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As if a thousand diyas were lit on a Diwali night, as if a hundred Diwalis had come at once.

Vihaan stared at her, captivated by that image. Realising how uncannily accurate it was, he thought.

‘Isn't that how he felt when he saw her smile?’

And today, when he saw her standing among the crowd, staring straight at him, he couldn't help but wonder, ‘What was that energy that passed between them?’

The energy that caused an electric sensation to pass through his spine. He stared, wishing he could read her mind, wishing she wasn't such an enigma to him. She was still affecting him, and it was not a simple physical attraction. There was some kind of recognition he could feel in his heart. The only way to deal with it was to wait for her to reveal more about herself.

Whoever Drishti's real father was, he'd undoubtedly been a smooth-tongued bastard to come up with that apt and evocative description. It was all too clear that the lover boy had taken his merry ride and left her pregnant.

Lo