Author pov -

The Return of Saanvi Mehta

The bustling halls of JFK Airport were filled with hurried travelers, each carrying their own stories, dreams, and destinations. Among them was a young woman gracefully making her way through security, her every move exuding quiet confidence. Dressed in a crisp white blouse tucked into high-waisted jeans, with her sleek hair cascading over her shoulders, she was elegance personified.

Sanvi Mehta.

A woman of discipline, ambition, and undeniable beauty. Her caramel-toned skin glowed under the bright airport lights, a testament to the meticulous skincare routine she swore by. She was a perfectionist in every sense—whether it was her appearance, her studies, or her career. And now, after years of dedication, she was on her way back home.

Back to India.

Just as she placed her designer handbag on the scanner for security check, her phone buzzed in her hand. She glanced at the screen.

Dad Calling…

A soft smile curled on her lips as she picked up the call.

"Beta, kis time ki flight hai tumhari?" her father’s deep, familiar voice echoed through the line, laced with warmth and concern.

("Beta, what time is your flight?")

Sanvi sighed, rolling her eyes playfully. "Dad, maine aapko already bata diya tha. My flight is at 10:30 PM, and I’ll reach India by morning."

("Dad, I already told you.")

"Achha, achha. Thik hai. Aur sun, tujhe lene airport zaroor aayenge hum. Tujhe India ki sadak kaise yaad rahegi? Chhoti si thi jab gayi thi," her father teased, making her chuckle.

("Okay, okay. Fine. And listen, we will definitely come to pick you up from the airport. How would you even remember the roads of India? You were so little when you left," her father teased, making her chuckle.)

He wasn’t wrong. She had left India at the age of 18, almost 19, to pursue her dreams of becoming a dermatologist. Now, at 23, she was not just a student but an established skincare specialist, well on her way to making a name for herself.

“Exactly! Mujhe bilkul bhi yaad nahi ki kaunsa rasta kahan jata hai," she admitted with a playful smirk. “And please, dad, don’t forget to pick me up. I don’t want to get lost on my first day back.”

("Exactly! I don’t remember at all which road leads where.")

"Haan, haan, tujhe lene airport aayenge hum. Tera India welcomes jo karna hai," he said with a warmth that made her heart squeeze.

("Yes, yes, we will come to pick you up from the airport. After all, India has to welcome you," he said with a warmth that made her heart squeeze.)

Sanvi leaned against the glass wall near her departure gate, her fingers unconsciously tightening around her phone. "Papa… aap kaise ho?"

(How are you dad)

There was a slight pause before he replied, softer this time. "Bas beta, ab tu aa rahi hai toh sab theek ho jayega."

Something in his voice tugged at her heartstrings. It wasn’t just a casual conversation; there was something more, something he wasn’t telling her. But before she could question him, the final boarding call for her flight to Udaipur ran through the speakers.

“Dad, I have to go. I’ll see you in a few hours, okay?”

"Bilkul beta. Apna dhyaan rakhna."

(Of course beta take care of yourself)

With that, she ended the call, inhaling deeply. There was something about her father’s voice that unsettled her. But she brushed it aside for now.

She had waited five years for this moment. It was finally time to go home.

The Arrival

The next morning, as the airplane touched down on Indian soil, Sanvi pushed her glasses up her nose and peered outside the window. The golden hues of the early morning sun bathed the city in a warm glow, making everything look ethereal.

“Welcome to Udaipur,” the flight attendant announced, but Sanvi barely heard her.

She was home.

A mix of excitement and nervousness bubbled in her chest as she stepped off the plane. The air was thick with the familiar scent of spices, warmth, and something that could only be described as nostalgia.

She adjusted her designer handbag on her shoulder, running a hand through her silky brown hair before making her way toward the baggage claim. Her phone vibrated again, this time with a message from her father.

Dad: We’re waiting outside. Hurry up.

A smile played on her lips as she grabbed her suitcase and walked toward the exit. The automatic doors slid open, and there he was—her father, standing with a proud yet emotional smile on his face.

