The soft hum of the airplane buzzed like a distant lullaby as Isha gazed out of the window, watching the thick clouds stretch like soft cotton across the vast sky. Her long fingers absentmindedly played with the bracelet on her wrist — a simple thread, the kind soldiers sometimes tie in silent gratitude. Her mind wasn't on the flight, nor the fact that she was headed to London for the first time. It was somewhere far away — high up in the snow-covered lands of Kashmir.
Just a few days ago, Isha had gone on a trip to Kashmir with her friends. They had set up camp in the heart of the mountains, where the air was crisp and the sky seemed to touch the peaks. Everything was going perfectly. The nights were filled with laughter, music, and stories around the fire. After a long day, they all cozied up inside their tents and drifted off into peaceful sleep.
The next morning, they stepped out of their train to a breathtaking sight. Kashmir's natural beauty unfolded like a dream—snow-kissed mountains, the cold breeze brushing against their skin, and a quiet lake glistening under the soft sunlight. The entire valley was wrapped in silence, the kind that feels sacred. Everyone sipped their morning tea or coffee, soaking in the serenity. It was a moment they wished would last forever.
But peace doesn't always last.
Out of nowhere, the sharp, terrifying sound of gunfire shattered the morning calm. Bullets echoed through the air. People froze, confused and terrified. From a nearby area, a group of blood-soaked civilians came running in panic. The realization hit them all hard—a terrorist attack had broken out nearby.
Fear spread like wildfire.
Everyone around Isha began running for their lives, and though chaos had taken over, a miracle happened—Indian soldiers arrived just in time. They began evacuating people and securing the area. But even so, not everyone was lucky. Some were injured. Some never made it.
Isha and her friends tried to run too. But suddenly, they saw a group of terrorists advancing from the opposite side.
With no time to think, Isha darted towards a cluster of trees—dense like a mini forest—and hid behind a large trunk, her breath caught in her throat. That's when she heard it… a faint groan. She turned around, and her heart nearly stopped.
A man lay on the ground, bleeding heavily—his uniform torn, body soaked in blood, his face pale and covered in dirt. He was a soldier. An Indian army man. Isha didn't think twice. She rushed to him. But the terrorists were searching the area too.
She had to act fast.
The soldier was much taller and heavier than her, and she could barely manage to support his weight. But somehow, with trembling arms and an unshakable will, she dragged him deeper into the forest, inch by inch, towards a safer path where she'd seen more soldiers stationed.
By the time they reached, he was barely conscious. His body had lost too much blood. In desperation, Isha tore her sweater and tied it tightly around his wound, trying to slow the bleeding. As military doctors rushed to him, putting him on a stretcher, he opened his eyes for a moment—just long enough to grab Isha's hand.
"What's your name?" he whispered through clenched teeth, his voice rough and broken.
"Isha," she replied softly, shaken but steady.
"I'm Raghav," he said. "Thank you…"
And then he slipped into unconsciousness as the medics rushed him away.
Two days passed.
The memory still haunted Isha like a vivid dream. But life moves forward, sometimes faster than we expect. That afternoon, a few people came to her house. They weren't strangers—but neither were they ordinary guests.
They brought an invitation. A high-profile event in London, hosted by none other than the Mayor himself.
That's when Isha found out the truth. The soldier she had rescued that day—Raghav—wasn't just a soldier. He was the Mayor of London, known by his English name, Albert.
He had asked—no, begged—the organizers to invite Isha personally. And after some convincing, she had said yes.
Now, she sat on a flight to London, her heart a tangle of emotions—nervousness, curiosity, and something else she couldn't quite name.
Isha was the kind of woman people turned around to look at—not because of makeup or designer clothes, but because of her raw, natural beauty. She had almond-shaped, expressive eyes that sparkled with both strength and softness. Her skin carried a natural glow, sun-kissed and clear, with a tiny mole near her lip that added an effortless charm.
Her hair, long and slightly wavy, framed her face like a painting. But more than her face, it was her aura—the quiet confidence, the warmth in her smile, and the grace in the way she carried herself—that made people stop and admire her.
She wasn't born into luxury. In fact, she was raised in an orphanage, where life taught her to be her own savior. But Isha never let her past define her. At 24, she had built her own event planning company—Starlet Events. It wasn't a giant corporation, but it was hers. And she ran it with heart, talent, and hard-earned dignity.
She didn't dream of being rich—she just wanted to give her little sister a better life. A safer life.
But fate had other plans.
