Rishaan's POV:
The shrill ring of his phone pierced through Rishaan's dreamless sleep. He groaned, one arm flailing out from under the covers to grab the offending device from his nightstand. Eyes still firmly closed, he swiped to answer without checking the caller ID.
"Hello?" His voice came out rough and gravelly, thick with sleep.
There was a pause on the other end, then a soft, familiar voice that instantly jolted him more awake than any amount of coffee could.
"Rishaan? I'm so sorry, I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry, I'll just "
"Samaira?" Rishaan sat up abruptly, running his free hand through his messy hair, suddenly very aware that he was shirtless and his voice probably sounded like he'd swallowed gravel. He cleared his throat. "No, no, don't hang up. I'm awake. Well, I'm awake now. What's wrong?"
"I really shouldn't have called this early," Samaira said, and he could hear the regret in her voice. "I'll let you go back to sleep "
"Samaira, stop," Rishaan said firmly, swinging his legs out of bed and planting his feet on the cool floor. The action helped wake him up further. "I'm up now anyway. What's going on? Are you okay?"
"I'm fine, it's just..." she sighed. "This is going to sound stupid."
"Try me."
"My building's gym is under renovation. Completely shut down, apparently started yesterday. And I tried looking up other gyms nearby on Google Maps, but everything's either still showing as closed or is too far away. I just..." she paused, and he could almost see her biting her lip. "I need to work out. It helps me think, especially after calls from Maranello, and I have a strategy discussion meeting later. and "
"Come to my gym," Rishaan interrupted, unable to keep the smile out of his voice even as sleep still clung to the edges.
"What?"
"My apartment complex has an excellent gym. Come use it." He was fully awake now, standing up and walking to his window, pulling the curtain aside to see the early morning sun just starting to paint the sky in shades of pink and orange. "I'll send you my address and flat details so you can get past security. I'll meet you downstairs."
"Rishaan, I can't just "
"Why not?" He was already mentally calculating how long it would take him to brush his teeth, throw on gym clothes, and look somewhat presentable. "It's a good gym, it's probably closer than whatever you found on Google Maps, and I was planning to work out this morning anyway."
That last part was a lie. He'd planned to sleep until at least 8 AM, but she didn't need to know that.
"Are you sure? I don't want to impose "
"Samaira, I'm inviting you. That's the opposite of imposing. Unless you don't want to work out with me?" He made his voice deliberately light, teasing. "Is that it? Afraid I'll show you up on the weights?"
She laughed, that sound that was quickly becoming his favourite. "Please. I could probably outlift you with one hand."
"Bold claim. I guess you'll have to prove it." He was grinning now, padding toward his bathroom. " I'll text you the details right now. How soon can you get here?"
"Um, I'd need to change and... maybe twenty minutes?"
"Perfect. I'll see you soon." He paused, then added more softly, "And Samaira? You can call me anytime. Morning, afternoon, middle of the night doesn't matter. Okay?"
Another pause, then quietly: "Okay. Thank you."
"See you soon."
Rishaan hung up and stood in his bathroom for exactly three seconds, staring at his reflection with a stupid grin on his face, before his brain caught up with what just happened.
Samaira called him. First thing in the morning, she thought of him. She chose to call him instead of any of her other friends.
"Don't read too much into it," he told his reflection. "She just needed a gym."
But he was already moving with purpose, brushing his teeth quickly, splashing water on his face, running a hand through his hair to make it look slightly less like he'd been sleeping. He pulled on black track pants and a fitted grey t-shirt, grabbed his phone, and quickly typed out a message with his address and apartment number.
Rishaan: Building 7, Apartment 403. Inform security that you're visiting me, and they'll let you in. I'll be waiting downstairs near the gym entrance. See you soon đ
He hit send, then glanced at his watch. 6:47 AM. He had meetings starting at 10, a call with a potential client for the startup, then a manufacturing review meeting for his parents' business at 11:30. Both were important, both needed his focus, but right now all he could think about was that Samaira would be here in less than twenty minutes.
Then this afternoon, they had Anvitha's shopping marathon, jewellery, final outfit details, and all the wedding preparations. The day was packed, but it was starting with Samaira, and that made everything else seem manageable.
He grabbed a water bottle from his fridge, checked his reflection one more time in the hallway mirror (casual but put-together, like he totally didn't just wake up six minutes ago), and headed downstairs.
The early morning air was crisp when he stepped outside, the city not quite awake yet. A few other residents were out for morning walks, and he nodded politely at Mr Reddy from the fifth floor, who was returning from his daily temple visit.
Rishaan positioned himself near the building entrance where he had a clear view of the main gate, his heart doing this annoying flutter thing every time someone approached.
This is ridiculous, he thought. You're acting like a teenager waiting for his crush.
But when he saw her walking through the main gate, talking briefly to the security guard who checked his phone, probably verifying the visitor message, all thoughts of playing it cool evaporated.
She was wearing black leggings and an oversized grey sweatshirt, her hair pulled back in a high ponytail, minimal makeup, and somehow she still looked beautiful. She had a small gym bag slung over one shoulder and was looking around, clearly trying to spot Building 7.
Rishaan raised his hand in a wave.
Her eyes found him, and even from this distance, he saw her smile.
Samaira's POV:
Samaira's morning had started at 6 AM with the jarring ring of her phone, a video call from her technical director in Maranello, Antonio.
She'd answered groggily, squinting at the screen. "Antonio? It's 2:30 AM there. Why are you awake?"
"Because the CFD simulations for Monza are showing unexpected drag coefficients in the new rear wing design," Antonio had replied, looking exhausted. "We need your input before we commit to manufacturing."
And just like that, she was wide awake, sitting up in bed, her engineering brain immediately switching on. They'd spent forty minutes going through data, discussing variables, and running through scenarios. By the time they hung up with a plan for a full strategy discussion meeting later that day, Samaira's mind was buzzing with calculations and aerodynamic principles.
She'd barely set her phone down when it rang again. This time, her mother's name flashed on the screen.
"Amma," Samaira answered, unable to keep the amusement out of her voice.
"Chinni, did you eat a proper dinner last night?" Her mother launched straight into interrogation mode, no preamble. "Not just those snacks at the restaurant? Actual food?"
"Yes, Amma. We went to Raja's Dhaba. I ate butter chicken, dal makhani, and naan"
"Good, good. And breakfast? What will you eat for breakfast? There are leftovers in the fridge from yesterday. Make sure you heat them properly"
"Amma, I'm twenty-seven years old. I know how to heat food."
"Knowing and doing are two different things. You forget to eat when you're thinking about work. I know you, Chinni. Your father also does this. Engineers, all of you, forgetting your bodies need food."
Samaira smiled despite herself, that familiar warmth spreading through her chest. This was what she missed in Italy, her mother's fussing, the constant reminders to eat and sleep and take care of herself. None of her colleagues in Maranello knew her well enough to notice when she skipped meals or worked sixteen-hour days.
They talked for another ten minutes, her mother updating her on neighbourhood gossip, reminding her about the Vijayawada temple visit in a few days, and making her promise to come home for dinner at least twice this week.
By the time Samaira hung up, it was almost 6:30 AM, and she was fully awake with her mind still racing from the Maranello call. She needed to work out that it was the only thing that helped her process complex problems, the physical movement somehow freeing up her mental capacity to see solutions she'd missed while sitting still.
She changed quickly into her workout clothes, grabbed her gym bag, and headed downstairs to her building's gym, only to find a large sign posted on the locked door:
UNDER RENOVATION - CLOSED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. We apologise for the inconvenience
"You've got to be kidding me," Samaira muttered.
