Friday Morning - 6:30 AM

Samaira's POV:

Samaira woke to the sound of hushed voices downstairs. For a moment, she was disoriented—the unfamiliar room, the early morning light filtering through cotton curtains, the distant sound of village roosters. Then it all came back: Anvitha's village, the ceremonies, yesterday's perfect chaos.

And Rishaan.

Her phone showed several messages in the group chat, but one stood out:

Rishaan: Good morning. Arranged for someone to drive Nannamma back to her village after breakfast. She insists on leaving early to beat traffic. Your parents are leaving soon, too?

Samaira: Morning. Yes, Amma texted - they want to leave by 7. Long drive back home.

Rishaan: We'll head to Hyderabad after? The group decided to travel in pairs - easier convoy management.

Samaira: Works for me. Which pair am I stuck with? 😊

Rishaan: Me. Obviously. Unless you'd prefer Veer's terrible music taste and worse jokes?

Samaira: I'll suffer through your company instead.

Rishaan: Suffer. Right. Because yesterday was such torture.

Samaira: Complete agony. The hand-holding, the jasmine flowers, ... unbearable.

Rishaan: I'm glad we're on the same page about how much you hate spending time with me.

Samaira: The worst. See you at breakfast?

Rishaan: Already downstairs. Nannamma is making everyone eat before we leave. Apparently, we all look "too thin."

Samaira: Of course she is.

Samaira got ready quickly—jeans and a simple kurti, comfortable for the drive back. She packed her bag, folding the sarees carefully, tucking the recipe book Ammamma had given her into the side pocket where it wouldn't get crushed.

The small silver bangle was still on her wrist. She hadn't taken it off since Ammamma gave it to her.

Downstairs, controlled chaos reigned. Ammamma was indeed feeding everyone—dosas, idlis, chutney, and strong filter coffee. Samaira's parents were already packed and ready; her father was loading their car, while her mother helped Anvitha's mother in the kitchen.

"There you are, chinni," Lakshmi said, spotting Samaira. "Come eat. Your nanna wants to leave in twenty minutes."

"I'm coming, Amma."

She found a spot next to Meher, who looked half-asleep despite the coffee in her hand.

"Morning," Meher mumbled. "Why do goodbyes always happen so early?"

"Because parents are morning people," Samaira said, accepting a plate from Anvitha. "Where's everyone else?"

"Veer and Ahaan are loading Ammamma's bags. Anvitha is being emotional in the kitchen. Rishaan is—" Meher gestured with her coffee, "—over there, looking at you like you hung the moon."

Samaira glanced over. Rishaan was indeed watching her, and when their eyes met, he smiled—that soft, private smile that made her chest feel warm.

"We're not subtle, are we?" Samaira said.

"Not even a little bit. But it's cute, so we're allowing it."

Breakfast was a bittersweet affair. Ammamma kept fussing over everyone, making sure they'd eaten enough, packing snacks for their journeys. Samaira's parents were saying their goodbyes to Anvitha's family, promising to stay in touch, already planning the next gathering.

When it was time for Ammamma to leave, there were hugs all around.

"Take care of yourself, child," Ammamma said, pulling Samaira into a tight embrace. "Don't work too hard. Remember to eat. And come visit me again soon."

"I will, Ammamma. Thank you for everything."

"No thanks needed. You're family now." Ammamma pulled back, examining Samaira's face with those sharp, intelligent eyes. "Take care of my grandson's heart, yes? He acts tough, but he's softer than he lets on."

"I know," Samaira said quietly. "I'll take care of it. I promise."

"Good girl." Ammamma turned to Rishaan, who'd been standing nearby. "And you—don't let this one go. She's special."

"I know, Nannamma. I'm not planning to."

"Good. Now, both of you, stop looking so sad. This isn't goodbye forever. Just goodbye for now." She cupped both their faces, one hand on each. "Be happy, my children. Choose happiness, even when it's complicated."

The driver Rishaan had arranged helped Ammamma into the car, and they all stood waving as she was driven away.

"She's wonderful," Samaira said, watching the car disappear.

