ARNA

We pulled into the restaurant's driveway, the low rumble of the car fading into silence. Before he could even move, I unbuckled my seatbelt and pushed the door open.

The cool evening air brushed against my face as I stepped out—only to find him already there, standing too close. The door swung halfway between us, and suddenly there wasn't much room to breathe.

He wasn't touching me, not exactly but the space he occupied was enough to make me feel him.

The faint scent of his cologne—something clean and deep, like cedar and rain—mingled with the quiet hum of his breath.

"What?" I asked, my voice coming out sharper than intended.

"Why did you just open the door?" he asked, gaze steady.

I blinked. "We reached, didn't we? What did you expect me to do—stay in the car?"

A ghost of a smirk touched his lips. "We can stay in the car some other day, aru. But why would you open the door when I'm here?"

I stared at him, utterly baffled. "I do remember someone saying don't expect anything from him."

"Of course," he said smoothly, lowering his voice. "But I like to maintain the appearance of a man before his wife."

There it was again—that word. Wife. The way it rolled off his tongue like it was both a tease and a claim.

I knew exactly what he was doing. He wanted to look like the perfect gentleman, the composed, considerate husband—for whoever was watching. Maybe one of his colleagues. Maybe his so-called friends.

But the way he was standing right now—so close that the warmth of his body edged into my space felt far too real for an act.

I tilted my head slightly. "Man of appearances, huh?"

He leaned just enough to close the car door behind me, his voice brushing against my ear as he said, "Only when it's worth keeping."

My breath caught. For one second, I forgot we were standing in a public parking lot.

Then he straightened, the smirk returning like nothing happened. "Shall we, my dear wife?"

I rolled my eyes and walked ahead, pretending my heart hadn't just skipped a beat. "I wonder how you act so well," I said, my tone half-mocking, half-curious. "I guess you've done this plenty of times before."

He chuckled, low and self-assured. "Oh, it's highly flattering to hear that from you, wife. Your husband is simply talented—he doesn't need practice. I ace it in the first time."

He paused, eyes catching mine. "In everything."

The way he said it—calm, measured, almost too confident—sent a ripple of heat through the air between us. I felt it before I understood it, and suddenly the space felt smaller, closer.

To steady myself, I lifted my chin. "Why do you always wear black?" I asked, forcing the change of topic.

He smiled. "You don't like me in black?"

We started walking toward the entrance. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed his hand move behind my back but didn't touch me.

"You don't mind, right?" he asked quietly.

I turned my head just enough to meet his gaze. "Holding my waist... or your performance as the perfect gentleman?"

"Both," he said, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

I exhaled, pretending not to care. "No."

He took that as permission. His hand settled on waist little firmly, guiding me forward with quiet certainty. The contact was barely there—gentle, deliberate but it carried warmth that spread through me far too easily.

So maybe this was all an act.

Maybe he was just playing the part.

But for some reason, I wasn't sure who exactly was pretending more than the other. Him or me ?

When we reached the restaurant, Mentor Gugan was already there, seated near the window. He smiled warmly when he saw me, and before I could react, Hridhan was already pulling a chair out for me.

I shot him a sideways look but sat anyway, trying to ignore the fact that Gugan's eyes were now flicking suspiciously between the two of us.

"Nice to finally meet you, Arna," Gugan said, reaching forward for a handshake.

Before I could even move, Hridhan extended his hand instead, his expression perfectly polite.

"My wife doesn't touch other men," he said smoothly.

I froze. Excuse me?

Gugan blinked, his smile faltering for a second. Meanwhile, I turned toward Hridhan, disbelief written all over my face. He cannot act like this—not in front of my professor.

"Isn't that right, aru?" Hridhan asked, looking straight into my eyes with that calm, maddening expression that made it impossible to tell if he was teasing or testing me.

Before I could come up with a decent response, Gugan frowned. "Stop manipulating her. I know you didn't like me, idiot."

I stared at the two of them, caught completely off guard. Since when did they talk like old friends?

"I didn't know he was so much in love," Gugan said, smirking now, "that he decided to travel all the way from the palace just to meet you."

My mouth went dry. Palace?

That word hit harder than it should have. I blinked, trying to make sense of it. The palace—I remembered seeing that in the group chat few days ago. Someone had mentioned that Hridhan was there for some official meeting.

But if Gugan was telling the truth... did he actually come here for me?

No. Impossible. That had to be coincidence. It had to be.

Still, as I looked at him sitting there, composed as ever, pretending to sip water like he hadn't just caused mild chaos—I couldn't ignore the flicker of something that made my pulse jump.

Because if it wasn't a coincidence...

then I had no idea what it meant.

The waiter arrived just then, sparing me from having to answer. Plates clinked softly as he set the table, the low hum of conversation from nearby diners filling the silence that had settled between us.

Hridhan leaned back in his chair, calm as ever, one arm resting loosely on the table. He looked perfectly at ease—too at ease—like he'd orchestrated this whole scene and was quietly enjoying the fallout.