She pulled out her phone and opened Google Maps, searching for nearby gyms. The closest three were all showing as permanently closed, probably casualties of the pandemic. The next nearest option was almost four kilometres away, and according to reviews, it didn't open until 8 AM.
She needed to work out now, before the strategy meeting, before her brain got too cluttered with everything else she had to do today.
Samaira stood in her building lobby, staring at her phone, mentally running through her options. Call Anvitha? No, Anvitha wasn't a morning person and definitely wouldn't be awake before 9 AM unless it was an emergency. Meher? Same problem, and besides, Meher's idea of morning exercise was gentle yoga, not the kind of intense cardio and weights Samaira needed.
Ahaan and Veer? Possible, but she didn't know whether either of them would take a call in the morning.
Which left...
Rishaan.
Samaira bit her lip, her thumb hovering over his name in her contacts. Was this weird? Too forward? They'd only known each other for two days. Would he think she was making excuses to see him?
But you do need a gym, the rational part of her brain argued. And he seems like a morning person. And he did say you could call him anytime...
Before she could second-guess herself further, she hit the call button.
It rang. Once. Twice. Three times.
This was a bad idea, Samaira thought, already moving her thumb to end the call. He's probably still sleeping. Of course, he's still sleeping; it's not even 7 AM on a Monday
"Hello?"
His voice stopped her thumb mid-motion. Deep, rough, thick with sleep in a way that did absolutely unfair things to her stomach.
Oh no, she thought. I definitely woke him up.
"Rishaan? I'm so sorry, I woke you up, didn't I? I'm sorry, I'll just"
"Samaira?" The grogginess in his voice cleared almost instantly, replaced by alert concern. "No, no, don't hang up. I'm awake. Well, I'm awake now. What's wrong?"
Something about the immediate shift in his toneâfrom sleepy to worried to completely focused on herâmade her chest feel warm.
"I really shouldn't have called this early," she said, already regretting the impulse. "I'll let you go back to sleep"
"Samaira, stop. I'm up now anyway. What's going on? Are you okay?"
She took a breath. "I'm fine, it's just... this is going to sound stupid."
"Try me."
So she explained the gym renovation, the Google Maps search, the early morning Maranello call that had her brain buzzing with problems that needed solving through physical movement.
"Come to my gym," he interrupted, and even through the phone she could hear the smile in his voice.
"What?"
"My apartment complex has a really good gym. Come use it. I'll send you my address and flat details so you can get past security. I'll meet you downstairs."
Samaira's mind went blank for a second. "Rishaan, I can't just "
"Why not? It's a good gym, it's probably closer than whatever you found on Google Maps, and I was planning to work out this morning anyway."
Something in his tone told her that the last part might not be entirely true, but she appreciated the gesture.
"Are you sure? I don't want to impose"
"Samaira, I'm inviting you. That's the opposite of imposing. Unless you don't want to work out with me? Is that it? Afraid I'll show you up on the weights?"
She couldn't help but laugh. "Please. I could probably outlift you with one hand."
"Bold claim. I guess you'll have to prove it."
They talked for another minute, and by the time she hung up, her phone was already pinging with a message containing his address.
Rishaan: Building 7, Apartment 403. Tell security you're visiting me, and they'll let you in. I'll be waiting downstairs near the gym entrance. See you soon đ
Samaira stared at the message, a slow smile spreading across her face despite herself.
She'd called him at 6:45 AM, woken him from sleep, and instead of being annoyed or making excuses, he'd immediately invited her over. No hesitation, no complaints, just... easy generosity.
This man, she thought, shaking her head as she checked the address. This ridiculously kind man.
His apartment complex was only a fifteen-minute walk from hersâclose enough that she decided to walk instead of calling a cab. The morning air was pleasant, the city just starting to wake up, and the walk gave her time to process what she was doing.
Going to Rishaan's gym. Where he lived. At 7 AM on a Monday morning, after knowing him for barely two days.
It's fine, she told herself. It's just a gym. You need to work out. He offered. It's practical, not romantic.
But when she walked through the main gate of his apartment complex, a modern, well-maintained building with landscaped gardens and a proper security system and spotted him waiting near Building 7, all her rational justifications flew out of her head.
He was wearing black track pants and a fitted grey t-shirt that showed off his lean, athletic build. His hair was slightly messy, like he'd only run his fingers through it, and even from a distance she could see he was smiling.
When their eyes met, his whole face lit up, and he raised his hand in a wave.
Samaira waved back, walking toward him with her gym bag over her shoulder, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest that had nothing to do with the walk.
"Good morning," he said as she approached. "Did you have any trouble with security?"
"None. They were very efficient." She gestured to his building. "Nice place."
"Thanks. I've been here about three years now. The gym's actually pretty decentâthey renovated it last year." He started walking toward a side entrance. "Fair warning, though: I may have oversold my weightlifting abilities. If you actually do outlift me, can we pretend you didn't?"
Samaira laughed. "Your male ego can't handle being shown up by a woman?"
"My male ego is very secure, thank you. But my competitive nature will demand a rematch, and then we'll be here all day, and I have meetings at 10."
"Meetings on a Monday morning? What kind of meetings?"
"Busy morning."
"Just the first half of the day. Then this afternoon, we have Anvitha's shopping marathon, remember? Jewellery, outfit fittings, all the wedding prep."
"Right," Samaira nodded. "Meher texted the group chat last night with the plan. Meet at Mangatrai at 2 PM?"
"Exactly." They'd reached a door marked 'Fitness Centre.' Rishaan pulled it open, gesturing for her to enter first. "After you."
The gym was empty this early, spacious, well-lit, with modern equipment arranged logically. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors on one wall, windows on another letting in natural morning light. Treadmills, ellipticals, weight racks, benches, and even a small area with yoga mats and resistance bands.
"Okay, I'm impressed," Samaira admitted. "This is way better than my building's gym, even before the renovation."
"I told you," Rishaan grinned. "So what's your usual routine? Cardio first or weights?"
"Depends on what I'm trying to work through mentally. Today, probably cardio first. Need to clear my head before the strategy meeting."
"Treadmill or elliptical?"
"Treadmill. I need the impact."
They moved to adjacent treadmills, and Samaira was grateful he didn't try to make conversation while they warmed up. Some people felt the need to fill every silence, but Rishaan seemed comfortable with quiet, setting his own pace while she lost herself in the rhythm of her feet hitting the belt.
She started slow, letting her body wake up fully, then gradually increased the speed and incline. The physical exertion felt good, necessary, and her mind began to organise the chaos of the morning's Maranello call into manageable problems with potential solutions.
The rear wing drag coefficient issue wasn't insurmountable; they'd need to adjust the angle of attack, maybe modify the endplate configuration. She could send Antonio three different scenarios to run through CFD before the strategy meeting...
"You're doing that thing again," Rishaan's voice cut through her thoughts.
Samaira glanced over, not breaking stride. "What thing?"
"That thing where you completely disappear into your head. Your eyes get this faraway look, and I can practically see the equations running behind them."
"Sorry," she said automatically.
"Don't apologise. It's fascinating to watch, actually. You get this little crease between your eyebrows when you're working through something complicated."
Samaira became suddenly self-conscious, reaching up to smooth the spot between her brows. "I do?"
"Yeah. It's cute."
She nearly stumbled, catching herself on the treadmill handles. "Did you just call my concentration face cute?"
Rishaan was grinning at his own treadmill, not looking at her. "I call it like I see it."
"You're ridiculous."
"So I've been told."
They ran in companionable silence for a while longer, and Samaira found herself oddly comfortable with his presence. He wasn't trying to show off or compete; he wasn't watching her with that judgmental assessment some men had in gyms. He was just... there. Present but not intrusive.
