The Girl in White

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Chapter 3 – The Girl in White

The evening air was laced with jasmine and warm luxury.

A line of black cars pulled up slowly outside The Imperial Heights Banquet, an exclusive, invitation-only venue nestled on the outskirts of South Mumbai — a property owned quietly by the Malhotras but never publicly branded. Everything about the place whispered wealth, not screamed it.

White stone pillars lined the grand entrance, glowing under golden floodlights. Soft instrumental music played in the background as liveried valets opened car doors and murmured polite greetings.

Inside, the dining hall was a vision in ivory and emerald. Chandeliers spilled golden light over marble floors. Crystal glasses sparkled on every table. The scent of fresh lilies mingled with aged wine and saffron.

This wasn’t just an investor dinner.

It was a performance.

And everyone here knew their role.

Powerful men in tailored suits, elegant women in silk sarees and diamonds worth estates, voices speaking in soft tones about stocks, land approvals, and foreign funds.

And then, he arrived.

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🖤 Rahul Desai

Twenty-six. Clean-shaven. Crisp black tuxedo with a single silver pin on his lapel. No tie. Just the quiet arrogance of a man who didn’t need one.

His hair was neatly pushed back, freshly trimmed. Not a single thing about him looked rushed or uncertain. He walked like time moved for him. Like he already knew what the night would offer, and who would offer themselves.

He shook hands with two investors from Dubai. Nodded briefly to a minister’s nephew. He didn’t linger.

Rahul Desai never lingered.

Until his eyes caught something—

Someone.

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She was standing near the farthest corner of the hall, beside a table of wine glasses.

And for the first time in years, Rahul forgot the sound of his own thoughts.

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🤍 Enaya Malhotra

She wore a white saree.

No shimmer. No heavy jewelry. Just pure, soft, moonlit white that clung delicately to her waist and shoulders. Her blouse was sleeveless, minimal — exposing the smooth curve of her collarbones and the elegance of her long arms.

Her hair wasn’t styled into a bun like the other women here. It fell in waves down her back, some strands tucked behind her ear, some left wild — like the girl didn’t belong to the rules of this place.

And her face…

Her eyes carried softness. But not weakness. Something untouched. Something… sacred. She wasn’t dressed to impress anyone.

She was unknowingly dangerous in her simplicity.

She laughed at something someone said. That same laughter he remembered from the temple — light, gentle, too pure for the world he lived in.

Rahul’s grip on his champagne glass tightened.

He didn’t know her name.

Not yet.

But that same unsettling pull returned — the kind that made him want to walk toward her and ask nothing, yet everything.

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“Mr. Desai,” someone called.

He blinked. Looked away. Composed himself.

Ranvijay was approaching, flanked by two older men in suits.

Rahul shook hands, forced a smile. His mind was back in control. Or so he thought.

“You remember Mr. Sen and Mr. Talwar,” Ranvijay said, polite.

Rahul nodded. “Of course. The telecom and hospitality chiefs. We’ve crossed paths.”

“Impressive memory,” Mr. Sen said with a nod.

Rahul gave a mild smile, but his mind drifted again — back to the girl in white.

Why was she here?

She didn’t look like a politician’s wife. Not a corporate investor’s daughter either.

Too untouched. Too untrained for this world.

And yet… she stood there, in his world, like she had always belonged.

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Later, during dinner, as waiters served saffron risotto and buttered asparagus on antique plates, Rahul saw her again — this time seated only three tables away.

A man beside her leaned over, whispering something in her ear. She nodded with a small smile.

Rahul’s chest clenched.

He didn’t understand the emotion.

It wasn’t jealousy.

It wasn’t anger.

It was something darker. Older. Like a storm he had buried long ago — beginning to rise.

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“Would you like to meet my daughter?” Ranvijay suddenly said beside him.

Rahul snapped out of his trance. “I’m sorry?”

Ranvijay gestured toward the girl in white — who was now walking toward them, head slightly lowered, hands clasped in front of her.

“My daughter, Enaya.”

The world paused.

The glass in Rahul’s hand went still.

Enaya.

The name sank like fire into his veins.

His gaze locked on her face again.

The same face from the temple.

The same innocence.

But this time — with a name.

A bloodline.

A reason.

She looked up slowly — and froze.

Their eyes met. Again.

Recognition flared in her eyes.

The temple. The grass. The cows. The silence between strangers.

Rahul stood.

For the first time tonight, his voice dropped softer than usual.

“…We’ve met.”

Enaya didn’t speak. Her throat moved — a silent swallow. She gave a small nod.

Ranvijay, oblivious, smiled. “You must have crossed paths. She often goes to the temple nearby.”

Rahul didn’t reply.

Because inside him, something broke — or healed. He couldn’t tell.

All he knew was that she now had a name.

And her name lived inside the house of the man who just signed a multi-crore deal with him.

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Fate had drawn the lines.

Now desire would blur them.

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Chapter finished

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner

Breathing in your dust

I wanna be your Ford Cortina

I will never rust

If you like your coffee hot

Let me be your coffee pot

You call the shots, babe

I just wanna be yours

Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought

Maybe I just wanna be yours

I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Let me be your leccy meter

And I'll never run out

Let me be the portable heater

That you'll get cold without

I wanna be your setting lotion (wanna be)

Hold your hair in deep devotion (How deep?)

At least as deep as the Pacific Ocean

Now I wanna be yours

Secrets I have held in my heart

Are harder to hide than I thought

Maybe I just wanna be yours

I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

Wanna be yours

(Wanna be yours)

I wanna be your vacuum cleaner (wanna be yours)

Breathing in your dust (wanna be yours)

I wanna be your Ford Cortina (wanna be yours)

I will never rust (wanna be yours)

I just wanna be yours (wanna be yours)

I just wanna be yours (wanna be yours)

I just wanna be yours (wanna be yours)

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