"She is," Rishaan agreed. "She really likes you, you know. She doesn't give her mother's bangle to just anyone."

"I'll treasure it."

"I know you will."

Next were Samaira's parents. Her mother pulled her aside for a private moment.

"Beta," Lakshmi said, holding both Samaira's hands. "I like him. Your nanna and I both do. He's respectful, hardworking, and the way he looks at you—" she smiled, "—that's how your father looked at me when we were young."

"Amma—"

"I know it's complicated with Italy and your job. But if he's worth it, you'll find a way. And I think he's worth it."

"I think so too," Samaira admitted.

"Then that's all that matters. Now—" Lakshmi pulled her into a hug, "—be safe, work hard, and call us often. We miss you when you're gone."

"I'll call, Amma. I promise."

Her father's goodbye was shorter but equally meaningful. "Take care, Bangaram. And that boy—he's good. Keep him."

"Planning on it, Nanna."

After her parents left, the remaining group reconvened to plan their own departure.

"Okay," Ahaan said, consulting his phone. "It's about a three-hour drive back to Hyderabad. We're travelling in pairs: Anvitha and me in one car, Meher and Veer in another, Samaira and Rishaan in the third. Everyone good with that?"

"Perfect," Rishaan said immediately.

"Suspiciously eager," Veer observed.

"I'm just being cooperative."

"Sure you are."

They loaded their bags, thanked Anvitha's parents profusely for their hospitality, promised to be safe on the roads, and finally—after multiple rounds of "one more hug" and "wait, let me get a picture"—they set off.

9:30 AM - The Drive to Hyderabad

Rishaan's POV:

Rishaan had driven this route dozens of times, but somehow it felt different with Samaira in the passenger seat. She'd kicked off her sandals and tucked her feet under her, comfortable in a way that suggested she trusted him, trusted this space they'd created together.

The convoy stayed together for the first thirty minutes, but gradually they spread out—driving at different speeds, having different music preferences, and experiencing different levels of urgency to get home.

Eventually, it was just them on a relatively empty stretch of highway, and Rishaan found himself relaxing in a way he usually didn't while driving.

"Tell me about Italy," he said, glancing at her briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "Not the work stuff—the actual living there part. What's your life like?"

Samaira was quiet for a moment, considering. "Lonely," she said finally. "But beautiful. I have a flat in Maranello—small, modern, minimalist because I'm never there long enough to decorate properly. Most of my time is at the factory or travelling to races."

"Do you have friends there?"

"Colleagues. Some are friendly, some are... less so. It's a competitive environment. Everyone's brilliant, everyone's driven, everyone's trying to prove themselves."

"That sounds exhausting."

"It is. But it's also exhilarating. When we win a race because of a strategy I developed, or when an engine modification I suggested works perfectly—" her voice brightened, "—that feeling is incredible."

"But?" Rishaan prompted, sensing there was more.

"But it's not enough anymore," she admitted. "It used to be. For years after Kathik, work was enough. It filled all the spaces in my life, gave me purpose and direction. But lately—even before this trip—I've been feeling like something's missing."

"What changed?"

"I don't know. Maybe I did. Maybe I just got tired of being alone." She looked at him. "What about you? Tell me about your life when you're not charming women at engagement parties."

He laughed. "First of all, I wasn't trying to charm women. Just one specific woman who was being very standoffish."

"I was not standoffish!"

"You were extremely standoffish. You barely said three words to me that first night."

"Because I was tired and overwhelmed and you were... you."

"What does that mean?"

"Too handsome, too charming, too everything. I didn't trust it."

"And now?" He couldn't help asking.

"Now I know you're also ridiculous and competitive about snack-making and terrible at not staring when you're supposed to be frying bondas."

"In my defence, you're very distracting."

"That's not a defence!"

They were both laughing, and Rishaan thought this—this easy banter, this comfortable teasing—this was what he'd been missing in all his previous relationships.

"My life is busy," he said, returning to her question. "Family business stuff is demanding but not fulfilling. My startup is fulfilling but demanding in different ways. I work too much, don't sleep enough, live on coffee and optimism."

"Sounds familiar."

