Abhishek jolted awake, a cold sweat clinging to his skin. The dream, more like a nightmare, replayed vividly in his mind. He saw Vaidehi, his soon-to-be ex-wife, strolling hand-in-hand with another man through a crowded mall.

He glanced around the empty bed, the silence confirming he was alone. Though he hated to admit it, Abhishek missed the warmth of Vaidehi beside him, the familiar sight of her face greeting him in the morning. Their separation, however, meant separate bedrooms.

Shaking off the dregs of sleep, Abhishek showered and went downstairs. It was a languid Saturday, and he was preparing his toast when Vaidehi appeared, looking effortlessly beautiful in skinny jeans and a white T-shirt, topped with a casual cap. Even without makeup, he thought with a pang, she looked like a goddess.

"Where are you headed?" he asked, voice gruff.

"Just some grocery shopping," Vaidehi replied.

Abhishek, still haunted by the dream, blurted, "Can I come?"

Vaidehi raised an eyebrow. "We have a system, remember? This month is my turn."

They had, in fact, devised a schedule for mundane errands like grocery shopping, a way to minimize awkward interaction during their separation.

Undeterred, Abhishek pressed, "Just this once? Consider it a favor."

Vaidehi sighed, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. "Fine," she conceded.

The car ride to the store was filled with a tense silence. Abhishek, fueled by a strange mix of apprehension and a desire to decipher his dream, had insisted on accompanying Vaidehi. Was it a premonition, a subconscious fear, or simply a yearning for the normalcy they once shared?

As they browsed the aisles, Abhishek's gaze landed on a package of besan laddoo mix. He tossed it into the trolley with a grin.

"Absolutely not," Vaidehi countered with a playful smile. "We are not reliving the besan laddoo disaster."

Abhishek chuckled, the memory sparking a warm nostalgia. "Our first Diwali together, right?"

"Right," Vaidehi replied, a touch of amusement in her voice. "And my attempt to impress you with homemade ladoos ended hilariously."

"You never had to impress me, love," Abhishek said softly, his eyes holding hers. "You were, and still are, the best thing that ever happened to me."

Their gazes locked in a silent conversation, a shared memory sparking a flicker of something deeper. The moment was shattered by a polite "Excuse me," as a stranger navigated the crowded aisle, effectively breaking their spell.

Abhishek scanned the detergent aisle while Vaidehi lingered by the body care products. Returning with a bottle of laundry detergent, he found Vaidehi engaged in conversation with someone. Though the details escaped him, a prickling unease wormed its way into his gut.

He strode towards them, a possessiveness coloring his steps. Reaching Vaidehi, he casually slung an arm around her waist, his voice smooth as he addressed her. "Hey, love. Got the liquid soap?" He deftly deposited the detergent in the shopping cart.

Vaidehi's body jolted at his unexpected touch. A wave of nostalgia washed over her, transporting her back to a time when that affectionate embrace, that nickname "love," flowed freely between them. The stranger, sensing the shift in dynamic, mumbled an excuse and scurried away.

"What are you doing?" Vaidehi murmured, her voice laced with a mixture of surprise and something deeper.

Abhishek feigned innocence. "What? Just grabbing some detergent."

"Abhay," Vaidehi countered, the single word a potent reminder of a time when that nickname danced on her lips with ease, a time before "Abhishek" became the norm.

A ghost of a smile played on Abhishek's lips. "I kind of missed you calling me that."

He shouldered the shopping bags and headed towards the car, leaving Vaidehi rooted to the spot, a kaleidoscope of confusing emotions swirling within her.

-----

Saakshi strode into the Malhotra Estate office, a well of practiced confidence bolstering her steps. The weight of the pitch pressed down, demanding she maintain this facade throughout.  She announced her arrival to the receptionist, her voice clear and firm. "Saakshi Singh, Singh Builders."

The weight of being the heir apparent to Singh Builders wasn't lost on her.  Her brother, Ishan, had surprised her by entrusting her with the lead role in this crucial project.  As she settled into the waiting area among the other competitors, a flicker of insecurity sparked within her.  They all exuded an air of seasoned experience, a stark contrast to her own relative newness.

Seeking a calming ritual, Saakshi sauntered towards the coffee machine, the rhythmic hiss of brewing espresso a welcome distraction. A sudden presence beside her startled her. She pivoted, coming face-to-face with Devdutt Sharma.

