Chapter one
Mumbai never slept—but inside the Takur mansion, silence ruled.
Najma Takur stood by the tall glass window, her hands folded neatly in front of her, watching the city lights flicker like distant stars. From the outside, anyone would think she had everything—wealth, beauty, status. But Najma had learned early in life that some emptiness could not be filled by luxury.
"Najma!"
Twinkle's voice rang through the hallway, bright and impatient, exactly like her personality.
Najma turned just in time to see her younger sister rushing toward her, bangles clinking, dupatta half-slipping from her shoulder.
"You're daydreaming again," Twinkle complained. "Ammi is calling you. And Baba too."
Najma smiled softly. "You're running. Again."
"That's because you walk like the world has all the time," Twinkle huffed, grabbing Najma's arm. "Come on!"
They walked together, just like they always had. Twinkle talked—about college, fashion sketches, a silly argument with a friend—while Najma listened. She always listened. Observed. Remembered.
Saraswati Takur looked up as they entered the living room, her eyes warm when they fell on her daughters.
"Najma, beta," she said gently. "You haven't eaten."
"I'm not hungry, Ammi."
A lie. But Najma had learned how to say those easily.
Her father, Mr. Takur, folded his newspaper. "You're coming with us tomorrow. The Sign family invited us."
Twinkle froze. "The Sign family?"
Najma's fingers tightened slightly.
Everyone in Mumbai knew the Sign family. The wealthiest family in India. Power wrapped in silence and authority.
"And their eldest grandson," Mr. Takur continued, "Ranveer Sign… is returning from abroad."
Twinkle leaned toward Najma and whispered, "They say he doesn't smile."
Najma whispered back, "Then maybe he hasn't met the right reason yet."
Twinkle giggled. Najma didn't.
Because somewhere deep inside her, a strange unease settled.
She didn't know it yet—but that name, Ranveer Sign, was about to change her life.
And awaken a past she had buried for years.