Chapter 3

Chapter 3: The Pre-Wedding Disaster Dinner

Anaya Verma did not believe in fate.

But as she stood outside the Khanna family bungalow, dressed in an elegant kurta that screamed “sophisticated” and “totally over it,” she had a sinking feeling that fate believed in her.

Correction: Fate hated her.

“My love, smile na,” her mother whispered, nudging her with the sharp precision of every desi mom ever born.

“You’ll scare Karan’s family.”

“I’m already scaring them by existing here,” Anaya muttered under her breath.

The heavy wooden door swung open, unleashing a tidal wave of revealing aunties, uncles, cousins and chaos in full Indian family reunion mode.

Laughter, overlapping conversations, and the unmistakable smell of samosas and questionable life choices filled the air.

And at the center of it all—

Ishaan Malhotra,

Of course.

Standing like some misplaced Bollywood hero, in a crisp white shirt sleeves rolled up just enough to be obnoxiously attractive, charming, laughing with two uncles like he owned the place.

Of course he did.

He always had this ridiculous ability to charm rooms, steal attention, and pretend like he didn’t have a long, embarrassing history with the girl now standing awkwardly by the door.

Their eyes met.

His smirk deepened.

Casual. Confident. Dangerous.

Her jaw clenched.

Game. On.

“Anaya!” Simran squealed dramatically, rushing over like she hadn’t just thrown her into a social battlefield for her own entertainment.

“You look sooo nice!”

“I always do,” Anaya said sweetly, stepping inside and conveniently ignoring the way Ishaan’s gaze followed her like a mosquito you just can’t swat no matter how many times you slap the air.

Then came the worst part:

Introductions.

Karan’s mom hugged her like she was already family.

Anaya’s own mom was beaming like she’d already mentally arranged her wedding photos.

And Ishaan? Oh, he was enjoying this way too much.

“Anaya,” he said politely, as if he hadn’t just tried to start World War III on a private chat last night.

“Nice to see you again.”

She tilted her head. “Strange. Didn’t know liars got invited to family dinners.”

Simran choked on her drink.

Ishaan grin just widened, that frustrating, annoyingly attractive grin.

“Did I lie? I am here for the wedding.”

“I wasn’t talking about that,” Anaya shot back, low enough that only he could hear.

For a second, the playful air between them shifted—something sharper cutting underneath the surface. But before it could turn dangerous, someone clapped loudly.

“Selfie time!”

Of course. Aunties and their front-camera angles, the deadliest force known to Indian family functions.

Next thing she knew, Ishaan was standing right next to her, one arm brushing dangerously close to hers, smelling like expensive regret.

Simran: “Say cheese, lovebirds!”

Lovebirds.

Anaya’s polite smile cracked slightly.

Her fingers twitched with the need to text a meme. A sharp one. The kind that could start online riots.

This dinner was going to be disastrous. And deliciously fun.

One accidental selfie.

Two bitter exes.

And the whole family just dying to ship them together.

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