After thirty minutes of cardio, they moved to the weight section. Rishaan grabbed dumbbells while Samaira headed for the squat rack, and they fell into an easy rhythm of alternating sets, spotting each other when needed.
"Okay, I have to ask," Rishaan said during a break between his sets. "The Ferrari strategy meetings, what are those actually like? Is it as intense as it seems from the outside?"
Samaira took a sip of water. "Depends on the meeting. Pre-race strategy sessions are like controlled chaos, fifteen people in a room, everyone with opinions, data everywhere, and we have maybe two hours to finalise a race plan that accounts for about fifty different variables."
"Sounds stressful."
"It is. But it's also..." she paused, trying to find the right words. "It's this incredible high when you nail it. When you make the right calls, when the strategy plays out exactly like you predicted, when you cross the finish line first because your team made better decisions than the other nineteen teams. That feeling is addictive."
"Is that why you do it? The winning?"
"Partially," Samaira admitted. "But also because I'm good at it. I can see patterns other people miss. I can hold twelve different race scenarios in my head simultaneously and calculate probabilities faster than most people can open the spreadsheet. It's like... It's the one place where my brain works exactly the way it's supposed to, you know?"
Rishaan nodded slowly, understanding in his eyes. "That's how I feel about the startup. When I'm working on a manufacturing optimisation problem, when I can see the solution that honours their existing systems while improving efficiency, that's when I feel most like myself."
"Exactly," Samaira said, surprised and pleased that he got it.
They continued working out, the conversation flowing naturally between sets. Rishaan asked intelligent questions about F1 engineering, and Samaira found herself explaining technical concepts she rarely got to discuss outside the factory. In return, she asked about his tech consulting work, genuinely curious about how he approached traditional businesses with modern solutions.
Time passed quickly, too quickly. Before Samaira realised it, her watch showed 8:15 AM.
"I should probably head back," she said reluctantly. "Need to shower and prep for the Maranello meeting."
"Yeah, I should get ready too." Rishaan grabbed his water bottle. "Thanks for letting me crash your workout."
"Thanks for inviting me to crash your gym," Samaira countered.
As they walked toward the main gate, Rishaan glanced at his watch. "So my mornings are pretty packed. The client call is at 10, then the manufacturing review at 11:30. Should wrap up around 1:30, then I'll head straight to Mangatrai."
"Busy morning," Samaira observed. "I'm planning to work from a café, there's this aesthetic place Anvitha recommended once. Quiet, good coffee, perfect for video calls and deep work."
"How are you getting there?"
"Cab, probably."
Rishaan stopped walking, turning to face her with that mischievous glint in his eyes she was beginning to recognise. "Or hear me out, you could take my car."
"What?"
"Take my car to the café. My office is on the way anyway. You drop me off, work from your café, then pick me up around 1:30 for lunch. We grab food somewhere, then head to the shopping together."
Samaira stared at him. "You want me to drop you off and pick you up? Like... like a chauffeur service?"
"Like a friend who's heading in the same direction anyway," Rishaan corrected. "Come on, it's practical. Saves you cab fare, saves me from driving in traffic, and we can have lunch together before dealing with Anvitha's jewellery indecisiveness."
"You drive a Mercedes," Samaira said, laughing. "If anyone sees me driving your Mercedes around Hyderabad, it'll be the scandal of the year. 'Ferrari engineer driving a Mercedes.' "
Rishaan burst out laughing. "Then, good news for you, the Mercedes went for servicing this morning. You're stuck with the Ferrari."
Samaira's jaw dropped. "You have a Ferrari?"
"Roma," he said casually, but she could see the pride in his eyes. "Bought it last year after the startup's first major success. My one indulgence. Everything else goes back into the business or savings, but that car... that was my dream since I was sixteen."
"You own a Ferrari," Samaira repeated, still processing. "And you're just casually offering to let me drive it?"
"You're a Ferrari principal engineer. If anyone should be driving a Ferrari, it's you." He grinned. "Plus, I'm curious to see if you drive as well as you engineer them."
She shook her head, but she was smiling. "This is insane."
"Is that a yes?"
"Against my better judgment... yes."
"Excellent." Rishaan looked genuinely delighted. "I'll pick you up at 9:30? That gives you time to shower, have breakfast, and me time to finish up some emails before the client call."
"9:30 works."
They'd reached the gate now. Rishaan walked her all the way through, standing at the security booth as she stepped onto the street outside.
"See you in a bit," he said, that soft smile on his face.
"See you," Samaira replied, starting to walk away.
She made it about twenty feet before glancing back. She couldn't help herself. He was still standing there, hands in his pockets, watching her walk away like he needed to make sure she was safe even in broad daylight on a busy street.
When their eyes met, he raised his hand in a small wave.
She waved back, then quickly turned away before he could see the smile spreading across her face.
The walk back to her apartment felt shorter than the walk there had been, and Samaira couldn't stop replaying the morning in her head. The easy conversation, the comfortable silence, the way he'd looked at her like she was the most interesting person in the world, even when she was sweaty and distracted.
And now she was going to drive his Ferrari. His actual Ferrari Roma. The car he'd dreamed about since he was sixteen, the car he'd bought to celebrate his success, and he was just... letting her drive it. Trusting her with it.
This man, she thought again, shaking her head. This ridiculously trusting man.
Back in her apartment, Samaira headed straight for the shower, letting the hot water wash away the sweat and tension from the workout. Her mind was already organising her morning shower, get dressed, eat something, then the Maranello call at 9.
She wrapped herself in a towel and stood in front of her closet, considering her options. The café Anvitha had recommended was trendy but professional, and she had a video call, which meant she needed to look put-together from at least the waist up.
Her hand hovered over her Western clothes, the usual safe choices, before sliding to the right, where she'd hung the few traditional outfits she'd brought from Italy. A kurti she'd bought last year but never worn, cream-colored with delicate blue embroidery at the neckline and sleeves.
Why not? she thought. She was in India. She could wear a kurti.
She slipped it on with dark blue leggings, leaving her hair down in loose waves, and applied minimal makeup. Looking at herself in the mirror, she felt more like herself than she had in the Western blazers and professional attire she wore in Maranello.
In the kitchen, she heated the food her mother had packed: idlis and chutney, perfectly portioned for breakfast. As she ate, her phone buzzed with a reminder about the Maranello meeting.
She pulled out her laptop, set up her workspace at the dining table, and was just reviewing her notes when a thought struck her.
She pulled out her phone and called Rishaan.
He answered on the second ring. "Miss me already?"
She could hear the smile in his voice. "Don't flatter yourself. I'm just checking if you're ready. It's 9:15."
"About that," he said, and she heard water running in the background. "I had an emergency call from the Pune client who needed to address some concerns before our official meeting. I'm just about to shower now. Give me twenty minutes? I'll come straight to your building."
"Okay, no problem. Take your time."
"You're not in a rush?"
"My meeting's at 9, but I'm joining from wherever I am. The café was just for ambience and good coffee. I can take the call from the car if needed."
"Perfect. See you soon."
After hanging up, Samaira opened the fridge and surveyed her mother's leftovers. There were more idlis, some dosa batter, coconut chutney, and sambar. She quickly made a few dosas, packed them neatly in a small tiffin container along with chutney and sambar in separate compartments, and tucked them all into a carry bag. She'd made it for him without really thinking about it, an automatic gesture of care that felt natural in the moment. Now she was second-guessing herself.
Is this weird? she wondered. Will he think I'm being too forward? We've known each other for two days.
But then she remembered his words from last night: I'm going to give you so many good moments that when you're alone in Maranello at 11 PM eating dinner by yourself, you'll smile instead of feeling lonely.