"Dad!"

She rushed into his arms, inhaling the familiar scent of home.

"Meri beti," he murmured, his voice thick with emotions.

(My daughter)

For the first time in years, she felt at peace.

But little did she know, this homecoming was about to change her life forever.

After sometimes,

Sanvi sat comfortably at the dining table, the aroma of freshly brewed chai and hot parathas filling the air. The morning sun filtered through the large glass windows of their ancestral home, casting a golden glow across the elegant dining hall. Everything about this place felt warm, familiar… home.

Yet, despite the comfort of being back, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something was about to change.

She took a sip of her chai, savoring the perfect blend of spices, when her father cleared his throat.

"Beta, aaj raat ka dinner yaad hai na?" he asked casually, cutting a piece of his buttered toast.

("Beta, you remember tonight's dinner, right?" he asked.)

Sanvi blinked, lowering her cup. “Dinner?” She frowned slightly. “Kaisa dinner?”

( "What kind of dinner?")

Her father looked up, surprised. “Arre, maine kal bataya tha. Hum mere bachpan ke dost Dilip Shekhawat ke ghar dinner par ja rahe hain.”

("Oh, I told you yesterday. We're going to my childhood friend Dilip Shekhawat's house for dinner.")

Sanvi’s hand froze mid-air.

Shekhawat?

The name alone sent a shiver down her spine, stirring old memories she had long buried. She put her cup down slowly, trying to keep her face neutral.

Dilip Shekhawat. The father of Samar Shekhawat.

Sanvi’s heart skipped a beat. She hadn’t heard his name in years, but how could she ever forget?

Samar—the man she had adored in her teenage years, the man she had once dreamt about hopelessly, only to be ignored like she never existed. He had been her first crush, the one who made her heart race even when he barely acknowledged her presence.

And now, she was supposed to have dinner at his house?

Her father must have noticed her silence because he smiled knowingly. “Mujhe pata hai, tujhe yaad hai Samar ko,” he said, sipping his tea.

("I know you remember Samar," he said.)

Sanvi straightened in her chair. “Mujhe koi yaad nahi hai, papa,” she said, pretending to be uninterested. “Bas surprise laga ki aap unke ghar dinner par ja rahe hain.”

("I don't remember anything, Papa," she said, pretending to be uninterested. "Just surprised that you're going to their house for dinner.")

Her father chuckled. “Beta, Dilip aur main sirf dost nahi hain… hum bhaiyon jaise hain. Bachpan se saath bade hue hain. Aur tujhe pata hai?” He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. “Teri maa aur Samar ki maa bhi best friends thi.”

("Beta, Dilip and I are not just friends… we are like brothers. We grew up together since childhood. And you know what?" He leaned forward, his eyes twinkling. "Your mother and Samar's mother were also best friends.")

Sanvi’s stomach twisted slightly. She knew that already. Their families had always been close, but her mother’s passing had distanced them.

She picked at her paratha, suddenly losing her appetite. “Papa, Samar abhi bhi India mein hai?” she asked, pretending the question was casual.

("Papa, is Samar still in India?")

Her father nodded. “Haan, bilkul. Samar toh ab ek bahut bada aadmi ban chuka hai. Udaipur ka king maana jata hai. Shekhawat company ka CEO hai, aur sab log uski izzat karte hain.”

("Yes, absolutely. Samar has become a very influential man now. He is considered the king of Udaipur. He is the CEO of Shekhawat Company, and everyone respects him.")

Sanvi swallowed. She had kept up with his life from afar, of course. She had seen his name in news articles, and had read about his massive success. But no one ever talked about what lurked beneath his business empire—the rumors, the whispers of his underworld connections.

To the world, he was a respected businessman, but some people knew better.

Sanvi looked at her father carefully. “Papa, aapko lagta hai ki Samar sirf ek businessman hai?” she asked softly.

("Papa, do you think Samar is just a businessman?" she asked softly.)

Her father stilled for a moment before placing his tea down. His expression turned unreadable, like he was considering his words carefully.

