💕 Aria

I don't believe in love at first sight.

I never have.

I've seen too many fake smiles at charity galas, too many men with wandering eyes and empty promises. I've been raised to believe that love is a transaction a merger of families, a balancing of bank accounts, a carefully curated Instagram post.

But then I saw him.

And everything I believed shattered like glass.

It was 10:47 PM on a Saturday night. The Grand Ballroom of the Plaza Hotel glittered with crystal chandeliers and diamond-encrusted necks. My heels were killing me. My smile was plastered so tightly on my face that my cheeks ached.

I was surrounded by a hundred people—and I had never felt more alone.

"Darling, the Chandlers are here. Go say hello." My mother's voice was sharp as she nudged me forward. "And please try to look interested."

I nodded. I always nodded.

I was Aria Varma. Heiress. Philanthropist. Perfect daughter.

And I was exhausted.

I excused myself to the balcony. Just five minutes. Five minutes of fresh air, of silence, of being nobody.

The night sky was clear, dotted with stars that didn't care about my last name. I leaned against the railing and let out a breath I didn't know I'd been holding.

That's when I heard footsteps.

I turned, ready to apologize, ready to explain that I just needed a moment

And my heart stopped.

He was tall. Dark-haired. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit that probably cost more than most people's rent. But it wasn't his clothes that caught me.

It was his eyes.

Dark. Intense. Unreadable. Like they held a thousand secrets he'd never tell.

He didn't smile. He just looked at me really looked as could see right through the designer dress and the practiced smile and straight into the girl who was tired of pretending.

"I'm sorry," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'll leave."

"Don't."

One word. Soft. Commanding. Gentle.

I froze.

He stepped closer, and I caught the faint scent of sandalwood and something darker something dangerous.

"You looked like you needed air," he said. His voice was low, accented. European, maybe Middle Eastern. I couldn't place it. "So did I."

I should have walked away.

I should have smiled politely, gone back inside, and forgotten his face.

But I didn't.

Because when he looked at me, I didn't feel like Aria Varma, the heiress.

I felt like just Aria.

And for the first time in years that was enough.

"What's your name?" I asked.

He paused. Just for a second. Something flickered in his eyes hesitation, maybe fear.

"Aryan," he said finally. "Just Aryan ."

I laughed softly. "Just Aryan? That's cryptic."

He tilted his head, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. "And you? What's your name?"

"Aria."

"Aria," he repeated, as if tasting the word. "Beautiful."

My cheeks flushed. I hated that they flushed.

"I should go," I said, but my feet didn't move.

"Then go," he said softly. "But I hope you don't."

I stayed.

I stayed for thirty-seven minutes.

We talked about nothing art, music, the stars. He asked me questions no one ever asked me. What made me happy. What scared me. What I dreamed about when no one was watching.

I told him things I'd never told anyone.

And when I finally walked back inside, my heart was racing and my mind was spinning.

I didn't even know his last name.

I didn't know where he came from.

I didn't know anything about him.

But somehow

I already knew I was falling.

That night, I googled him.

Zero results.

No Instagram. No LinkedIn. No trace of a man named Aryan.

It was as if he didn't exist.

And that should have been my first warning.

👑 Aryan

I wasn't supposed to be there.

I wasn't supposed to be anywhere.

That was the whole point of running to disappear, to become no one, to escape the weight of a crown I never asked for.

But then I saw her.

And I forgot why running mattered.

The gala was suffocating. Crystal chandeliers. Champagne flutes. False laughter bouncing off marble floors like hollow echoes. I'd been to a hundred of these events. A thousand. Each one more unbearable than the last.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, I wasn't Prince Aryan rathore of rajasthan.

Tonight, I was just Aryan .

No security detail. No protocol. No cameras tracking my every move.

Just a man in a borrowed suit, hiding in plain sight.

I found the balcony by accident or maybe fate. I don't believe in fate. I never have.

But when I stepped outside and saw her, I almost laughed.

She was leaning against the railing, her back to me, her dark hair spilling like silk over bare shoulders. The moonlight caught the curve of her neck, the delicate line of her jaw.

She looked like she was drowning.

And I knew—instantly—that I wanted to save her.

She turned.

And I forgot how to breathe.

Her eyes were the color of warm honey, wide and startled. Her lips parted slightly, and I watched confusion flicker across her face followed by something softer. Something vulnerable.

She was beautiful.

Not in the polished, painted way of the women inside. Not in the cold, calculated way of the royals I'd grown up with.

She was real.

And that terrified me.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to intrude. I'll leave."

"Don't."

The word escaped before I could stop it. I sounded desperate. I was desperate.

She froze. Her eyes searched mine, looking for something

I didn't know what.

I stepped closer. The scent of her perfume jasmine and vanilla wrapped around me like a promise.

"You looked like you needed air," I said. "So did I."

She laughed softly. It was a sad sound, the kind of laugh that came from a place of exhaustion.

"Something like that," she murmured.

"What's your name?" she asked.

I hesitated.

I could have lied. I should have lied. I could have given her a fake name, a fake story, a fake life.

But when I looked into her eyes, I couldn't.

"Aryan," I said. "Just Aryan."

She raised an eyebrow. "Just Aryan ? That's cryptic."

I smiled despite myself. "And you?"

"Aria."

Aria.

The name settled in my chest like a melody I'd been waiting my whole life to hear.

"Beautiful," I said.

She blushed. The pink spreading across her cheeks was the most honest thing I'd seen all night.

She said she should go.

I told her I hoped she wouldn't.

And she stayed.

Thirty-seven minutes. I counted every second.

She told me about her art history degree, her suffocating family, her secret dream of opening a small gallery in Paris. She spoke like she'd been holding the words inside for years.

I listened.

I asked her questions no one else asked.

And for thirty-seven minutes, I forgot that I was a prince with a kingdom waiting.

For thirty-seven minutes, I was just Aryan.

And she was just Aria.

She left.

And I watched her walk back inside, her silhouette disappearing into the golden light of the ballroom.

I stood there for a long time, staring at the empty space where she'd been.

My phone buzzed.

A text from my head of security:

"Your Highness. We've located you. Time to return."

I ignored it.

I wasn't ready to go back to being Prince Aryan.

Not yet.

Not when I'd just found a reason to stay.

But I knew—I knew—this couldn't last.

She was a rich girl from a powerful family.

I was a prince hiding from the world.

And when she found out the truth?

She would hate me.

I was sure of it.

That night, I memorized her face.

The way she laughed. The way she tucked her hair behind her ear. The way she looked at me like I was just a man.

I knew I should walk away.

I knew I should never see her again.

But I also knew

I wouldn't.

💫 End of Chapter 1

📝 Chapter 1 Summary:

Element Aria's POV Kian's POV

First Impression Intrigued, confused, drawn to him Instantly captivated, desperate

Emotion Curiosity, vulnerability Longing, guilt, fear

Secret She's tired of her perfect life He's a prince in hiding

Conflict She doesn't know who he is He knows loving her is dangerous

Ending She googles him—no results He memorizes her face, knows he won't stay away

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📌 thank you for reading my story

By - Anuka arkal