He takes care of you, she thought. So you can take care of him back. That's allowed.
She tucked the tiffin box more securely in the bag and tried to focus on prepping for her meeting, but her mind kept drifting to the window, watching for a red Ferrari.
Twenty-three minutes later, she was counting, though she'd never admit it a sleek red Ferrari Roma pulled up in front of her building, and Samaira's breath caught.
The car was stunning. Low, elegant, powerful, every bit as beautiful as the racing cars she worked with, but with a refined sophistication that made it perfect for daily driving.
Then Rishaan stepped out, and Samaira forgot about the car entirely.
He was wearing a charcoal grey suit perfectly tailored, crisp white shirt underneath, no tie, but the top button casually undone. His hair was still slightly damp, swept back neatly, and he looked every inch the successful young entrepreneur.
He also looked ridiculously handsome, but Samaira was trying not to focus on that.
She grabbed her laptop bag, the carry bag with the tiffin, and headed downstairs.
Rishaan spotted her immediately, and his expression shifted from casual greeting to something else entirely: appreciation, surprise, something that made her suddenly self-conscious about the kurti.
"Wow," he said simply as she approached. "You look beautiful."
"Thank you," Samaira managed, feeling her cheeks warm. "You clean up pretty well yourself. Very corporate."
"Client meetings require the suit," he said, gesturing to himself. "But I'd much rather be in track pants."
He walked to the driver's side and opened the door with a flourish. "Your chariot awaits, madam."
"You're ridiculous," she said, but she was smiling as she slid into the driver's seat.
The interior was gorgeous tan leather, carbon fibre accents, and that distinctive Ferrari smell of luxury and precision. The steering wheel felt perfect in her hands, and she took a moment to adjust the mirrors and seat.
Rishaan settled into the passenger seat, and she was struck by how natural this felt with him in her passenger seat, trusting her with his most prized possession, comfortable enough to just be there without needing to control anything.
Before she could start the engine, Samaira reached into the back seat and grabbed the carry bag.
"Here," she said, handing him the tiffin box. "Breakfast. You can eat it on the way."
Rishaan stared at the box in his hands as she'd just handed him something precious. "You made me breakfast?"
"I had leftovers, and I figured you probably didn't eat yet since you had to take that emergency call." She started the engine, and the Ferrari purred to life. "It's just dosas and chutney. Nothing fancy."
"Samaira," his voice was soft, almost overwhelmed, "you made me breakfast."
She glanced at him, surprised by the emotion in his voice. "It's not a big deal "
"It is to me." He was still looking at the tiffin box like he couldn't quite believe it. "No one... I can't remember the last time someone made me breakfast just because they thought I might be hungry."
Samaira's chest tightened at the loneliness in that statement. "Well, someone should. You're terrible at taking care of yourself when you're busy with work."
"How do you know that? You've known me for two days."
"Because I'm the same way," she said simply. "And I recognise it in other people. Now eat before it gets cold."
Rishaan opened the tiffin box, and the smell of fresh dosas filled the car. He took a bite, and his eyes actually closed in appreciation.
"This is incredible," he said after swallowing. "Did you make these this morning?"
"Just now, before you came. My mother left batter, and it felt wrong to let you start your busy day on an empty stomach."
"You're amazing," he said softly. "You know that?"
Samaira felt her face heat up. "I'm practical. There's a difference. Now tell me where your office is."
"Banjara Hills, near the Jubilee Hills border. Take a left out of your complex."
They pulled out onto the road, and Samaira had to admit that driving the Ferrari felt incredible. Responsive, powerful, but smooth enough for city traffic. She caught Rishaan watching her with an amused smile.
"What?" she asked.
"You're grinning. You've been grinning since you started driving."
"I design these cars for a living. I don't often get to actually drive them."
"Really? Ferrari doesn't let their engineers test drive?"
"On track days, sometimes. But those are controlled environments with specific objectives. This," she gestured around them, " is just enjoying the drive. It's different."
"Good different?"
"Very good different."
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, Rishaan eating his dosas while giving her occasional directions. The morning traffic was building but still manageable, and Samaira found herself enjoying the challenge of navigating the Ferrari through Hyderabad's streets.
"Turn right at the next light," Rishaan said, finishing the last dosa. "Then it's about two kilometres straight."
"Got it."
"That breakfast was exactly what I needed," he said, carefully closing the tiffin box. "Thank you. Seriously. I probably would have just grabbed coffee and called it good."
"You can't run on just coffee."
"Says the woman who told me yesterday that she forgets to eat when she's deep in work."
"That's different. I'm working through complex problems. You're just busy."
"That's a completely arbitrary distinction."
"And yet I'm right."
He laughed, that warm sound that was becoming increasingly familiar. "You're stubborn, you know that?"
"I prefer 'confidently correct.'"
"That's not a thing."
"It is now. I just made it a thing."
Rishaan grinned. "Are you always this impossible?"
"Only with people I am comfortable."
The words were out before she could stop them, and Samaira felt her stomach drop. That was too much, too revealing, too.
"I'm honoured to be in that category," Rishaan said softly, and when she glanced at him, his expression was gentle. "For the record, you're in mine too."
The moment stretched between them, charged with something Samaira couldn't quite name. Then Rishaan pointed ahead.
"That's my building. The glass one on the left."
Samaira pulled into the circular driveway, putting the car in park in front of the entrance. Rishaan unbuckled his seatbelt but didn't immediately get out.
"So, pick you up at 1:30?" Samaira confirmed.
"Perfect. There's a great lunch place nearby with authentic Hyderabadi cuisine, nothing fancy but incredible food. I'll text you the address, and we can go there before the shopping."
"Sounds good."
"And Samaira?" He was looking at her with that intensity she was learning meant he was about to say something important. "Thank you. For the breakfast, for the ride, for... for making my morning better. All of it."
"You're welcome," she said, unable to look away from his eyes.
For a moment, neither of them moved. The car felt smaller, more intimate, and Samaira was suddenly very aware of how close they were sitting, how easy it would be to
"I should go," Rishaan said, breaking the spell. "Client call in twenty minutes."
"Right. Go. Be brilliant."
He smiled, grabbed his bag and the empty tiffin box. "See you at 1:30."
"See you."
He got out, closed the door, then leaned down to look at her through the window. "Drive safe. And don't let anyone scratch my car."
"I literally design these for a living."
"I know. I trust you completely, I don't care about the car, honestly, I care about you getting there in one piece, ok." He tapped the roof of the car twice, then headed into the building.
Samaira watched him disappear through the glass doors, professional, confident, every bit the successful entrepreneur in his tailored suit.
Then she carefully pulled out of the driveway and headed toward the café, a smile playing at her lips.
Her phone rang almost immediately, the Maranello call, right on schedule. She answered via Bluetooth as she drove.
"Samaira, good morning," Antonio's voice filled the car. "Or evening for you? Where are you?"
"Morning here. I'm in Hyderabad, remember? Two-week vacation."
"Right, right. Well, let's talk about these drag coefficients..."
As Antonio launched into technical details, as her engineering brain switched into problem-solving mode, as she navigated the Ferrari through morning traffic toward the café, Samaira realised something:
She was happy.
Not the satisfied happy of solving a difficult problem or winning a race. Not the proud happy of professional achievement.
Just... happy. Light. Like the morning held possibilities instead of just obligations.
And it was terrifying and exhilarating in equal measure.
9:45 AM - Parallel Lives
Samaira:
The café Anvitha had recommended, Brew & Books, was exactly what Samaira needed. Tucked away on a quiet street in Banjara Hills, it had floor-to-ceiling windows, minimalist décor, and the kind of ambient noise that helped her focus rather than distract.