"I have friends—our group, some from college, business contacts. But close relationships? People who actually know me beyond the successful entrepreneur image?" He paused. "Those are rare. Ahaan, Veer, Anvitha, Meher—they know me. Ammamma knows me. Everyone else knows the version I present."

"What version do I know?" Samaira asked quietly.

"The real one," Rishaan said. "I don't know why—maybe because you didn't care about impressing me, maybe because you were so guarded that it made me want to be honest—but with you, I've just been... me. The version that names pressure cookers and gets nervous meeting new people and works too hard because I'm trying to prove something to parents who'll never notice."

"I see you," Samaira said softly. "The real you. And I like him very much."

Rishaan had to focus very hard on the road to keep from doing something stupid like pulling over and kissing her senseless.

"Tell me about your apartment in Hyderabad," he said instead, changing the subject before he did something reckless. "The one you barely live in."

"It's in Jubilee Hills—two-bedroom, nice view, well-furnished because my mother insisted on helping when I bought it. I use it maybe two months out of the year, usually in chunks when I'm home for holidays or friend gatherings."

"Two months. That's barely home."

"Italy's not home either, really. It's just where I work. I'm kind of... homeless, I guess. Geographically untethered."

"That sounds lonely."

"It is," she agreed. "But I chose it. The career, the travel, the success—I chose all of it, knowing what it would cost."

"Do you regret it?"

"No. But I'm starting to wonder if I can modify the choice. Keep the career but add... other things. Balance, like Ammamma and my mother keep saying."

"Other things like what?"

"Like community. Roots. People who matter. Someone to come home to." She glanced at him, then away. "Hypothetically."

"Hypothetically," he repeated, his heart doing something complicated in his chest. "That sounds nice. Hypothetically."

They drove in comfortable silence for a while, the landscape blurring past—urban giving way to rural giving way to suburban as they approached Hyderabad's outer limits.

"What's your favourite book?" Samaira asked suddenly.

"Random question."

"We're learning about each other. A favourite book tells you a lot about a person."

"Fair point. Um..." Rishaan thought. "I used to read a lot in college—fiction, mostly. Loved anything by Haruki Murakami. The surrealism, the loneliness, the way he writes about modern disconnection."

"That's unexpectedly literary."

"I contain multitudes," he said dramatically, making her laugh. "What about you?"

"I love everything. Literary fiction, romance, fantasy, mystery—if it's well-written, I'll read it. Though lately I've been on a thriller kick. Dark, twisty plots, morally grey characters."

"Really? That's surprising."

"Why?"

"You seem so... straightforward. Good, honest, principled."

"I am those things. But I also appreciate complexity in fiction. Maybe because real life is already complicated enough—fiction lets me explore the dark stuff without consequences."

"What kind of dark stuff?" He was genuinely curious now.

"Psychological thrillers, crime novels with antiheroes, books where the lines between good and bad are blurred. Stories about people making difficult choices in impossible situations." She paused. "My mother doesn't know I read these. She thinks I only read engineering textbooks and maybe some nice classics."

"Why don't you tell her?"

"Because she'll worry. She already worries that I work too much and live alone. If she knew I was reading about murders and manipulative characters, she'd think Italy was making me dark and twisty."

Rishaan laughed. "Is Italy making you dark and twisty?"

"Maybe a little. But in a fun way."

"Dark and twisty, Samaira. I like her."

"Most people don't see that side."

"I want to," Rishaan said seriously. "All your sides. The brilliant engineer, the loyal friend, the competitive snack-maker, the dark fiction reader. All of it."

She looked at him with an expression he couldn't quite read. "You're dangerous, you know that?"

"How so?"

"You make me want things I convinced myself I didn't need."

"What things?"

"This. Connection. Someone who sees me and wants to know more instead of being satisfied with the surface."

"That's not dangerous. That's good."

"It's dangerous when I have to leave."

"Then we make it work," he said simply. "Whatever it takes."

"You say that now—"

"I'll say it next week too. And next month. And however long it takes to convince you that I'm serious about this—about us."

"Us," she repeated softly. "We're an us now?"

