Bhai target pura kyu nhi karte ho mere exams chalne wale hai 15 se mai fir bhi chapter update kar rhi hu. 

Ab agla chapter target pura hone ke baad hi aayega.

TARGET : 90 COMMENTS AND 20 VOTES

I don't even remember how I made it to the hostel. Everything from the airport to here feels like a blur—customs, the ride, the formalities at the reception desk. It was as if my body had moved on autopilot, while my heart remained somewhere else entirely.

The room isn't tiny, but it feels like it's shrinking around me. One bed, two chairs, a table, clean sheets, and a window with sheer curtains dancing slightly with the wind. Everything is too neat. Too untouched. Like no one lives here.

I let my suitcase roll to a quiet stop in the corner. My hand's still clutched around the handle, but I don't open it. I don't even take off my shoes. I just stand there, staring at the space that's supposed to be mine for the next few days.

The phone buzzes in my pocket.

Missed calls—thirteen of them.

Dheer. Ishaan. Maa. Mom and Dad.

They must've called to ask if I landed safely. If I found the room. If I'm okay.

But I'm not. And I don't know how to say that without falling apart.

I drop the phone on the bedside table and lie down without even changing. The bed is cool beneath me, the pillow soft, and the moment my cheek touches it, something in me gives way. The tears come quietly—no sobbing, no gasping for air. Just tears. Hot and constant, soaking into the fabric while I try to breathe past the tightness in my chest.

I miss him.

If Dheer had been here, we would've found a quiet café tucked into some old street. He'd order something I'd never try on my own and then steal from my plate like he always does. He'd smile at me and say, "You're thinking too much again, Ruhi."

And I would've nodded. Smiled. Believed him.

But he's not here.
And I'm thinking too much.
Because I don't have anyone to tell me it's going to be okay.

I wanted to call him. God, I did. I kept opening his contact, staring at his name, hoping he'd call again. But I didn't press it. Because if he left, it must be for something important. Dheer isn't someone who just walks away. I know that. I believe that. But believing it doesn't make the room feel less empty. Doesn't make me feel less alone.

Everything feels heavier now that he's not next to me.

I thought telling him about di—about everything—would lighten me. Like saying it out loud would make the memories lose their grip on me. But they haven't. They're still here. Twisting around my ribs, pressing against my lungs.

And now I have to stand in front of cameras, in a foreign country, with a heart that can't stop breaking and hands that won't stop shaking. I should feel proud. Excited. Grateful. This competition meant everything to Aadhira. It means everything to me.

But all I can think about is: What if I fail?
What if my designs aren't enough? What if the judges just see some girl trying to use a sob story to get sympathy? What if I let di down?

So many what ifs.
And for the first time in a long time, I don't have Dheer to answer them for me.

I wrap my arms around the pillow and let the tears flow until they dry on their own. I don't move. I don't check the time. I just let myself fall into the silence. Because for now, it's the only place where I don't have to be anything. Not brave. Not composed. Not okay.

Just me.
And that has to be enough.
At least for tonight.

A knock pulled me out of sleep.

I blinked, straightened, and checked my phone. Twenty missed calls — mostly Kiaan. One from Maa. A few from him and bhai. I didn't open any of them. Just typed a quick reply to Kiaan.

"Sorry. Just saw your calls. Room 307."

Then sent a short message in the family group.

"I was sleeping. Got here safe. Getting ready now."

Another knock. This time lighter.

The makeup artist stood at the door, smiling. "Miss Ruhanika?"

I nodded, stepping aside to let her in.

She unpacked her kit. I headed to the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, I was in the chair. Silent. Focused.

The foundation settled covering my pores and pimples. The liner flicked clean. The lipstick was a soft plum — understated but firm. Just like I liked it.

The woman in the mirror looked back at me with steady eyes. I had worked hard to gain the reins of my life in my hands I am not going to let them loose now.

THIS OR

THIS

Let's begin. 