She settled into a corner table with her laptop, ordered a cappuccino and a croissant, and opened her video call five minutes early.
Antonio's face appeared on screen, along with three other members of the strategy team in Maranello. Behind them, she could see the familiar white walls of the factory, the Ferrari logos, the organised chaos she'd called home for years.
"Alright," Antonio started without preamble. "The CFD simulations for the new rear wing are showing a 0.8% increase in drag coefficient at speeds above 280 kilometres per hour. That's unacceptable for Monza."
Samaira pulled up the data on her screen, her eyes scanning the numbers with practised efficiency. "Show me the pressure distribution maps."
For the next ninety minutes, she was completely in her elementâanalysing data, running mental calculations, suggesting modifications to the wing's geometry. They discussed angle of attack variations, endplate configurations, and the trade-off between straight-line speed and cornering stability.
"What if we reduce the chord length by 15 millimetres at the outboard sections?" Samaira suggested, sketching quickly on her digital tablet. "That should reduce the induced drag while maintaining sufficient downforce for the Lesmos."
"Running the simulation now," one of the aerodynamicists said.
They waited, Samaira sipping her now-cold coffee. Numbers appeared on the screen.
"Drag reduced by 0.6%," Antonio read. "Downforce loss is minimal, within acceptable parameters. Samaira, you're brilliant."
"It's physics, not brilliance," she replied, but she was smiling. "Run it through three more scenarios: dry track, light rain, and heavy rain conditions. I want to make sure we're not creating a handling nightmare."
"Will do. Send you the results by tonight?"
"Perfect. Anything else?"
They discussed tyre strategy for the upcoming race, driver feedback from the last test session, and minor adjustments to the suspension geometry. By the time they wrapped up, it was 11:15 AM, and Samaira's brain was pleasantly tired in the way it got after intense technical work.
She closed her laptop and allowed herself a moment to just breathe, looking around the cafĂ© properly for the first time. A few other patrons were scattered aroundâa couple sharing pastries, a student with textbooks spread everywhere, a woman typing furiously on her laptop.
Normal. Peaceful. So different from the intensity of the factory.
Samaira ordered another coffee and pulled out her tablet to review some notes, but her mind kept drifting. To this morning's workout. To the easy conversation with Rishaan. The way he'd looked at the breakfast she'd made him, like it was something precious.
She checked her watch. 11:30. Rishaan would be in his manufacturing review meeting now.
Without thinking too much about it, she opened her messages.
Samaira: Hope your client call went well. I'm at the cafĂ©, successfully caffeinated and having solved Ferrari's drag problem. No big deal. đ
She hit send before she could second-guess it, then returned to her notes, trying not to watch her phone for a reply.
It came five minutes later.
Rishaan: Of course, you solved it. You're Samaira Reddy. Also, I'm in the manufacturing meeting, and your text just made me smile, which earned me weird looks from the quality control team. Thanks for that. đ
Samaira: Pay attention to your meeting!
Rishaan: You texted me first! đ
Rishaan: But yes, going back to exciting discussions about thread count inconsistencies in export fabrics. Living the dream.
Samaira laughed out loud, earning a curious glance from the student at the next table.
Rishaan:
The client call had gone better than expected. The manufacturing company in Pune, a mid-sized operation producing automotive components, was exactly the kind of business Rishaan loved working with. Traditional, experienced, but struggling with inefficiencies they couldn't quite identify.
"Mr Malhotra," Rishaan said, pulling up a slide on his screen, "your production line is operating at approximately 68% efficiency. Industry standard for your scale and output should be around 85-90%."
"We know we're losing productivity," the older man on screen replied, frustration evident. "But we've been doing things the same way for twenty years. How do we improve without completely overhauling everything?"
"That's exactly what we don't do," Rishaan said, warming to his subject. "We don't overhaul. We optimise. Let me show you what I mean..."
He walked them through his methodology, analysing existing workflows, identifying bottlenecks, and introducing incremental changes that built on their expertise rather than replacing it. Digital inventory management that integrates with their current systems. Predictive maintenance schedules that prevented downtime. Data analytics that helped them make informed decisions without requiring them to become data scientists.
"This is impressive," Mr Malhotra said after forty-five minutes. "But what's the investment required?"
Rishaan pulled up the cost analysis. "Initial investment is approximately 15 lakhs, with implementation over six months. Based on conservative estimates, you'll see ROI within eighteen months, and productivity gains of 20-25% within the first year."
"And you're sure this won't disrupt our existing operations?"
"That's the entire point of our approach. We work alongside your team, training them, adapting to their feedback. Your employees become our partners, not obstacles. Change management is built into every stage."
By the end of the call, Mr Malhotra had agreed to move forward with a detailed proposal. Rishaan closed his laptop with satisfaction.
One potential client secured. That would help offset the investment he'd been planning for expanding his own team.
The manufacturing review meeting was as tedious as expected. His father's export manager droned on about quality control issuesâthread count inconsistencies in textile batches, colour matching problems, and delivery delays.
Rishaan took notes, asked the right questions, and made decisions with the authority that came from running this business for the past three years, even if his heart wasn't fully in it.
In the middle of the meeting. His phone buzzed. A text from Samaira.
Rishaan read it and couldn't help the smile that spread across his face. She'd solved Ferrari's drag problem. Of course, she had. Probably before her second coffee.
He texted back, knowing he was supposed to be preparing for the manufacturing meeting, but unable to resist.
"We need to implement stricter quality checks at the supplier level," he said finally. "I'll draft new contract terms requiring pre-shipment inspections. Also, let's explore alternative suppliers for the synthetic blends we're too dependent on a single source."
"That will increase costs," the finance manager pointed out.
"Short term, yes. But inconsistent quality is costing us more in returns and damaged reputation. I'd rather pay more upfront for reliability."
The meeting wrapped up just after 1 PM. Rishaan removed his suit jacket with exhaustion; he'd never understood how people wore these things all day, and checked his phone.
12:47 PM. Samaira would probably call soon to confirm pickup time.
As if on cue, his phone rang. Her name on the screen made him smile.
"Hello?"
"Hey, are you done with work?" Samaira's voice was warm, slightly distracted, like she was packing up while talking.
"Just finished. Perfect timing, actually."
"Good. I'm packing up now. Should be there in about ten minutes, depending on traffic."
"No rush. I'll be in the same spot you dropped me off this morning."
"Okay. See you soon."
Rishaan hung up and gathered his things. The office building's AC was aggressive, and after two hours in the conference room, he was looking forward to the outside heat. He grabbed his suit jacket, slinging it over his arm, and unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt as he walked to the elevator.
By the time he stepped outside, he'd rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and slipped on his sunglasses against the harsh afternoon sun. The thin gold chain his grandmother had given him, the one he always wore but usually kept hidden under his shirt, was now visible against his chest.
He stood in the same spot where Samaira had dropped him off, checking his phone for messages while he waited. The afternoon sun was warm but not unbearable, and the street was busy with lunch hour traffic.
Samaira:
Samaira packed up her laptop methodically, settled her bill at the café, and headed back to where she'd parked the Ferrari. The car had attracted attention all morning. She'd watched through the café window as several people stopped to admire it, take pictures, and point it out to their companions.
Rishaan's daily reality, she thought with amusement. Driving a car that stops traffic.
The drive to his office took twelve minutes. As she approached the building, she spotted him standing exactly where he'd said he would be, and her heart did an unexpected flip.
He'd shed the corporate formality from this morning. His suit jacket hung casually over his arm, his sleeves were rolled up exposing toned forearms, and he'd unbuttoned his shirt enough that she could see his collarbones and the glint of a gold chain against his skin. The sunglasses added an edge to his appearance less polished entrepreneur, more effortlessly attractive man who happened to own a Ferrari.