"So," Gugan began, breaking the silence, "how's the palace life, Mr. Hridhan?" The teasing edge in his tone was unmistakable.

"Peaceful royal life," Hridhan said.

Gugan smirked. "Yet you left that peace behind just to come here. For her."

I nearly dropped my fork.

For me?

This was getting ridiculous.

"Just a minute" he said, taking his phone.

While I used the chance and turned to hridhan to investigate. "You came for work, right?" I whispered, so that only he could hear.

He met my eyes with that unreadable expression. "Does it matter?"

"It does when people start assuming things," I shot back, glaring at him.

"People will assume what they want," he said simply, voice low, unbothered. "I'm not responsible for their imagination."

"Except you feed it," I muttered.

I started looking over the menus, and I busied myself flipping through the pages, pretending to study the dishes though I wasn't really reading anything.

The table had fallen quiet. Too quiet.

When I finally looked up, Hridhan was staring—no, gawking—at me like he'd forgotten what blinking was.

Across from him, Gugan was half-distracted with his phone, scrolling through something that kept him conveniently out of this silent standoff.

"What do you want to have?" Hridhan asked finally, his voice low, his eyes still fixed on me.

I leaned a little closer, lowering my voice just enough for only him to hear. "You."

The word slipped out easily, deliberately—light, sharp, and reckless all at once.

For a split second, his expression changed—something flickered there, between surprise and something else he quickly hid behind a blink.

"Ahem. Ahem."

Gugan's exaggerated cough broke the air like glass. I pulled back instantly, straightening the menu in front of me like I hadn't just said something completely unhinged. Hridhan, of course, didn't even flinch. No reaction. No shame. Just that faint, knowing look in his eyes. Idiot.

"So," I said, clearing my throat, "you've been working here a long time?" I turned to Gugan, forcing a polite smile, desperate to drag my gaze away from the man beside me.

I could feel his gaze even when I wasn't looking at him. He should seriously stop his act.  Now.

"Oh, yeah," Gugan said with a friendly grin. "Didn't your husband tell you? We've been friends for a long time."

I shook my head. "No, he didn't."

"I don't talk about useless things with my wife," Hridhan cut in sharply, his tone clipped, protective or maybe possessive.

I turned to him, narrowing my eyes in silent warning. He didn't even look at me.

Gugan bit down a laugh, trying to keep the mood light while I tried desperately to make the situation less of a scene. Hridhan was speaking as though he actually treated me like a wife, as if every word needed to sound territorial.

"You know what, Arna—" Gugan began, leaning slightly forward, but my phone buzzed against the table, cutting him off.

A notification lit up the screen. Kevin.

My stomach knotted before I could stop it. Quickly, I turned the phone facedown, sliding it to my lap.

"Sorry, Professor," I said, trying to sound casual.

"Come on, Arna," Gugan said with a light chuckle. "No need to be so formal here. You can call me by name. You're my best friend's wife—you're like a sister to me."

The words hit harder than I expected.

Sister.

I swallowed hard and nodded, forcing a faint smile. I didn't want my mind to wander, but it did anyway—straight to Rayan.

That single word—sister—had cracked something open.

Rayan's little sister.

That's what I'd always been. And for a second, the warmth in Gugan's voice pulled me right back to the memories I'd spent so long keeping quiet.

It made my chest ache in that quiet, familiar way that grief always does when it sneaks up on you in the middle of an ordinary evening.

I lowered my gaze to the table, not trusting my face, not wanting to meet anyone's eyes.

Then I felt it—a gentle pressure against my hand.

Hridhan's hand, warm and steady.

He didn't say a word. He just placed his palm over mine, thumb tracing a slow, absent line along my skin as he continued his conversation with Gugan. I couldn't even follow what they were saying. The sound of their voices blurred, fading into the low hum of the restaurant and the clinking of cutlery.

It took me a moment to steady myself again. I drew a breath, let it settle, and finally looked up.

"Where's Avanthi?" Gugan asked suddenly, glancing between us.

"She's busy," Hridhan replied easily, still holding my hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. I wonder how he do things naturally.

The dishes arrived soon after, breaking the moment. The air filled with the soft aroma of spices and butter, plates shifting, glasses clinking. I kept mostly quiet, answering in short nods, but Hridhan—of course—didn't leave room for silence.

Every time Gugan asked me something, Hridhan stepped in before I could open my mouth.

When Gugan asked why I always wore sarees, he didn't even look up from his plate before saying, "Her comfort matters, brat. Stop torturing my wife."

His tone was teasing, but there was a calm certainty in it that left Gugan smiling and me... quietly undone.

Because even if it was an act—his words didn't sound like one.

Am I missing something ?

________________

The next chapter is something NO ONE is prepared for. Not even me.

Since I'm a generous menace (and Mr. Blue threatened me with emotional damage) here's your spoiler:

Ch. Name: "F*uck me." 😇

Yes. Read it again. Slowly.

Okay BYE I'm running ✨

( wait for more spoilers. Check my insta 🌚 )