Devdutt, the future owner of Sharma Construction, was an unwelcome sight.  Their personal history was a tangled mess of competitive fire and past mistakes – a drunken encounter at Dev's brother's wedding they'd both mutually agreed to bury.

"Princess Singh," Dev drawled, a sardonic edge lacing his voice, "helping your brother out today?"

"Unlike you, Dev," Saakshi countered, her voice laced with a cool edge, "I am the lead."

"Enjoy it while it lasts," Dev smirked, his towering height – a good six-foot-three over Saakshi's five-foot-three frame – casting a shadow over her. "Because you're about to lose. To me."

Saakshi couldn't deny the unsettling effect of his proximity. The sharp brown suit accentuated his imposing physique, making him undeniably attractive.  Squashing the unexpected flutter in her stomach, she retorted, "Naive, Dev. This is your first lead project, and you're going down. This contract is mine."  She straightened, attempting to bridge the height gap with a futile tiptoe.

"What makes you so sure, Princess?"  Dev's voice held a hint of amusement.

"I'll do whatever it takes," Saakshi declared, her voice dropping to a husky whisper that sent shivers down Dev's spine.  With a final, slow brush of her hand against his arm, she sashayed towards the conference room, the receptionist calling her name.

Dev watched her go, the lingering touch sending a jolt through him. Would she resort to flirting with Mr. Malhotra?  The thought was infuriating. Saakshi Singh was everything he despised – her entitled attitude, her flamboyant behavior.  She drove him crazy, and it was for that very reason he'd christened her "Princess Singh," a moniker dripping with sarcasm rather than affection.

Finishing his now-lukewarm coffee, Dev settled back on the couch, waiting for his own turn to face Mr. Malhotra.  As Saakshi exited the conference room, she cast him a knowing wink, further fueling his already simmering frustration.  The Malhotra Estate project was just the beginning, he realized.  This was a battle of wills, and he wouldn't back down.

------

Ishan and Mahi boarded the plush interior of his private jet, settling into their plush leather seats. As they waited for the luggage to be loaded, a question hung heavy in the air. 

"Where are we going?" Mahi inquired, her voice laced with curiosity. Ishan, keeping his destination a closely guarded secret, simply replied, "It's a surprise, Jaan."

"Ishan!" Mahi pleaded, a playful pout forming on her lips. "At least a hint?"

Ishan, a mischievous glint in his eyes, shook his head, earning a playful growl of frustration from Mahi.  Suddenly, the pilot's voice crackled through the intercom, announcing the imminent take-off.  Mahi's smile faltered, replaced by a flicker of apprehension.  She'd never admitted to Ishan, but turbulence filled her with a bone-deep fear.

As the plane taxied down the runway and the initial ascent began, Mahi's grip on the armrest tightened, knuckles white.  Sensing her discomfort, Ishan reached out, his hand gently enveloping hers.  He murmured soothing words, his voice a calming balm against her rising panic.

One hand holding Mahi's reassuringly, the other instinctively stroked a comforting path down her hair.  Gradually, her grip loosened, and her breathing returned to normal.  With a gentle smile, Ishan released her hand, though their fingers still brushed against each other.  His calloused thumb traced circles on the back of her hand, a seemingly casual gesture that sent a jolt through Mahi.

Though she understood the touch, she held back a comment, secretly relishing the warmth it brought.  After a comfortable silence, Ishan spoke, his voice laced with a seriousness that made Mahi's heart skip a beat.

"Mahi, I need to talk to you."  A flurry of emotions – anticipation, nervousness, excitement – took hold of her.

"I know our situation isn't exactly conventional," he began.  "This whole fake relationship thing is new territory for me.  But honestly, having you by my side makes it…tolerable.  You're the best fake girlfriend a guy could ask for."

Mahi's heart shattered into a million pieces.  She tried to force a smile, but it felt hollow.  Feeling overwhelmed, she excused herself, escaping to the private lavatory.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, a single tear traced a path down her cheek.  Why did she always do this?  Mistake innocent gestures for something more?  She berated herself for her naivety.  This entire charade served two purposes – to clean up Ishan's playboy image and to launch her modeling career.  But somewhere along the line, the lines had blurred, and her heart had gotten tangled in the process.

-----

The rhythmic murmur of the waves provided the only soundtrack to Sana and Shubman's forty-minute walk along the beach. Couples strolled hand-in-hand, children shrieked with delight, but between them stretched a silence as vast and empty as the ocean before them. Their forced marriage mirrored the scene – a beautiful backdrop devoid of genuine connection.