Oh no, Samaira thought. He's unfairly attractive.
Then she noticed the three women standing near the building entrance, not-so-subtly staring at Rishaan. One was whispering to her friends, and another had actually pulled out her phone like she was considering asking for a picture.
Something possessive flared in Samaira's chest before she could stop it.
She pulled the Ferrari to a stop directly in front of Rishaan, perfectly positioned so the women could see her clearly. She rolled down the window with deliberate slowness.
Rishaan looked up from his phone, and the moment he saw her, his entire face transformed into that smile, the genuine, unguarded one that made her stomach flutter.
"Right on time," he said, walking toward the car.
Samaira smiled back, very aware of the women watching. "Traffic was light."
She let her gaze linger on him on the rolled sleeves, the unbuttoned shirt, the chain just long enough to make it clear she appreciated what she was seeing. Then she glanced deliberately at the three women, catching the eye of the one with her phone out, and gave her a look that very clearly said: Taken. Move along.
The woman's eyes widened slightly, and she quickly pocketed her phone, whispering something to her friends.
Rishaan, blissfully unaware of the entire silent exchange, opened the passenger door and slid in. "How was the rest of your work?"
"Productive," Samaira said, pulling away from the curb with perhaps slightly more acceleration than necessary, leaving the women staring after them. "Solved the drag problem, reviewed some tyre strategy, and approved some suspension modifications. Standard Monday."
"Standard Monday for you is solving problems that would take most people weeks," Rishaan said, buckling his seatbelt. "Did you eat lunch?"
"Had a croissant with my morning coffee."
"That's not lunch, that's a snack. Good thing I know the perfect place, it's about ten minutes from here, near my startup office. Best Hyderabadi biryani you'll ever have."
"Bold claim."
"I stand by it. Take the next left."
The restaurant Rishaan directed her to was called "Bawarchi's Legacy", a small, unassuming place wedged between a bookstore and an electronics shop. From the outside, it looked like nothing special, but the parking lot was packed, and Samaira could smell the food from the street.
"This place doesn't look like much," she observed, finding a parking spot.
"The best places never do," Rishaan said. "Trust me."
Inside, the restaurant was bustling with the lunch crowdâbusinesspeople, families, college students, all crowded around tables laden with aromatic food. The walls were decorated with old photographs of Hyderabad, and the air was thick with the smell of spices, saffron, and slow-cooked meat.
A waiter recognised Rishaan immediately. "Sir, welcome! Your usual table?"
"If it's available."
They were led to a corner booth that offered a surprising amount of privacy despite the crowded restaurant. Menus appeared, but Rishaan waved them away.
"Two chicken dum biryanis, extra raita, and two sweet lassis," he ordered without consulting Samaira. Then caught himself. "Sorry, I should have askedâyou do eat chicken, right? And you're okay with biryani?"
"I literally grew up in Andhra Pradesh. Of course, I'm okay with biryani," Samaira said, amused. "And yes, I eat everything except beef."
"Perfect. You're going to love this."
While they waited for the food, Rishaan shrugged off his suit jacket completely, draping it over the back of his chair. The casual gesture, combined with the rolled sleeves and slightly dishevelled hair, made him look more relaxed than she'd seen him yet.
"So," he leaned forward, forearms on the table, "tell me about your morning. Beyond solving Ferrari's aerodynamic crisis. What's it like working remotely from a different time zone?"
"Complicated," Samaira admitted. "Italy is five and a half hours behind, so when it's morning here, it's early morning there. Most of my colleagues are just starting their day when mine is half over. It means I can take calls in the morning, but by evening here, most of them have left for the day."
"Does that make you feel disconnected?"
"Sometimes. But honestly?" She paused, considering. "Being here, working from a café instead of my apartment in Maranello, it made me realise how isolated I've become. In Italy, I work from home or at the factory. That's it. Those are my two locations. But this morning, in that café, watching normal people live normal lives while I discussed rear wing geometry... it felt grounding somehow."
"Grounding how?"
"Like a reminder that there's more to life than work. That people have conversations about things other than drag coefficients. That the world keeps turning even when Ferrari isn't winning races."
The lassis arrived thick, sweet, and perfect. Rishaan took a sip and smiled. "I get that. Sometimes I get so buried in the startup and the family business that I forget there's a whole world existing parallel to my stress. Then Ahaan or Veer will drag me out for something completely unrelated to work, and I remember that I'm a person, not just a productivity machine."
"Exactly," Samaira said, grateful he understood. "How was your morning? Beyond the client call?"
"Client call was great. The Pune company is moving forward with the proposal. The manufacturing meeting was... tedious but necessary. Quality control issues, supplier problems, the usual." He played with his glass. "Honestly, the family business feels like an obligation sometimes. I do it because I have to, not because I love it."
"Your parents must appreciate that you're keeping it going."
Rishaan's laugh was dry. "Appreciate is a strong word. They tolerate that I'm doing it while also running my startup. There's this constant tension; they think the startup is a distraction, and I think the family business is holding me back. We've reached an uneasy truce where we just don't talk about it."
"That sounds lonely."
"It is," he admitted. "But it's also freeing in a way. I don't have to justify my choices to anyone. I can build something that's entirely mine, even if my family doesn't understand why I want to."
The biryani arrived, and Samaira's eyes widened. The portions were massive aromatic rice layered with tender chicken, whole spices visible throughout, garnished with fried onions and fresh coriander. The smell alone was intoxicating.
"Okay, you were right," she said. "This looks incredible."
"Wait until you taste it."
She took her first bite and actually closed her eyes. The rice was perfectly cooked, each grain separate but infused with flavour. The chicken was fall-apart tender, the spices balanced, not overwhelming, but definitely present. It was, quite possibly, the best biryani she'd had outside her mother's kitchen.
"Oh my God," she said after swallowing. "This is dangerous. I could eat this every day."
Rishaan grinned, clearly pleased. "I told you. I come here at least twice a week. The owner's family has been making biryani the same way for three generations. No shortcuts, no compromises."
They ate in comfortable silence for a while, the kind of quiet that came from being genuinely hungry and enjoying genuinely good food. Around them, the restaurant buzzed with conversation, but their corner booth felt like its own little world.
"Can I ask you something?" Rishaan said eventually.
"Sure."
"This morning, when you made me breakfast, that was really sweet. But it also made me curious. Is that... do you do that? Take care of people like that?"
Samaira considered the question. "Not usually, no. In Italy, I'm so focused on work that I barely take care of myself, let alone anyone else. But here..." she gestured vaguely, "here, I slip back into old patterns. My mother always made sure everyone was fed. It was her love language, food, making sure no one left hungry. I guess I picked that up."
"I like that about you," Rishaan said softly. "You're this brilliant engineer who can talk about aerodynamics for hours, but you're also someone who notices when people might be hungry. Both things are true at the same time."
"Is that weird?"
"No," he said firmly. "It's human. You're allowed to be both brilliant and caring. They're not mutually exclusive."
Something in his voice made Samaira look up, and she found him watching her with that intensity she was learning meant he was being completely honest.
"You do that too," she said. "You're this successful entrepreneur, but you also open car doors and make sure I get home safely. You're allowed to be both ambitious and kind."
"Touché," he smiled. "We're both complicated people."
"The best people usually are."
They finished their biryani or at least made a significant dent in the massive portions, and Rishaan insisted on paying despite Samaira's protests.
"You made me breakfast," he said. "I'm buying lunch. That's the deal."
"I don't remember agreeing to a deal."
"Too late. Deal's already made."
