Khushi was pacing the room like a tornado, frantically looking at the clock. "Devi Maiyya! I'm so late! Everyone's waiting, and it's all because of you, Arnavji!"
Arnav, lounging on the couch with a smug expression, leaned back and smirked. "Because of me? As I recall, you didn't exactly resist when I—"
"Arnavji!" she hissed, her cheeks turning crimson. "You can't just—just distract me like that before an important event!"
"I wasn't distracting you," he said, his smirk widening. "I was expressing my love. Big difference."
Khushi glared at him but didn't have time to argue. Relax, Khushi," he said coolly. "You'll make it."
Just as she was about to storm out, disaster struck. Her saree got caught in the edge of the coffee table, spilling coffee all over it. Khushi froze, horrified, while Arnav raised an eyebrow.
"This is all your fault!" she yelled, flailing her arms. "Now what will I wear? My backup saree isn't even ironed! Oh, Devi Maiyya, what do I do?"
Arnav, used to her dramatic tendencies, sighed and walked to the wardrobe. He pulled out the backup saree and grabbed the iron. "Stop panicking, Khushi. You'll ruin the saree more."
She blinked in disbelief as he calmly plugged in the iron. "You're going to iron it? You? Mr. Arnav Singh Raizada?"
"Yes, Khushi," he replied dryly. "Contrary to your belief, I'm capable of basic human functions."
As she watched him expertly iron the saree, Khushi couldn't help but marvel at the sight. "Arnavji, you're... actually good at this."
She grabbed her saree, ready to drape it in record time. But in her panic, she fumbled with the pleats, tangling the fabric into a wrinkled mess.
Arnav stood up, adjusting his cuffs casually. "Relax, Khushi. I'll help."
She blinked at him in disbelief. "You'll help? What do you know about draping a saree?"
He gave her a look that screamed seriously? "Khushi, I'm Arnav Singh Raizada. I'm a fashion mogul. I've designed more sarees than you've worn in your entire life. Of course, I know how to drape one."
She opened her mouth to protest but stopped when he grabbed the saree. "Stand still," he ordered, stepping closer.
"Shh," he cut her off. "You're wasting time."
With the precision of a seasoned designer, he began pleating the saree, his movements swift and confident. As he tucked the pleats into her waist, Khushi froze, her breath hitching at how close he was.
"Arnavji..." she whispered, her cheeks turning pink.
He glanced up, smirking. "Now you're the one getting distracted."
"Focus!" she shot back, flustered.
He chuckled, pinning the pallu perfectly over her shoulder. "There. Done."
Khushi looked in the mirror, her saree draped flawlessly. "Wow," she breathed.
"Told you," he said, stepping back to admire his work. "I'm good at everything."
She rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her smile. "Thank you, Arnavji. Now, can we please go?"
"Of course," he said, grabbing his car keys. Then, leaning closer, he added in a low voice, "But next time, Khushi, don't blame me if you get late. You're the one who gets lost in my distractions."
Blushing furiously, Khushi marched out of the room, muttering, "Laad Governor..."
Arnav followed, grinning like a man who had just won the day—and honestly, he had.
