Not in the Script: An Ahaan & Aneet Collection

Best Friends...?

She held court near a pillar, surrounded by women he recognized from styling teams and her own friends. She laughed, head tossed back, and he felt something twist in his chest — pride, awe, a pinch of something covetous. When a young man ambled over, all cheekbones and charm, he watched the way the guy leaned too close. He watched the way she shifted slightly away, polite but not receptive.

He took a step, then his phone buzzed.

Aneet: "Don't. I've got it."

His reply was instant. "Want a rescue?"

An answer took three seconds. "Yes."

He didn't approach like a saviour. He approached like a costar with a good excuse and a private language. "Mohit's looking for you," he told her, then to the man, friendly, neutral, "You've met Aneet?"

The guy nodded. "Big fan," he said. Ahaan smiled like a man with all the time in the world. "Get in line."

The young man laughed and drifted. Aneet exhaled, tension leaving her shoulders. She tipped her face up at him. "Possessive," she murmured.

"Protective," he corrected. "Semantics."

She gave him the look that always punched the oxygen out of his lungs, the one that said I see you and I'm pretending not to, and he wanted, stupidly, to kiss it off her face.

"Walk?" he asked.

"Five minutes," she said. "Let me greet your mom first."

"And my chachu," he added, smiling. "He'll steal your time and make you eat."

"Deal." She paused, eyes flicking beyond him. "They're all here?"

"Everyone," he said. "Ma, Dad, Alanna and Ivor. Chachu and Chachi. Ananya, Rysa. You know."

"I do," she said, soft, because she did. She had been to the house couple of times in the months leading up to tonight, once for a lunch that turned into dinner, once for a quick tea that turned into a forthright conversation with Deanne in the garden about ambition and safety and tenderness.

They walked toward the family cluster. Before they reached, Deanne moved first — arms open, expression delighted and kind. "My beautiful girl," she said, and Aneet laughed, hugging her. Chikki's greeting was warm and succinct; he squeezed Aneet's shoulder and said, "Proud of you," in the way he said most things: directly, like facts.

Bhavna, gold-bangled and twinkling, clasped her hands. "You're glowing. Is it the lighting or the success around the corner?"

Aneet flushed. "Probably the lighting."

"Liar," Chunky declared, then stage-whispered to Ahaan, "Beta, you're finished. She's a star. She'll forget us little people."

"Never," Ahaan said, and it wasn't a joke.

"You were amazing," Alanna said, sliding in with a delighted squeal and pulling Aneet into a hug of her own. "I need some shots of you, but not for my vlog. I promised you. Just my memories." She tilted the camera, mock-sinister. "But you will be in those."

"I trust you," Aneet said.

"Good," Alanna replied. "I wish he did too. Idiot," she added fondly, bumping her shoulder with her brother's.

Ananya appeared at Aneet's other side like a cool breeze. "Hi," she said, smiling with her whole face. "You smashed that stage bit."

"I almost tripped," Aneet confessed.

"Almost isn't tripping," Ananya deadpanned, then glanced at Ahaan and arched a brow. He didn't take the bait; he just grinned.

"Eat something," Deanne said in that tone nobody argued with. She pressed a plate into Aneet's hands, slid a glass of water into Ahaan's. "Ten minutes," she said, and to her son specifically, a look that somehow meant: behave.