By the time they got back to the car, it was nearly 1:50 PM.
"We should probably head to Mangatrai," Samaira said, checking her phone. "Anvitha texted the group chat three times asking if we're on our way."
"Classic Anvitha. She's probably already there, analysing every piece of jewellery in the store."
Samaira drove while Rishaan navigated, and the conversation flowed easily, moving from serious topics to lighter ones, from work to personal stories. He told her about the time Veer accidentally set fire to his dorm room trying to make pakoras on a hot plate. She told him about her first day at Ferrari when she'd gotten lost in the factory and ended up accidentally walking into a meeting with the team principal.
"You just walked into a meeting?" Rishaan laughed.
"I thought it was the break room! Everything looked the same, all glass walls and red furniture. I opened the door, said 'Scusa, where is the coffee?' and twelve senior engineers just stared at me."
"What did you do?"
"Turned bright red and backed out slowly. But weirdly, that's how I met Antonio. He was in that meeting, and he came to find me after to make sure I actually found the coffee. We've been friends ever since."
"So your legendary Ferrari career started with you looking for coffee."
"The most important starts always do."
They pulled into Mangatrai's parking lot at 2:03 PM, and Samaira could already see Anvitha's car.
"Ready for hours of jewellery shopping?" Rishaan asked.
"As ready as I'll ever be."
"Good. Because I have a feeling this is going to be... an experience."
They got out of the car, and as they walked toward the entrance, Rishaan's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and laughed.
Group Chat - The Six Musketeers
Anvitha: WHERE ARE YOU PEOPLE? I've been here for 20 minutes!
Meher: Relax, we just parked. Coming in now.
Ahaan: I'm stuck in traffic. Be there in 10.
Veer: Same. Traffic is insane.
Anvitha: RISHAAN? SAMAIRA?
Rishaan typed quickly:
Rishaan: Walking in right now. Don't start without us.
Anvitha: You two came together AGAIN?! đ
Meher: I KNEW IT
Samaira read over his shoulder and rolled her eyes. "They're impossible."
"Completely," Rishaan agreed. "But they mean well."
"That doesn't make them less annoying."
"Also true."
They pushed through the entrance to Mangatrai, a high-end jewellery store with glittering displays and attentive staffâand immediately spotted Anvitha standing near the bridal jewellery section, waving frantically.
"Finally!" she called out. "Come on, I need opinions on everything."
Rishaan leaned close to Samaira, his voice low enough that only she could hear. "Buckle up. This is going to take hours."
"How many hours?"
"All of them. Every single hour."
Samaira laughed, and they walked together into the organised chaos that was wedding shopping with Anvitha.
The afternoon was just beginning.
The jewellery shopping at Mangatrai turned into exactly what Rishaan had predictedâhours of examining pieces, debating designs, and Anvitha changing her mind approximately every fifteen minutes.
"What about this one?" Anvitha held up an elaborate gold necklace with intricate peacock designs.
"Too traditional," Meher said immediately.
"But I want traditional!"
"Then why did you just reject the last three traditional pieces?"
"Because they weren't the RIGHT traditional!"
Samaira caught Rishaan's eye across the display case, and they both tried not to laugh.
Ahaan and Veer had arrived shortly after them, and all six of them were now clustered around various jewellery displays, offering opinions that Anvitha alternately valued and completely ignored.
"This one," Anvitha finally declared, holding up a stunning gold choker with ruby accents. "This is the one."
"You said that about the last four necklaces," Ahaan pointed out gently.
"But THIS time I mean it." She turned to Samaira. "Sam, what do you think?"
Samaira examined the piece critically. "It's beautiful. The rubies complement your skin tone, and the design is traditional enough for the wedding but has modern elements. The craftsmanship is excellentâsee how the gold work is uniform throughout? That's quality."
"Engineer brain even applies to jewellery," Veer whispered to Rishaan, who smiled.
"I'm getting it," Anvitha decided. "And the matching earrings and bangles."
"Finally," Meher said. "Now for the actual outfit shopping"
"Wait, we're doing outfit shopping too?" Veer looked panicked.
"Of course! The jewellery needs to match the outfits. We need to go to that boutique in Banjara Hills"
"Can we do that tomorrow?" Ahaan interjected. "It's already 5 PM, and if we start outfit shopping now, we'll be there until midnight."
"He's right," Rishaan agreed. "Let's do jewellery today, outfits tomorrow. That way, Anvitha can really think about what she wants without rushing."
Anvitha looked mutinous for a moment, then sighed. "Fine. Tomorrow. But everyone has to come! No excuses."
"We'll be there," Samaira promised.
After Anvitha finalised her jewellery purchasesâa process that took another thirty minutes and involved three staff membersâthey finally escaped into the early evening air.
"I need food," Veer announced. "Real food. Not just looking at shiny things."
"There's a chaat place nearby," Meher suggested. "Best pani puri in the city."
"Perfect," Ahaan said. "Let's go before Anvitha decides she needs to look at more jewellery."
"I heard that!" Anvitha called, but she was smiling.
They piled into their respective cars, Meher and Anvitha in one, Ahaan and Veer in another, and Samaira and Rishaan in the Ferrari and drove to the chaat place, a colourful street-side stall with plastic chairs and enthusiastic service.
As they settled around a commandeered cluster of tables, ordering pani puri, bhel puri, and various other snacks, the conversation turned to wedding logistics.
"So we have a month," Anvitha said, ticking items off on her fingers. "Venue is booked, catering is sorted, decorations are mostly finalised, jewellery is now done"
"Have you figured out the actual schedule of events?" Samaira asked. "Like, what's happening when?"
"Sort of? We have the basic structure but not the detailed timeline."
"Want me to help with that?" The words came out before Samaira could stop them. "I mean, I organise complex race weekend schedules with multiple variables and dependencies. A wedding timeline can't be harder than that."
Everyone turned to look at her.
"Really?" Anvitha's eyes were shining. "You'd do that?"
"Of course. You're my best friend. Plus, I'm good at organising chaos."
"This is why I love you," Anvitha said, reaching across the table to squeeze Samaira's hand.
Samaira pulled out her phone, opening a notes app. "Okay, so traditional Telugu wedding. What are all the functions we need to schedule?"
"There's the welcome dinner for out-of-town guests," Ahaan started.
"Then pellikuthuru and pellikoduku functions," Anvitha added. "Those are the pre-wedding ceremonies at both families' homes."
"Sangeet for the fun and dancing," Meher chimed in.
"Mehendi, obviously," Anvitha continued.
"Nalugu and mangalasnanam on the morning of the wedding day," Ahaan said.
"And then the actual wedding ceremony," Veer finished.
Samaira was typing rapidly. "Okay, and how many days do we have total?"
"Four days, ideally," Anvitha said. "The wedding is on the fourth day, and we want events spread across the previous three days so people aren't exhausted."
"Right." Samaira's engineering brain was already organising the information into a logical flow. "So here's what I'm thinking..."
She turned her phone so everyone could see as she outlined the schedule:
"Day One: Welcome dinner in the evening. This is for all the out-of-town guests arriving, both families meeting, keeping it relatively casual and warm. Good first impression, sets the tone for everything else.
Day Two, Morning: Pellikuthuru function at Anvitha's home and Pellikoduku function at Ahaan's home. Since your villages are side by side, we can coordinate timing so key people can attend both.
Day Two, Night: Sangeet function. This is everyone's favouriteâmusic, dancing, and performances. We do this at night, so people have recovered from the morning ceremonies and have energy to celebrate.
Day Three, Morning: Another round of Pellikuthuru and Pellikoduku functions. Traditional rituals, blessings from elders, are more intimate than the previous day.