"Aren't we?"

"I guess we are."

They were entering Hyderabad proper now—traffic increasing, buildings getting taller, the familiar chaos of the city enveloping them.

"Where are we having lunch?" Samaira asked, checking her phone. "The group chat is debating between four different restaurants."

"Knowing Veer, we'll end up at the place with the most biryani options."

"That's very specific."

"That's Veer."

Sure enough, the final decision came through: Paradise Biryani, the legendary Hyderabad institution. Meeting there at 12:30.

They still had about forty-five minutes before the agreed time.

"Want to make a detour?" Rishaan asked impulsively.

"To where?"

"It's a surprise. Trust me?"

Samaira studied him for a moment, then smiled. "Okay. I trust you."

Those three words—simple, genuine—hit Rishaan harder than they should have. She trusted him. After everything she'd been through with Karthik, after all her guards and walls, she trusted him.

He was absolutely not going to mess this up.

11:45 AM - The Bookstore

Samaira's POV:

Rishaan pulled up to a building in Banjara Hills that Samaira didn't immediately recognise. Then she saw the sign: Ashok's Books & More—an independent bookstore she'd heard about but never visited.

"A bookstore?" she said, confused but delighted.

"You said you haven't bought nice paperbacks in a while. That your mother doesn't know about your dark thriller habit. So—" he gestured, "—here. Get whatever you want. No judgment, no limits, no worried mothers."

Samaira stared at him. "You're taking me book shopping?"

"Is that okay? I know it's not a fancy restaurant or a movie or whatever normal people do on dates, but you mentioned the books, and I thought—"

"Rishaan," she interrupted. "This is perfect. Absolutely perfect."

His relieved smile was brilliant. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Come on."

The bookstore was everything Samaira loved—floor-to-ceiling shelves, that distinctive old-book smell, cosy reading nooks scattered throughout, and a small café in the back. It was early enough that they were among the few customers, giving them the freedom to explore without crowds.

"Go," Rishaan said, gesturing broadly. "Get your favourites. I'm buying."

"You don't have to—"

"I want to. Consider it a delayed birthday gift. Or an early birthday gift. When is your birthday?"

"October."

"Then consider it a very early birthday gift."

Samaira didn't need more convincing. She dove into the thriller section first, pulling titles she'd had on her wishlist for months—psychological thrillers with twisted plots, crime novels with morally ambiguous protagonists, dark mysteries that promised to keep her up at night.

She was examining a particularly promising thriller when Rishaan appeared beside her with his own book.

"What did you find?" she asked.

He showed her—a Murakami novel he'd apparently never read. "Figured I should get back into reading. I stopped when work got crazy, but I miss it."

"What made you stop?"

"Time. Energy. The pressure of having to be the ceiling—you know, the highest achiever, the responsible one, the person holding everything together. Reading felt like a luxury I couldn't afford when there were businesses to run and expectations to meet."

"That's sad."

"It is," he agreed. "But I'm realising—thanks to you, actually—that maybe I've been using work as an excuse to avoid the things that make me human. Like reading for pleasure. Or having hobbies. Or spending time with people who actually care about me."

"I'm glad you're realising that."

"Me too." He peered at her growing stack. "How many are you getting?"

"Is ten too many?"

"Ten is the perfect amount. Get twelve."

"Rishaan—"

"Twelve. Final offer."

She ended up with eleven—a compromise—plus one coffee table book about Formula 1 history that Rishaan insisted on adding "because it's you in book form."

At the café, they ordered coffee and sat in a corner, surrounded by books and comfortable silence.

"Thank you for this," Samaira said, cradling her cup. "This is... nobody's ever done something like this for me before."

"Taken you book shopping?"

"Paid attention to something I mentioned casually and turned it into a date. Karthik never—" she stopped. "Sorry, I shouldn't compare."

"It's okay. He's part of your story. I'm not threatened by your past."

"He never really listened," she said quietly. "He heard me talk, but he didn't listen. He didn't remember small details or follow up on things I mentioned. With you, it's different. You pay attention."

"Because you're worth paying attention to."

