Author's Pov-

Holi arrived like a riot of sound, color, and chaos.

Prakriti stepped into the courtyard, white saree catching the morning sun, and immediately regretted it. Within seconds, pink and yellow powder flew from every direction. Someone laughed behind her. Someone shrieked. Music pulsed in the background.

And then she felt it—Rudraksh, right behind her, his grin impossible to miss.

“Stay still,” she warned, lifting her hand to defend herself.

“Or what?” he teased, blue powder already on his fingers.

Before she could react, he swiped a streak across her cheek. She yelped, grabbing a handful of yellow and tossing it at him. He laughed, a deep, warm sound that made her heart skip.

“Truce?” he asked suddenly, leaning just close enough that she could see the faint sparkle in his eyes.

“Not a chance,” she shot back, smearing color across his forehead.

They ran, chased each other around the courtyard, dodging children, sidestepping splashes of color from neighbors, slipping sometimes on wet patches. Every laugh, every brush of hands, every stolen glance made her feel dizzy—not from running, but from him.

At one point, he caught her hand mid-spin, pulling her close as he whispered, “You look impossible like this.”

“And you look… completely reckless,” she retorted, though her cheeks burned with a warmth she couldn’t hide.

He laughed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face, his fingers leaving a faint trace of pink on her skin. “I could get used to this,” he murmured.

She caught her breath, their foreheads nearly touching, and realized she didn’t want the chase to end. Not the laughter, not the chaos, not this moment suspended between them.

“Rudraksh!” she finally squealed, spinning to escape his sudden playful lunge.

He grabbed her waist lightly, steadying her, and their eyes locked. In that instant, all the noise faded. The festival, the colors, the laughter—they didn’t matter. Just him. Just her.

He leaned in, brushing his lips briefly against her temple. A kiss so soft it was almost a whisper, almost private amidst the chaos.

She blushed fiercely, shoving him lightly, laughing despite the warmth flooding her chest. “You’re impossible,” she said breathlessly.

“And you love it,” he replied with that infuriating smirk.

The chase resumed, quicker now, full of laughter and color smeared on every inch of them. She caught him off guard with a handful of pink powder, flicked it at his hair, and he retaliated by dipping his hand into water and flicking it across her saree, soaking it slightly.

Her heart raced, her cheeks flushed from laughter and the thrill of closeness. Every moment felt alive, electric, and intimate despite the crowd.

And then—suddenly—cold.

A splash of water hit her face full on. She gasped, blinking as water ran into her eyes and colors mixed into a messy swirl on her skin.

And a voice followed it—urgent, close, unmistakable:

“Prakriti!”

She froze, her heartbeat skipping in a way that no playful chase had ever done.

Everything—noise, laughter, chaos—stilled for a heartbeat.