Day Three, Evening: Mehendi ceremony. Traditionally, for women, but modern mehendis are more inclusive.
Day Four, Morning: Nalugu and Mangalasnanam ceremonies. These are the final pre-wedding rituals: the ceremonial bath, turmeric, and all the traditional preparations for the bride and groom.
Day Four, Evening: The wedding ceremony itself. After all the build-up, this is the main event."
She looked up from her phone. "Then after the wedding, you mentioned you're travelling to Ahaan's village to rest?"
"Yeah," Ahaan nodded. "Just immediate family, one night to decompress before the reception."
"Perfect. So Day Five, Morning: Satyanarayana Swamy Vratam at the village. Traditional post-wedding prayers and blessings. Then you travel back to Hyderabad.
Day Six, Evening: Reception at the elite hotel. This is the formal celebration with all the extended family, business associates, and professional contacts. More formal than the wedding itself."
Samaira set down her phone. "That's six days total of celebrations, with logical flow and built-in rest periods. The welcome dinner eases everyone in, the multiple pellikuthuru and pellikoduku functions honour tradition, the sangeet and mehendi are fun and celebratory, and the wedding day itself is focused entirely on the ceremony. The reception happens after you've had a day to rest, so you're not exhausted for the formal event."
There was a moment of stunned silence.
"That's..." Anvitha started, her voice choked with emotion. "That's perfect. That's exactly what I wanted but couldn't figure out how to organise."
"You made a six-day wedding itinerary in five minutes," Veer said, looking impressed. "Just casually. While eating pani puri."
"It's just logistics," Samaira said, but she was pleased they liked it. "I can make you a detailed timeline with specific timings, buffer periods for delays, coordination notes for vendorsâ"
"Yes, please, all of that," Anvitha said immediately. "Sam, you're a lifesaver. Literally. I've been stressing about this for weeks."
"We'll also need to coordinate with the villages for the ceremonies," Ahaan said thoughtfully. "Make sure the priests are available, the venues are preparedâ"
"I can create a checklist for that too," Samaira offered. "Cross-referenced with the timeline so nothing gets missed."
"Have I mentioned that I love you?" Anvitha said. "Because I love you. You're the best maid of honour ever."
"I thought I was the best maid of honour," Meher protested.
"You're both the best," Anvitha said diplomatically. "Sam handles logistics, you handle emotional support."
"Fair division of labour," Meher agreed.
Rishaan had been quiet through this whole exchange, but when Samaira glanced at him, he was watching her with that soft expression that made her heart skip.
"What?" she mouthed.
He just smiled and shook his head slightly, but his eyes said: You're amazing.
"Okay, so tomorrow we do outfit shopping," Meher said, bringing them back to immediate plans. "Then we have four days until the Ganesh puja and pasupu danchadam at the villages," Meher said.
"Right," Anvitha nodded. "Those ceremonies are happening in four days. The Ammavaru temple visit in Vijayawada will be at the end of Sam's two weeks here, just before she has to leave for Italy."
"The Monaco race," Samaira clarified. "It's the weekend after I'm supposed to fly back. So the temple visit would be perfect timingâlike a final blessing before I leave."
"Which means we need to finalise everything in the next two days," Ahaan said. "Outfits tomorrow, any other shopping, confirming details with vendors"
"I'll send everyone a detailed timeline by tonight," Samaira promised. "With specific tasks assigned and deadlines. That way, nothing falls through the cracks."
"You're frighteningly organised," Veer said with admiration.
"It's literally my job to make sure twenty-two people, millions of dollars of equipment, and thousands of moving parts work perfectly together every race weekend. This is easy in comparison."
"Still impressive," Rishaan said quietly, and when she met his eyes, the warmth in them made her temporarily forget what they were talking about.
"More pani puri?" the vendor called out, and they all eagerly agreed, the conversation shifting to lighter topics, embarrassing stories, shared memories, and gentle teasing that came from years of friendship.
As the sun set and the street lights came on, as they laughed and ate and planned, Samaira felt that sense of belonging she'd been missing in Italy. Thisâsitting with friends, being part of something bigger than herself, contributing in ways that matteredâthis was what she'd given up for her career.
And sitting here now, she couldn't remember why she'd thought it was worth it.
By the time they finally left the chaat stall, it was nearly 8 PM. They said their goodbyes in the parking lot, Anvitha hugging Samaira at least three times and making her promise to send the detailed timeline tonight.
"I've got it," Samaira assured her. "Go home, rest. Tomorrow's outfit shopping will be intense."
"You're the best," Anvitha said. "Seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you."
After everyone else had driven off, Samaira and Rishaan got back in the Ferrari. She'd driven them here, so she slid into the driver's seat again naturally.
"Your place or mine first?" she asked as she started the engine.
"Yours is closer. I'll drop you off first."
"I'm driving your car. Shouldn't it be the other way around?"
"Samaira, I'm not letting you drop me off and then drive alone at night. We'll go to your place first, then I'll drive myself home."
She wanted to argue she was perfectly capable of driving at night, but the protectiveness in his voice made her chest warm instead of annoyed.
"Fine," she conceded. "But for the record, I can take care of myself."
"I know you can," Rishaan said. "That doesn't mean I can't also want to make sure you're safe."
They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the city lights blurring past, the day's events settling into memory.
"That thing you did today," Rishaan said eventually. "Organising the entire wedding schedule in five minutes. That was incredible."
"It's just what I do. Organise complex systems."
"No, it's more than that." He shifted to face her slightly. "You saw that Anvitha was stressed, that they needed help, and you just... stepped up. Offered a solution. Made everything better. That's not just organisational skills. That's caring about people and using your abilities to help them."
Samaira felt her throat tighten. "She's my best friend. Of course I want to help."
"I know. But watching you do it, watching you care about making her wedding perfect, it just..." he paused, seeming to search for words. "It reminded me why I like you so much."
Her heart skipped. "Because I'm good at spreadsheets?"
He laughed. "Because you're brilliant, but you use that brilliance to help people, not just to achieve things. Because you're successful, but you haven't forgotten how to be a good friend. Because you're exactly as complicated and wonderful as I thought you were."
Samaira didn't know what to say to that. They'd reached her apartment complex, and she pulled into a visitor parking spot, putting the car in park but not moving to get out.
"Thank you," she said finally. "For today. For lunch, for the car, for... for being you."
"Thank you for breakfast," he countered. "And for being you too."
They sat there for a moment, neither moving, the air between them charged with something Samaira couldn't quite name.
Then Rishaan unbuckled his seatbelt. "I should let you go. You have a timeline to create, and I'm sure a hundred other things to do."
"Right. Yes." Samaira unbuckled too, grabbing her laptop bag from the back seat.
They both got out, and Rishaan walked around to the driver's side as Samaira stepped onto the sidewalk.
"Same time tomorrow morning?" he asked. "Gym?"
"If you're sure"
"Samaira, we've been through this. I'm sure. 7 AM?"
"7 AM," she agreed.
"Good. And I'll see you tomorrow afternoon for outfit shopping?"
"Unfortunately, yes. Prepare yourself for hours of Anvitha being indecisive."
"I'm mentally prepared. I think."
Samaira smiled, adjusting her bag on her shoulder. "Drive safe."
"You too. I mean, sleep safe. Rest safe?" He laughed at himself. "I don't know. Just... good night, Samaira."
"Good night, Rishaan."
She turned and walked toward her building, and as always, she felt his eyes on her until she was safely inside.
In the elevator, she leaned against the wall and let herself smile, really smile at the day she'd had.
Then she pulled out her phone and got to work on that wedding timeline, because she'd promised Anvitha, and Samaira Reddy always kept her promises.
Word Count: 11,208
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