"See? That. You say things like that so easily."

"Because I mean them. You're extraordinary, Samaira. The fact that your ex didn't see that just proves he was an idiot."

She smiled, feeling that warmth in her chest again—the feeling that was becoming familiar whenever Rishaan said something sweet or looked at her like she mattered.

They talked about books for a while—sharing recommendations, debating genres, laughing over terrible book covers and questionable plot summaries. Rishaan admitted he'd gone through a fantasy phase in college, reading entire series in days instead of studying. Samaira confessed she sometimes skipped to the end of mysteries if the suspense got too intense.

"That's cheating!" Rishaan protested.

"It's self-preservation! I can't handle not knowing!"

"But that ruins the whole point!"

"Does not! I still enjoy the journey even if I know the destination!"

They were laughing, easy and comfortable, when Samaira checked her phone and gasped.

"It's 12:20! We need to go—we're going to be late!"

They scrambled to pay—Rishaan insisting on covering everything despite Samaira's protests—and rushed back to the car.

"Drive fast but safely!" Samaira said, buckling her seatbelt.

"Those two things are contradictory!"

"I have faith in your driving skills!"

They made it to Paradise Biryani at 12:35—only five minutes late—to find the rest of the group already seated and looking far too interested in their slightly flustered arrival.

"Where were you two?" Meher asked innocently.

"Traffic," Rishaan said.

"Books," Samaira said simultaneously.

Everyone's eyebrows went up.

"Books and traffic," Rishaan corrected. "We stopped at a bookstore. Traffic made us late."

"A bookstore date," Anvitha said, her voice going soft. "That's adorable."

"It wasn't a date—" Samaira started.

"It was absolutely a date," Rishaan interrupted, pulling out a chair for her. "Why are we pretending otherwise?"

Veer slow-clapped. "Character development. I love to see it."

"Shut up and order biryani," Rishaan said, but he was smiling.

12:45 PM - Lunch

The lunch was loud and chaotic in the best way—six friends, all talking over each other, sharing stories from the village, teasing each other mercilessly, planning future gatherings.

"We should do this more often," Ahaan said, attacking his biryani with enthusiasm. "Not the village ceremonies—though those are nice—but just hanging out. Being together."

"Agreed," Veer said. "We're all in Hyderabad now except Sam. No excuse not to see each other regularly."

"Some of us work punishing schedules," Meher pointed out.

"Which is why we plan. Monthly dinners? Standing date?"

"I love that idea," Anvitha said. "And when Sam's in town, we make it special."

Samaira smiled, touched by how naturally they included her despite her geographic distance. "I'll make it work. When I'm home, I'm here."

Her phone rang. Ferrari. Her heart sank.

"Sorry, I need to take this," she said, excusing herself from the table.

She stepped outside the restaurant, answering the call with a sense of foreboding she couldn't quite shake.

"Samaira, thank God," Luca said without preamble, his Italian accent thick with stress. "We have a problem. A serious problem."

"What happened?"

"The FIA wants to review our rear wing modifications before Monaco. They're claiming there might be regulation violations—complete nonsense, but we have to prove it. They need full documentation and technical presentations by Wednesday morning in Maranello."

"Wednesday? Luca, that's—" Samaira quickly calculated. "That's the day after tomorrow."

"I know. I'm sorry. I tried to push back, tried to get them to accept video presentations or delayed timelines, but they're insistent. If we don't comply, we might face sanctions or restrictions on the modifications we can make for Monaco. This could affect our entire season strategy, Samaira. We need you here."

Samaira closed her eyes, feeling the weight of responsibility settle back onto her shoulders like a familiar, heavy cloak. "Okay. Okay, I'll be there. Let me book a flight."

"Already done," Luca said, and she could hear him typing. "Your assistant has you on tomorrow's 2 PM flight from Hyderabad to Maranello via Dubai. I'm sending all the details to your email now. I've also compiled the preliminary data you'll need to review on the flight."

"Tomorrow afternoon," Samaira repeated, her heart sinking. She'd thought she had another full week. A week to spend with her friends, to visit her parents, to be with Rishaan. Not to have to think about leaving yet.