Inside the submission area, the energy was sharp. Everyone was busy and tensed, sketches being touched up, last-minute details added. I admired them—not with jealousy, but with quiet grace. The girl from South Korea? Her emerald necklace was like poetry. The Spanish guy's art deco ring? Genius. I saw the beauty, not the threat.

I submitted my design after checking the digital rendering, matching it with my design to check if there was anything and description without fanfare. Just my name and a silent smile.

Today's task is finally over. They asked us about our designs, our education, a few generic questions—and then came the main part: the story behind the design. Surprisingly, they decided to keep our drafts with them. Something about "ensuring safety" and "preventing plagiarism."

Fair enough. But here's the twist—no one's actually going to read our stories or judge our designs until the final round. Apparently, it's all part of their grand plan to maintain "impartiality" and "fairness." No bias. No favoritism. Just good old-fashioned suspense. Great.

For now, it's the team—not the judges—doing all the heavy lifting, sorting through the chaos and disqualifying people left and right. The designers who didn't show up on time, those who fumbled during the presentation, or whose designs didn't meet the criteria? Gone. Poof.

But guess what? I'm still here. One of the 78 survivors.
And now... it's showtime. Time to finally step in front of the world after clearing round one.

Next up: the night party.
Everyone will be there with their so-called partners—PR agents, brand reps, moral support types, or just people who look good in photos. Me? I have Kiaan. That's more than enough.
Let the others handle their "important work." I'll be busy doing what I do best—surviving, thriving, and pretending I didn't notice the girl in heels trip on the red carpet.

The car rolled to a smooth stop in front of the venue.

I stepped out, heels clicking softly against the marble as flashes greeted me like lightning in a storm. My dress moved with me—elegant, effortless. The kind of grace that doesn't beg for attention but demands it anyway.

The cameras turned.

I smiled.

Not the nervous smile of someone trying to please. No. The smile of someone who knew she belonged.

A few cheers followed. I waved—just enough. A tilt of my head, a quick glance over the shoulder.

Click.

Each step I took reminded me of HER. The way she'd strut through the living room in paper earrings and declare, "When I grow up, I'll wear real diamonds. But till then, bring me glitter glue and bottle caps."

She would've loved this—no, she would've owned this.

There were women ahead of me, beside me. Some stunning, others graceful. One of them had crafted a necklace that looked like stars captured in silver. Another wore a saree so tastefully designed I wanted to hug her and beg for her stylist's number.

And then there was Shilpi.

Even from across the room, she glowed. Not in the shimmery-diamond kind of way everyone else tried to achieve—but in that grounded, rooted way. No overload of jewels. Just confidence, clean lines, and the kind of elegance you couldn't replicate with money.
She spotted me. Smiled. Not the fake, social smile. A real one.

I returned it, feeling a strange warmth in my chest.
You never realise how deeply you crave familiarity until you see someone from your own country, in a crowd that doesn't know your name yet. In that moment, she didn't feel like a rival. She felt like... home.

And speaking of home.

"Kiaan," I grinned as I spotted him, standing there like he'd just walked off a runway shoot. 
He looked good. Way too good. But his smile? That ruined the model fantasy. It was too bright. Too goofy. Too Kiaan. 

"You took your sweet time, bhabhi Congratulations for passing the first round. I  didn't even unpack my bag thinking what if we have to leave early.," he said, pulling me into a hug. ", I almost didn't recognize you because of the layers of makeup on your face,"he said again while scrunching his nose in distaste. 

 I hugged him back than rolled my eyes before giving him the taste of his own medicine I mean words,"  You didn't unpack your bags because you thought I'd flop so hard we'd be back home before room service could deliver dinner?"

He chuckled nervously as I said that with a serious tone. I laughed internally "Behen dar gayi I mean bhai dar gya."

So did you wear the tuxedo for the funeral for my career?,"I asked making his eyes go wide. 

Bhabi I was just joking You are looking like an absolute goddess in this dress," he said cheekly. 

Aww I was also joking you are also looking handsome in your borrowed tuxedo from Luv bhai," I replied with the same smile making his smile vanished once again.

