The First Glance

Delhi had never impressed Jaswant Singh Rajput.

Not the polished roads around government buildings, not the endless security convoys, not the ministers who smiled too much and lied too easily.

Everything in this city wanted attention.

And Jaswant had long ago learned that real power never begged to be seen.

It simply existed.

That evening, after a brutal chain of meetings and three calls with senior officers, he finally stepped into one of the most private elite restaurants in the capital a place where politicians, industrialists, and people with old money came when they wanted luxury without cameras.

He had only come because his close associate had insisted he eat something before returning to work.

Jaswant wasn’t in the mood for food.

Or people.

Or conversation.

He entered in a black shirt with the sleeves folded to his forearms, his watch catching the warm golden lights of the restaurant. Security stayed at a distance. The manager personally greeted him. Heads subtly turned.

But Jaswant ignored all of it.

Until he saw her.

At the far end of the restaurant, near the glass wall overlooking the city lights, sat Aaragya Rathore.

For one brief second, the noise around him disappeared.

She was laughing.

Actually laughing.

Not the sharp, controlled, fearless woman from social media. Not the girl with fire in her words and rebellion in her eyes.

This version of Aaragya was… different.

She sat across from her brother, Armaan Rathore, her face glowing under the soft hanging lights, one hand wrapped around a glass while the other moved animatedly as she spoke. Her long hair fell over one shoulder, and every few seconds she would throw her head back slightly and laugh at something Armaan said.

And for the first time, Jaswant saw what the public never got to see.

She was a happy child.

Not childish.

Not immature.

But someone whose joy still looked untouched. Someone who still laughed fully, openly, without checking who was watching.

It was strangely… disarming.

His gaze stayed on her longer than it should have.

Armaan said something, and Aaragya immediately narrowed her eyes, hit his arm lightly, and then broke into another grin.

Spoiled, Jaswant thought.

Pampered.

Protected.

And yet, not weak.

That was the dangerous part.

She looked like softness.

But she spoke like war.

“Sir?”

His associate’s voice brought him back.

Jaswant blinked once, his expression turning unreadable again.

The manager was waiting to escort him to a reserved table, but before moving, Jaswant glanced once more toward Aaragya.

This time, as if sensing it, she turned.

Their eyes met.

And the world seemed to pause.

Her smile faded first.

Just a little.

Recognition flashed across her face instantly.

Of course she knew him.

Who in the country didn’t?

But there was no nervousness in her expression. No hesitation. No quick lowering of eyes like most people did when faced with him.

Instead, Aaragya simply stared.

Directly.

Calmly.

Almost challengingly.

Jaswant held the look without moving.

Cold.

Still.

Sharp.

Armaan noticed the silence and followed her line of sight.

The moment he saw Jaswant, his jaw tightened slightly.

Interesting.

So the brother was protective.

Jaswant almost smirked.

Aaragya looked away first but not because she was intimidated.

No.

She turned back to her brother and said something under her breath that made Armaan glance at Jaswant once more with visible dislike.

That tiny reaction amused him more than it should have.

He finally walked to his table, but he was no longer thinking about the meeting he had left behind.

Across the room, Aaragya tried to focus on Armaan’s story again, but her mind had already shifted.

She could feel his presence now.

Heavy.

Controlled.

Unwanted.

Why did he look even more dangerous in person?

And worse.

why did he not look like the kind of corrupt, loud, attention-hungry politician she had built in her head?

That irritated her.

A lot.

She picked up her water glass and muttered, “He looks exactly like trouble.”

Armaan snorted. “He looks like he has never smiled in his entire life.”

That almost made her laugh again.

Almost.

Because when she looked up once more.

Jaswant was still watching her.

And this time, neither of them looked away immediately.

No words.

No introduction.

No touch.

Just one table between power and rebellion.

And somehow, that first glance felt far more dangerous than a conversation ever could have.

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