"I know this cuts your vacation short. I'm so sorry, Samaira. If there was any other way—"

"No, I understand. This is important." She forced her voice to stay professional, even as she felt everything inside her protest. "The team needs me. I'll be there."

"You're sure? I can try one more time to delay—"

"Don't. If the FIA is being difficult, we need to handle this properly. I'll be on that flight." She paused. "Luca, send me everything you have so far. I want to start reviewing tonight."

"Already sent. And Samaira? Thank you. I know this isn't what you wanted."

"It's my job," she said simply. "I'll see you Wednesday morning."

After ending the call, she stood outside for a moment longer, gathering herself. Then she pulled up her contacts and called her parents.

Then she called her parents.

"Hello, Chinni!" her mother answered cheerfully. "Did you reach Hyderabad safely?"

"Hi, Amma. Yes, we just got here. Listen, I have some news—Ferrari called. There's an issue with the Monaco engines. They need me back the day after tomorrow."

Silence. Then: "Oh, beta."

"I know. I'm sorry. I know you and Nanna were excited about me being home for longer—"

"Samaira, stop. Don't apologise for your career. We're proud of what you do. If they need you, they need you."

"But—"

"No buts. Your nanna and I support you. Always. When's your flight?"

"Tomorrow afternoon, probably. I'll need to pack tonight."

"We'll help you if you need us to come back to Hyderabad—"

"No, it's okay. The friends will help. You and Nanna just got home. Rest."

"Alright. But call us before you leave, yes? And safe travels."

"I will. Love you, Amma."

"Love you too, Chinni. "

Samaira smiled despite everything.

She stood outside for another moment, gathering her composure, then went back inside.

Everyone looked up as she approached, and whatever they saw in her face made the table go quiet.

"What's wrong?" Rishaan asked immediately.

Samaira sat down heavily. "Ferrari called.FIA is reviewing our rear wing modifications. They want full technical presentations by Wednesday morning in Maranello. If we don't comply, we could face sanctions that would affect our entire Monaco strategy, maybe our whole season. Ferrari needs me there. I need to be there the day after tomorrow."

"Day after tomorrow?" Meher's voice was small. "But you just got here."

"I know."

"How long were you supposed to stay?" Veer asked.

"Two weeks. Today's only day five."

"That's not fair," Anvitha said, looking ready to fight Ferrari on Samaira's behalf. "You're on vacation. They can't just—"

"They can," Samaira interrupted gently. "It's in my contract. High-priority issues require immediate return, regardless of scheduled leave. I knew this when I took the job."

"When's your flight?" Rishaan's voice was carefully neutral, but his knuckles were white where he gripped his fork.

"Tomorrow afternoon. I'll book it after lunch."

Silence fell over the table—heavy, disappointed, angry at circumstances beyond anyone's control.

They finished lunch in near-silence, everyone processing the news, no one quite knowing what to say.

"We'll help you pack tonight," Meher said finally. "All of us. We'll come over, order dinner, make it easier."

"You don't have to—"

"We want to," Ahaan said firmly. "You're leaving earlier than expected. We're not wasting what time we have left being apart."

"Okay," Samaira agreed quietly. "Thank you."

They paid the bill—Veer insisted on covering it, saying Samaira didn't need to worry about anything except her flight—and walked out together.

In the parking lot, they stood in a loose circle, no one quite ready to disperse.

"See you tonight?" Anvitha said. "Around seven?"

"Seven works," Samaira confirmed.

"We'll bring food. You focus on flight arrangements and initial packing," Meher instructed.

Hugs all around—tighter than usual, lasting a beat longer, everyone reluctant to let go.

Finally, it was just Rishaan and Samaira standing by his car.

"Come on," he said quietly. "I'll drop you home."

The drive to her apartment was silent—not the comfortable silence of earlier, but something heavier. Weighted with words neither of them knew how to say.

At her building, Rishaan parked and turned off the engine. They sat there for a moment.

"Will you come up?" Samaira asked. "I don't want to... I don't want to waste the time we have left."

"Of course," he said immediately. "Whatever you need."