Just as they neared their beach house, Sana sighed, weariness finally claiming her self-imposed stoicism. "I'm exhausted, Shubman," she announced. "Mind if we take a break?"

She plopped down on the cool sand, her legs crossed in a pose that somehow managed to be both defiant and strangely endearing.  Shubman, still standing, watched her with a furrowed brow. How could someone so fiercely independent curl up on the sand like a child seeking comfort?  With a resigned exhale, he mirrored her position, settling beside her on the sun-warmed grains.

Sana kicked off her heels, a relieved moan escaping her lips as her tortured toes were finally freed. "Oh, that feels so much better," she sighed, the simple pleasure a stark contrast to the tension that hung heavy in the air.

"Heels on the beach?" Shubman quipped, a hint of amusement softening his tone.

Sana shot back a playful retort.  "And who wears a formal shirt on the beach?"  He was clad in a crisp light blue shirt paired with blue pants, the epitome of misplaced formality.

A reluctant smile tugged at Shubman's lips.  While Sana played absentmindedly with the sand, his gaze drifted out towards the vast expanse of the ocean.  His mind couldn't help but drift to the upcoming pitch, and how Dev would handle the Malhotra project.

As if sensing his preoccupation, Sana spoke, her voice laced with a hint of amusement.  "Stop worrying about the pitch, Shubman."

He smirked, his voice laced with playful sarcasm.  "Yes, my wife."  There was a sting in his voice, a jab at her sudden wifely behavior.

"Can I ask you something?" Sana inquired, her gaze finally meeting his.

"Of course," he replied, curiosity piqued.

"Did you accidentally switch bodies with Shubman Sharma on the plane?" she asked, her voice laced with a playful seriousness.

Shubman's amusement morphed into genuine shock.  "What?" he sputtered, completely bewildered by her question.

"We haven't fought once since we arrived here"

Shubman's answer was curt. "Because I'm on a vacation."  His gaze flickered away from her, a subtle shift that spoke volumes. Sana felt a familiar pang of loneliness tighten her chest. She took a deep breath, forcing a smile.

"Let's make this vacation worthwhile," she said, her voice surprisingly steady. "We're stuck with each other for the foreseeable future, wouldn't it be better if we actually got to know each other?"

Shubman studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Finally, he gave a curt nod.  Despite his initial resentment towards the marriage, Sana wasn't entirely terrible. She was fiercely independent, undeniably intelligent, and possessed a sharp wit that he couldn't deny finding intriguing. However, her unwavering self-sufficiency, the way she refused to rely on anyone, even him, fueled a silent rage within him.

An awkward silence stretched between them, broken only by the rhythmic crash of the waves.  Finally, Shubman cleared his throat. "You go first," he conceded, a hint of challenge in his voice.

"How many girlfriends have you had?" Sana asked, her question surprisingly direct.

Shubman chuckled, surprised by her bluntness. "Out of all the questions you could ask, that's your first?"

Sana shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. "Gotta know who I might be dealing with in the future, right?  Crazy exes and all that."

A slow smile spread across Shubman's face. "Well, you don't have to worry about that.  Girlfriends aren't really my thing."

Sana's eyes widened.  "Oh God, you're not gay, are you?" she blurted out, a hint of theatrical despair in her voice.  "Why are all the hot guys gay?!"

Shubman rolled his eyes, but a smile lingered on his lips.  "Relax, I'm not gay.  Just never really been interested in relationships."

Sana's expression softened.  "So that explains the anger issues, then?" she murmured, a sly smile playing on her lips.

"Hey, I heard that!" Shubman countered, mock offense coloring his voice.

"That was meant to be heard," Sana retorted with a playful wink.

Shubman scoffed playfully. "Your turn," he challenged, a hint of amusement flickering in his eyes. "What about you? A string of broken hearts in your wake?"

Sana shrugged, a nonchalant air masking a flicker of vulnerability. "A few relationship, nothing serious. Just youthful exploration, I suppose." Her gaze drifted back to the crashing waves, a silent acknowledgment of the vast unknown that lay before them, both in their relationship and their futures.

Shubman watched her, a grudging respect blossoming within him. There was a captivating strength in her independence, a resolute spirit that refused to be cowed. It was a stark contrast to the expectations that had always been placed upon him, a truth that sparked a flicker of unease in the pit of his stomach.

