Mahak adjusted the oversized sunglasses perched on her nose as she sashayed into the chic London boutique, her white pantsuit tailored to perfection. Heads turned as she walked past racks of designer pieces, her heels clicking in a rhythm that demanded attention.

Faris followed a few steps behind, his expression a mixture of resignation and amusement. Dressed in a black jacket and jeans, he looked every bit the brooding husband dragged into a world he didn't quite understand.

"Tumhe sach mein yeh zaroori lagta hai?" he asked, eyeing the tenth dress she pulled off the rack. (Do you really think this is necessary?)

"Of course!" Mahak shot back, tossing her hair. "Mujhe naye season ka Paris line dekhna hai. Tum toh waise bhi fashion ke baare mein zero ho." (I need to see the new season's Paris line. You're clueless about fashion anyway.)

"I know enough," Faris countered, crossing his arms. "Like how a thousand-pound dress looks just like a two-hundred-pound one."

Mahak gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Blasphemy! Tumhare jaise log meri industry ko samajh nahi sakte." (People like you will never understand my industry.)

The shop assistant stifled a laugh as Mahak swept past Faris, flipping through hangers with purpose.

Later that day, back in their new home, Mahak lounged on the sofa in a silk robe, scrolling through her favorite fashion blogs. Faris entered the living room, holding a tray of snacks.

"Tumhare high heels ka poora ek rack ban gaya hai," he said, setting the tray down. "Main bas yeh soch raha hoon ke agar ek aur pair aa gaya, toh mujhe apne tools ko kaha rakhna padega?" (Your high heels now have an entire rack. I'm just wondering, if you get one more pair, where will I put my tools?)

Mahak looked up with an innocent smile. "Garage mein rakh lo. Tumhe bikes ki company toh pasand hai na?" (Keep them in the garage. You like your bikes' company, don't you?)

Faris smirked, shaking his head. "Aur tumhe pasand hai har cheez ko 'limited edition' kehkar justify karna." (And you like justifying everything as 'limited edition.')

"Because it is," she shot back.

He grabbed a pakora from the tray, taking a bite. "Tumhari high-maintenance life dekhkar lagta hai mujhe bike parts ke liye overtime lagana padega." (Looking at your high-maintenance life, I think I'll need to do overtime for bike parts.)

Mahak narrowed her eyes playfully. "Acha, toh competition ab yahan bhi?" (Oh, so the competition extends here too?)

Faris leaned back on the armchair, his grin widening. "Competition toh tab se hai jab se Crescent Bay deal ka naam liya tha." (The competition started the moment you mentioned the Crescent Bay deal.)

Mahak crossed her legs elegantly, her tone turning playful. "Aur yeh yaad rakho, Faris Zaman, main haarna nahi jaanti." (And remember this, Faris Zaman, I don't know how to lose.)

The next morning, Mahak stood in front of her walk-in closet, contemplating her outfit for the day. She finally chose a stunning emerald green co-ord set paired with gold heels. As she descended the stairs, Faris looked up from his chai, his gaze lingering for a moment.

"Tumhe pata hai na, we're just going to the hardware store for the shelves?" he remarked dryly.

"Tumhare hardware store ki bhi ek style quotient banegi," Mahak said with a shrug. "Mujhe har jagah apni dignity maintain karni hai." (Even your hardware store will have a style quotient. I need to maintain my dignity everywhere.)

Faris laughed, shaking his head. "Yeh baat toh tumhare alawa koi nahi soch sakta." (Only you could think like this.)

As they drove to the store, Faris adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, stealing glances at Mahak as she gave instructions about shelving dimensions. Beneath the humor and teasing, an undeniable chemistry simmered between them, drawing them closer in ways they both refused to acknowledge outright.