2:30 PM - Samaira's Apartment

Rishaan's POV:

Samaira's Hyderabad apartment was exactly what Rishaan had expected—modern, tasteful, oddly impersonal for someone who lived there. It looked like a show home or a high-end hotel: perfect furniture, coordinated colours, no clutter.

"Your mother decorated?" he guessed.

"How did you know?"

"It's beautiful, but it doesn't feel like you. Too... neat. Too coordinated."

"I'm neat!"

"You're organised, which is different. This is magazine-neat. Where's your personality?"

Samaira looked around, seeing her space through his eyes. "I guess I never bothered making it personal since I'm barely here. What's the point of decorating when I use this place maybe eight weeks a year?"

"That's sad, Ira."

She stopped, turning to look at him. "What did you call me?"

"Ira. It just—it slipped out. Is it okay? I can stop—"

"No," she said quickly. "No, I like it. Ira. My family used to call me that when I was little. I'd forgotten."

"Then Ira, it is." He smiled. "Show me around? I want to see where you live, even if it's only part-time."

She gave him the tour—living room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, modern kitchen that looked rarely used, dining area with a table that probably never hosted dinner parties.

"Guest room," she said, gesturing to one closed door. "For when my parents visit. And this—" she opened another door, "—is my room."

This room was different. Still neat, but personal in ways the rest of the apartment wasn't. Photos on the dresser—her with friends, with her parents, graduation pictures. A shelf with trophies and awards from the university. And notably, a bookshelf absolutely crammed with books.

"There it is," Rishaan said, moving toward the shelf. "Your personality."

The books were organised chaos—fiction mixed with textbooks, paperbacks jammed between hardcovers, sticky notes marking pages. He pulled one out at random: a thriller with a dark cover and ominous tagline.

"This is the one you don't want your mother to know about?" he teased.

"That's actually one of the tamer ones. The really dark stuff is—" she reached to a higher shelf, pulling down a book with an even more sinister cover, "—up here where she won't accidentally find it."

Rishaan flipped through it, reading jacket copy about murder and manipulation and morally grey antiheroes. "You really do like the dark stuff."

"I contain multitudes," she said, echoing his earlier words.

He spotted something else on the shelf—sticky notes, dozens of them, attached to different books.

"What are these?"

"My TBR—to be read list. Every time I want a book but can't get it or don't have time to read it, I stick a note with the title on the shelf. Reminds me what I'm looking forward to."

He examined the notes—dozens of titles in her neat handwriting, some recent, some clearly years old based on the faded ink.

"That's why the bookstore was perfect," she said softly. "I haven't bought physical books in so long. In Italy, I just don't have the time or space. And when I'm home, I'm usually too busy with friends and family to go book shopping. Today was—" her voice caught slightly, "—today was really special. Thank you."

Rishaan turned to face her, setting the book down. "I'm glad. I wanted to do something that was just for you. Something that showed I was paying attention."

"You're very good at that. Paying attention."

"Only to things that matter." He moved closer. "You matter, Ira."

She looked up at him, and the emotion in her eyes made his chest ache. "I don't want to leave tomorrow."

"I know."

"I just got here. We just—" she gestured between them, "—this just started."

"I know."

"It's not fair."

"It's not," he agreed. "But it's your job. It's what you've worked for. I won't be the guy who asks you to choose between your career and—"

"And what?" she prompted.

"And us," he said simply. "We're an us, Samaira. Or we're becoming one. And us means supporting each other, not making each other choose impossible things."

"You say that now, but when I'm gone for weeks at a time, when I miss things because of races, when I'm too busy or too tired to call—"

"Then we figure it out. We adjust. We communicate." He took her hands. "I'm not Karthik. I'm not going to punish you for being successful or make you feel guilty for choosing a career you love. I'm going to support you. Even when it's hard. Even when I miss you so much, it physically hurts. Because that's what you do when you care about someone."

"Shaan," she whispered.

Now it was his turn to pause. "Shaan?"

"If you get to call me Ira, I get to call you Shaan. Fair?"