How did you know it is from Luv bhai?," he asked checking his suit for any mark or something. 

Because I bought it for him for his graduation," I replied. 

We posed for a few cute photos—some elegant, some ridiculous. He made me twirl once, and I nearly tripped, laughing as I clutched his arm. 

A quick video call to home followed.

The moment the screen lit up, both Ma and Mom fell silent. No frantic scolding, no overlapping instructions—just stillness, and two pairs of eyes that looked like they were holding back tears.

"You look so beautiful," Ma said softly, her voice a little shaky.
Mom nodded, smiling with pride. "Bilkul pari lag rahi hai."
They didn't say much more, and honestly, they didn't need to. Their faces said it all.

After a few shared tears and sniffles, Ma cleared her throat. "So... we're all staying at Rathore Villa till your competition ends."

"All? Why?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Saving electricity," Mummyji said.
"Water," Ma added. "And gas. And internet. You know how it is."

Yes Why waste electricity and water and waste money also because of bills on two peoples in a house," Mom said taking maa side. I saw both of my dad shaking there head at there wives like they were forced into this.

I didn't argue. I just smiled.

Because deep down, We knew the truth.
They were four best friends who had never grown out of each other. And now, with us kids grown up, they were simply slipping back into that comfort.
We were the only thing standing in the way of their full-fledged roommate dream life.
And honestly? If given the chance, they'd probably buy a cottage and live out their days giggling over tea and dragging each other to yoga classes.

And maybe... they deserved it.

I stared at the screen for a second longer. He wasn't there. Even bhai wasn't there.

"Guess he's still doing that very important work," I muttered, barely above a whisper while ending the video call.

Kiaan gave me a side glance and said well asked maybe both "Aapke wo aapse pyar nhi karte?"

I tilted my head and smiled he also smiled back and we start singing the lyrics ........

inko aata hi nahin hai.
inko pata hi nahin hai.
inse hota hi nahin hai.

romance nahi karte,
dance nahi karte,
inko paRi hi nahin hai.

meri beauty kis kaam ki?
har baat pe Theek hai Theek hai karte.
har baat pe ok ok karte.

mere husband mujhko pyaar nahin karte.
jindagi barbaad ho giya..

shaadi se pehile kabhi, love nahin hua.
shaadi ke baad kabhi love nahin mila.

(Why these two lines are sounding relatable to me?)

We were laughing, smacking each other's shoulders like idiots. The kind of laughter that makes your eyes water.

"Oh god, Kiaan, stop it! I don't even know if this eyeliner is waterproof!" I said, blinking like crazy and trying to dab my eyes without ruining the whole look.

"Wait, wait, don't mess it up," he said, pulling out his handkerchief like a magician. "Here, let me."
He wiped under my eyes carefully.

And just like that, we entered the hall. Lights flashing, people buzzing around, everyone acting more important than they probably were. We made our way to the food, met the judges for a quick final word, and dipped. 

I caught Shilpi looking at me and Kiaan like she had a theory brewing. But that's future-Ruhanika's problem. Present-Ruhanika just wants her bed.

The car was already waiting. My hotel was first, his was a bit further down the street.

"The venue had heating. This car does not," I said, rubbing my arms.

Kiaan asked the driver if he had a blanket, and apparently, he did. I wrapped it around myself.

"How did you even know he'd have one?"

"The car is assigned by the team so it's obvious that they would have thought about it" he said casually but I am feeling embarrassed.

Then he looked over. "Did you eat properly?"

I glanced at my belly. The dress was not forgiving. "Define full. I just had two mini pastries and a mocktail. Breathing was already a task with this dress."

"You didn't try the pasta?" His eyes widened.

"Was I supposed to? I was trying not to pop a button on this dress."

"You missed out. The pasta was elite." He leaned back smugly.

I rolled my eyes. "There was a whole dessert table and I couldn't even attack it properly. If I'd be in my casual wear, I would've gone full buffet mode."

"Your loss. It was good. And you missed the Mango Pomelo Sago?."