“Beta…” he said after a long pause. “Duniya jo dekhti hai, wahi sach nahi hota.”

("The world sees only what it wants to, but that’s not the whole truth.")

Sanvi’s breath hitched. That was all he said, but it was enough to confirm what she already suspected.

Samar Shekhawat wasn’t just a businessman.

He was more than that.

Dangerous. Ruthless. Powerful.

And yet… her father wanted her to go to his house for dinner?

She tried to keep her voice steady. “Papa, aapko lagta hai humein wahan jaana chahiye?”

("Papa, do you think we should go there?")

Her father smiled slightly. “Beta, ye sirf ek dinner hai. Koi tension lene ki zarurat nahi.”

("Beta, it's just a dinner. There's no need to worry.")

Sanvi wasn’t so sure.

As she sat there, pretending to focus on her plate, an unsettling feeling settled in her chest.

Tonight, she would see him again.

The man she had once loved in silence.

The man who had never once looked at her the way she had looked at him.

And something told her that this dinner wasn’t just about old friendships.

It was about something much bigger.

Something that would change everything.

In the Shekhawat house,

The Shekhawat Mansion stood tall in the heart of Udaipur, a grand estate that exuded power, wealth, and legacy. It was not just a house; it was a fortress, built on decades of dominance and authority. Inside, the atmosphere was always controlled, poised—except for today.

Inside one of the grand living rooms, Dilip Shekhawat, the patriarch of the Shekhawat empire, stood near the fireplace, sipping his whiskey as he spoke to his wife, Meera Shekhawat. His brows were furrowed, his sharp eyes filled with quiet frustration.

“Where is your son, Meera?” Dilip’s deep voice echoed through the luxurious hall, irritating his words.

Meera sighed, adjusting the pallu of her expensive saree as she sat down gracefully on the plush velvet couch. “Do you think I have a tracking device on him, Dilip?” she retorted, her tone calm yet tired. “Samar does what he wants. You know that.”

Dilip exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. “Don’t forget, tonight is important. The Mehtas are coming over for dinner.” His voice was firm, commanding. “I need my son present.”

Meera took a sip of her chai, watching her husband carefully. She knew why he was impatient. Tonight wasn’t just about an old friendship; it was about sealing a deal. A lifelong deal.

“I have already told Samar about the dinner,” she admitted, setting her cup down. “And I have also told him about his marriage to Sanvi Mehta.”

Dilip’s head snapped up at her words. His expression shifted from frustration to curiosity. “And?”

Meera leaned back, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “He didn’t say no.”

Dilip raised an eyebrow. “That’s surprising. Samar has never been the type to agree to something so easily.”

Meera nodded. “Yes. But he didn’t say yes either. Which means he’s considering it.”

Dilip took another slow sip of his whiskey, his sharp mind analyzing the situation. “Why do you think he hasn’t refused outright?”

Meera’s gaze softened slightly, her fingers playing with the edge of her saree. “Because despite everything, Samar still values family. He respects you, even if he doesn’t show it. And he knows that this marriage is not just about emotions—it’s about legacy, power, and the future of both families.”

Dilip smirked. “You’re using his loyalty against him.”

Meera shrugged elegantly. “I’m reminding him of his duty.”

Silence settled between them for a moment, the weight of their words hanging in the air.

Finally, Dilip spoke, his tone firm. “I don’t care how you do it, Meera. But Samar needs to be here tonight. I can’t have the Mehtas questioning his absence, not when we’re about to discuss this marriage.”

Meera nodded. “I understand. But you and I both know that no one tells Samar what to do.”

Dilip’s jaw clenched slightly. That was the problem. Samar Shekhawat was not a man who could be controlled. Not by anyone.

At that moment, the sound of heavy boots echoed through the hall. Both parents turned their heads as Samar Shekhawat finally made his presence known.

Dressed in an all-black suit, his tall, broad figure exuded dominance. The slight stubble on his face only added to the raw, untamed aura that surrounded him. His sharp jawline, piercing dark eyes, and the undeniable arrogance in his stance made it clear—this was a man who commanded attention the moment he stepped into a room.