The silence stretched between them, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Finally, Shubman rose to his feet, the setting sun casting an orange glow across the beach. "We should probably head back," he announced, extending a hand towards Sana.

"Actually," Sana countered, her voice barely a whisper, "I'm too tired to walk."

Shubman's initial annoyance melted away when he saw the genuine exhaustion in her eyes. He sighed, a hint of frustration battling with a newfound empathy. "Alright," he conceded, his voice softer than intended.

He offered her his hand again, a silent invitation for her to take it. Sana hesitated for a moment, her gaze flitting between his hand and his face. Then, with a barely perceptible nod, she slipped her hand into his. The warmth of her touch sent a jolt through him, a spark of connection that surprised them both.

They began their walk back to the beach house, their hands intertwined but their steps tentative. The playful banter had faded, replaced by a newfound awareness. The question of whether they were just two strangers thrown together by circumstance, or something more, hung heavy in the air. As the last sliver of sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in vibrant hues of pink and orange, a single thought echoed in their minds: perhaps this forced vacation wouldn't be so bad after all. As they neared the beach house, Shubman stopped abruptly.

"Wait a minute," he blurted out, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes.

Sana, caught off guard, turned towards him with a questioning look. "What is it?"

Shubman grinned, a dimple flashing in his cheek. "So, you said all the hot guys are gay, huh?"

Sana's cheeks flushed a rosy pink. She feigned innocence, batting her eyelashes playfully. "What do you mean?"

He chuckled, his voice warm. "Don't play coy. You practically admitted to thinking I'm attractive when you asked if I had any crazy ex-girlfriends."

Sana's carefully constructed facade crumbled. She mumbled something inaudible, her gaze darting away from his. The heat in her cheeks intensified as she realized she'd been caught out.

With a playful nudge, Shubman teased, "Going to own up to it?"

Sana remained silent, letting go of his hand and breaking the unexpected connection. She turned towards the beach house, her retreat a silent answer.

Shubman watched her go, a smile lingering on his lips. The unexpected compliment hung in the air, a spark of something new igniting within him. Perhaps this forced vacation wouldn't be so terrible after all.

------

The aroma of dinner wafted through the air, drawing Taran Singh from his study. He entered the dining room with the weight of a long hour settling on his shoulders. He sank into his customary seat, the one at the head of the table, a silent claim to his position.

Across from him sat Geeta Singh, his wife of thirty-nine years. They presented a picture of a contented couple, a testament to years spent side-by-side. Yet, beneath the surface, their reality was a different story. Their union wasn't born of love, but of commerce. Taran's father, shrewd businessman that he was, saw an opportunity in Geeta's father's thriving construction material store. Thus, a marriage was arranged, a loveless pact sealed with a handshake.

There were no fiery arguments, no passionate displays of affection, no betrayals. They simply existed within the confines of their arranged life. Even their children, Ishan the elder son and Saakshi the elder daughter, were conceived not out of love, but out of a societal obligation to produce heirs.

"Where's Saakshi?" Taran asked, his voice devoid of warmth.

"In her room," Geeta replied softly. "She was feeling a little tired."

"Have someone call her down. I need to hear about the Malhotra pitch," Taran said, his tone leaving no room for discussion. Before Geeta could respond, he added curtly, "It's an order, not a request."

Moments later, Saakshi appeared at the doorway, her eyes heavy with fatigue.

"How did the presentation go?" Taran inquired, his voice laced with a hint of urgency.

"Well," Saakshi answered simply.

"We need that contract," Taran declared, his voice firm.

"And we'll get it," Saakshi assured him. "I had a productive conversation with Mr. Malhotra."

"Just one thing," Taran interjected, his brow furrowed. "Sharma Construction can't get their hands on the project. We can work with another company, but not with them."

Saakshi offered no reply. With a curt goodnight, she retreated to the sanctuary of her room, leaving a palpable tension hanging in the air.

Geeta, ever the diplomat, tried to lighten the mood. "Don't worry, Mr. Singh," she said in a soothing voice. "We'll secure the contract."

Taran remained silent, his gaze fixed on his plate as he pushed the food around with his fork, a silent reflection of the transactional nature of his life.

-----

Another question - who should get the Malhotra Project? Sharma Construction Or Singh Builder?
I have thought about story in both the ways.

P. S. - I'm not a fan of this chapter. It's not up to the mark. So...