"Please stop saying food names," I muttered. 

"Well, get changed . I'll take you out. Real dinner."he said while typing something in his phone.

"Hawwww, you're asking your sister-in-law out for dinner? Aren't you ashamed?" I asked, covering my face with my hand like I'd just witnessed a crime and shifting a little on my seat for extra drama.

"HAWWW," he mimicked my voice with full commitment and then shoved his phone in my face. He was texting Dheer. I was about to turn away—his name still made my insides twist—but then the messages caught my eye.

"She won't be able to eat properly in that dress. Take her out later for dinner."
There were even restaurant suggestions. Specific dishes. Desserts. He'd practically made an itinerary.

I felt heat creeping up my cheeks. Thank god it was nighttime and the cab's lighting was more moody than bright. Otherwise, Kiaan would've had a field day teasing me for blushing.

Thankfully, we reached my hotel. I got down, and we decided to meet here again after changing.

I walked to my room with a creepy little smile on my face, the kind that would've gotten me banned from most places.

Quick shower. Makeup off. I changed into proper clothes this time—no tight dresses, no regrets. Just warmth and comfort. The weather was chilly, so I went for cozy. Bit of lotion. A swipe of lip balm. That's it.

Now... CHALOOO.

I stepped out of the hotel and spotted Kiaan standing there like he was auditioning for a drama.

"Woahhhh. What's this look, huh?," I teased.

"She likes dramas," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, trying to play it cool.

"Awww... nahi pategi," I replied, laughing when his smile faltered like I'd just crushed his dreams.

"Aapke pati aapko aaj tak date pe nahi leke gaye. Aapko kabhi koi surprise nahi diya. Aap dono kabhi saath shopping bhi nahi gaye. Aur muh kholu ya itna kaafi hai?" he said with zero mercy.

"Now! You're getting personal. Sorry na!" I said, smiling through the pain.

He just hummed like an old man who's seen too much and opened the cab door for me as it rolled up.

We ate to our fullest. We ate a lot of local specialities and desserts in local specialities we ate mapo tofu, and...and....that's it ya but we ate a lot of desserts we had Dou Sha Bao, Mango Pomelo Sago and many more only to regret a little later. 

"You... you have to pay for the dinner," I said, popping the last bite into my mouth like it wasn't a setup.

Kiaan didn't say a word. Just took out his phone, tapped a few times, and paid.

HE PAID. Just like that. No arguments, nothing.

"Did you just pay the bill?" I blinked at him.

He looked up, smirked a little, then broke into a small laugh—like he'd been waiting for this moment.

"What?" I asked, suspicious now.

He turned his phone around. Opened a chat. Of course—Dheer.

"She won't eat properly in that dress. Take her out later for dinner. ," Dheer had messaged. I had already read that before but...

Then I saw it.

"Wait... did he just—? How dare you?" My voice was calm, but the betrayal was setting in.

"He sent you one lakh?" I asked. 

"Why did he send you One lakh out of nowhere,".

"For you," Kiaan said with zero guilt and full amusement.

"For me?" I repeated, pointing at myself like I needed confirmation.

I stared at my empty plate. Suddenly, that extra dessert felt like a terrible decision. My stomach had never felt this expensive.

"Oh god, we wasted so much money on food," I mumbled.

That's why he bought me to the most expensive restaurant here. 

I need to talk to him.

Author's POV

(AUTHOR KI KON HI SUNTA HAI TARGET BHI PURA NHI KARTEಥ_ಥ)

She  said got up quietly, pulled out her phone, and walked out. 

Kiaan leaned back in his chair, already recording a voice note.

"Bhai, kaam ho gaya. Within hours. Ab baat pyaar ki hogi ya sunaai ki—that's your department."

PRECAP

I swear if you dare to touch her hairs I will shave your head with my own hands,"dheer said gritting his teeths. 

Bhabi yar wo wale photo kyu upload kiya," Kiaan cried out in front of ruhanika who was enjoying the drama.

THE PHOTO