He was not just the heir to the Shekhawat empire.

He was the empire.

Samar walked in lazily, shoving his hands into his pockets. His expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to shift the air in the room.

“You wanted to see me?” His voice was deep, smooth—yet carried an edge of indifference.

Dilip turned to face his son, studying him carefully. “Where were you?”

Samar smirked slightly. “Handling business.”

Dilip narrowed his eyes. “Business or trouble?”

Samar didn’t answer. He didn’t need to. His silence was enough to confirm that whatever he had been doing wasn’t exactly legal. But neither Dilip nor Meera pushed further. They both knew that Samar lived in two worlds—one that was seen, and one that wasn’t.

Meera stood up, walking towards her son with a gentle smile. “Samar, tonight is important,” she said, her tone softer than her husband’s. “The Mehtas are coming over. We need you here.”

Samar tilted his head slightly, amusement flickering in his dark eyes. “And what exactly are we discussing at this oh-so-important dinner?”

Meera glanced at Dilip before turning back to Samar. “Your marriage.”

The amusement in Samar’s eyes faded instantly. His jaw ticked, and his expression darkened.

Silence stretched in the room.

Then, finally, he let out a low chuckle. “My marriage?” He raised an eyebrow. “To whom?”

“Sanvi Mehta.”

Samar didn’t react immediately. He simply stared at his mother, his sharp gaze unreadable. Then, after a long pause, he exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly.

“I should have known.”

Meera smiled slightly, stepping closer. “She’s a wonderful girl, Samar. She’s intelligent, kind, and beautiful.”

Samar scoffed, looking away. “I don’t doubt that.”

Dilip crossed his arms. “Then what’s the problem?”

Samar turned his gaze back to his father, his expression turning colder. “The problem is that I don’t do things just because I’m told to. Marriage? That’s not exactly on my list of priorities right now.”

Dilip’s jaw clenched, but before he could speak, Meera placed a hand on Samar’s arm.

“Samar,” she said softly, “this isn’t just about you. It’s about our families. It’s about the future. And most importantly… it’s about keeping a promise.”

Samar’s eyes flickered with something unreadable. A promise?

Meera smiled, sensing his curiosity. “Your father and Dilip Mehta made this decision a long time ago. Your marriage was arranged years before you even knew what love was.”

Samar exhaled, running a hand through his thick hair. “So I don’t even get a say?”

Meera tilted her head. “You always have a say, Samar. But tell me… what exactly are you refusing? A marriage that could benefit both families? A girl who has done nothing but admire you from a distance? Or are you just refusing because you don’t like being told what to do?”

Samar’s jaw tightened. His mother knew him too well.

He hated being controlled. Hated being manipulated. And yet, here he was—being pulled into something he never asked for.

Still, there was one thing he did know.

Sanvi Mehta.

He remembered her. The quiet, shy girl who used to look at him like he was something more than just a man with power.

And now, she was about to become his wife?

Samar exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “Fine.”

Both his parents looked at him in surprise. “Fine?” Meera repeated.

Samar smirked slightly. “I’ll be at dinner. But don’t expect me to play the role of a perfect groom just yet.”

Dilip smiled in satisfaction. “That’s all I ask.”

Samar nodded, turning on his heel to leave. But just as he reached the door, he paused.

“Mom,” he said without turning back.

“Yes, beta?”

He glanced over his shoulder, his dark eyes gleaming with something unreadable.

“I hope she knows what she’s getting into.”

And with that, he walked away, leaving an unsettling silence in his wake.

Because Sanvi Mehta had no idea who she was about to marry.

To be continued......

This is the first chapter of hopelessly his: the Mafia man please do vote comment and do

not forget to follow me on my Instagram account and my Wattpad I'd...and scroll stock.

And in the next chapter Samar Shekhawat and sanvi Mehta is going to meet it is going to be exciting because they are meeting after along time right I just can't make things normal so let's add some trouble in the next chapter bye...