And this party in London… it might just be the beginning of something bigger than she ever imagined.
As Isha stepped out of the plane, her eyes scanned the unfamiliar crowd at the airport. Everything—the people, the language, the vibe—felt so different from what she was used to back home. Still soaking in the atmosphere, she was led to a car that had been sent for her. She got in quietly, her heart a mix of excitement and nervous anticipation as the vehicle rolled towards the hotel.
After reaching and taking a short rest, there was a knock on her door. A man who looked like a butler entered with a slight bow and informed her politely, "Ma'am, the party is about to begin. Please get ready."
Isha nodded with a soft smile. She opened her suitcase and chose a baby-soft pink high-low gown—a dress that made her look no less than an angel. Beautiful and sexy at the same time. She wore barely any makeup, left her hair flowing freely, and stepped out with a quiet confidence.
As she arrived at the party, the butler guided her through the crowd. The moment she entered, every single pair of eyes turned towards her. Conversations paused. She could feel their stares. Isha's beauty wasn't just captivating—it was arresting. She blushed under their gaze but held her poise, walking forward confidently.
Soon, the butler led her to someone.
Albert.
He turned, and for a moment, just stared at her—his expression blank, as if his mind had short-circuited. Then quickly collecting himself, he smiled, walked up to her, and pulled her into a warm hug.
"Finally, I'm seeing you again," he said, a hint of awe in his voice. "You look… absolutely stunning."
Isha chuckled softly, "Thank you so much. Honestly, I didn't get a proper look at you that day—your face was covered in blood. But now… you're pretty handsome too."
Albert laughed. His eyes lit up as he gently held her hand and said, "Come, I want to introduce you to someone."
He led her through the elegant crowd to an older couple who had been watching from a distance. As they approached, it became obvious—they had recognized her even before Albert said a word.
"Mom, this is the girl who saved my life," Albert said with deep pride in his voice.
Isha, slightly shy now, greeted them with a gentle bow. But before she could say anything else, Laura, Albert's mother, pulled her into a tight embrace. There was emotion in her voice, even a tremble.
"Thank you, my dear… You saved our only son. I don't know what would have happened to us if—" Her voice cracked, and she didn't finish the sentence.
Isha held her hands gently and said with soft honesty, "It's okay, aunty. I was just doing my duty. Maybe… maybe God didn't want you to lose your only son, and He…"
She trailed off.
She was about to say, "…and He sent me." But it felt like a bit too much to say out loud. Isha was a little self-obsessed in a funny way. She often joked and hyped herself with her friends—who were no different. It was almost out of habit that she nearly said something bold, but she stopped herself in time and simply smiled.
"You're welcome, aunty."
James, Albert's father, placed a hand gently on her head and said, "You're right. God did send you. You're a brave girl."
Isha smiled again, feeling warm and appreciated.
"I only did what anyone else would've done," she said softly.
James shook his head. "No, not everyone would. You're different, Isha. You're special."
Those words made her heart flutter a little.
Albert leaned in and said, "Come, I want you to meet a few of my friends."
She nodded, and they walked off together. But unknown to even herself, Laura's eyes lingered on Isha, a strange but pleasant warmth blooming in her chest. She couldn't explain why, but there was something about this girl—something that made her heart feel… at ease.
As Albert introduced her to his friends, Isha overheard two girls whispering behind her.
"Hey, did you hear? Alexa is here."
That name caught Isha's attention instantly.
"What?! Seriously? Finally!" the second girl squealed in excitement.
"Yeah," the first replied, "but what's the point? Even if he's here, he won't come out. He stays in the private wing and leaves from there itself. No one sees him. He never shows up publicly."
Isha found it strange. Why would someone come to a party and not actually come to the party?
Albert's voice broke her thoughts. "Hey! Where are you lost?"
She snapped back. "Nothing, sorry!" She laughed it off and joined the conversation again.
But moments later, her eyes drifted to the far corner of the hall—a section where no one seemed to be allowed. It was guarded by several bodyguards. And there, standing with his back to her, was a man talking to James.
From that distance, she couldn't see his face… but something about him…
His posture was perfect. His presence—undeniable.
Then suddenly, the man turned slightly to the side. Just enough for Isha to glimpse the sharp line of his jaw… and a perfectly sculpted nose.
But before she could get a proper look, he walked away with James, disappearing into the private wing.
Isha stood frozen, curiosity bubbling in her chest.
Who was he?
And more importantly…
Why did his presence feel so… familiar?