Ayden's eyes instinctively scanned the room, his thoughts drifting back to his obsession.
Hey everyone!
This story is my blood, sweat, and sleepless nights. If you’re a minor—close the damn book. If you’re a copycat—find your own brain cells and ideas. Touch this work without my permission, and you’re crossing a line you won’t like.
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