"More than fair." He loved it—the intimacy of a nickname, the way it sounded in her voice. "We're doing this, aren't we? Actually doing this?"

"I think we are."

"Long distance, crazy schedules, different continents?"

"All of it."

"You're sure?"

"I'm terrified," she admitted. "But I'm sure. Are you?"

Instead of answering with words, Rishaan pulled her closer, one hand coming up to cup her face. "I'm completely sure," he said softly. "About you. About us. About making this work no matter what it takes."

They were standing very close now, and Rishaan was acutely aware of every detail—the way she was looking at him, the slight catch in her breathing, the way her hands had come up to rest on his chest.

"Shaan—"

"Yeah?"

"The friends are coming at seven."

"They are."

"We should probably... prepare? Or start packing? Or—"

"Or," he said, his thumb brushing her cheekbone, "we could stop talking for a minute."

"What would we do instead?" she asked, but her lips were curving into a small smile.

"I have some ideas."

"Oh?"

"Unless you object—"

"I definitely don't object."

"Thank God," he breathed, and then he was kissing her.

The world narrowed to this: Rishaan's lips on hers, gentle at first, asking permission. The warmth of his hand cradling her face. The solid feel of his chest under her palms.

She answered his question by pressing closer, her hands sliding up to his shoulders, then to his hair, pulling him down so she could kiss him properly.

He made a sound—something between a sigh and a groan—and his other arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

The kiss deepened, and Samaira felt five days of tension and longing and careful restraint finally releasing. This was what she'd wanted since that first night at the engagement party when he'd smiled at her across the room. Maybe earlier. Maybe the moment Anvitha first mentioned him years ago, something in Samaira's chest had paid attention.

When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Rishaan rested his forehead against hers.

"That was—" he started.

"Yeah," she agreed.

"I've wanted to do that since—"

"Me too."

"When you were making bajjis and looking so focused and competitive—"

"When you were sitting so close, yesterday at sunset, I could barely think—"

"Yesterday at sunset, when your hand was in mine, and I thought I might die if I couldn't kiss you—"

"This morning in the car when you took me to the bookstore, and I realised you actually listen—"

They were both laughing now, interrupting each other with more examples, with more moments.

"We've been idiots," Rishaan said.

"Complete idiots. We could have been doing this for days."

"We're doing it now."

"We are," she agreed, and kissed him again.

This kiss was different—slower, deeper, taking their time because now that they'd started, there was no reason to rush. They had hours before the friends arrived. Hours to learn each other's rhythms, to figure out what made the other sigh, to memorise the feel of this in case they needed to remember it across distance and time.

When they finally moved to the couch—both needing to sit because standing while kissing was apparently more challenging than anticipated—Samaira curled into Rishaan's side, his arm around her shoulders, her head on his chest.

"I really don't want to leave tomorrow," she said quietly.

"I really don't want you to go." His fingers were tracing patterns on her arm, absent and soothing. "But you have to. Your job needs you."

"Ferrari always needs me."

"That's because you're brilliant at what you do. They'd be idiots not to need you constantly."

She tilted her head up to look at him. "You're very supportive for someone whose person is leaving the country tomorrow."

"You're my person," he said, like it was simple, obvious. "Of course I'm supportive. That's the job description."

"Your person," she repeated, testing the words. "I like that."

"Good. Because you're stuck with me now. Ira."

"Stuck with you. Shaan."

They sat in comfortable silence for a while, just existing together, both aware that time was moving too fast and tomorrow was coming whether they wanted it to or not.

"Tell me about Monaco," Rishaan said eventually. "The race, the city, what you do there."

Samaira shifted, getting more comfortable. "Monaco is... special. The circuit is street racing—we literally close down city streets and turn them into a track. It's narrow, technical, unforgiving. There's no room for error."

"Sounds stressful."

"It's the most stressful race of the season. But also the most prestigious. Winning Monaco means something different from other races. It's history, glamour, tradition."

"And you're responsible for making sure the cars can handle it?"

"Partially. I work with the strategy team on fuel management, tyre choices, when to pit, and how aggressive we can be. The Monaco circuit is unique—overtaking is nearly impossible, so qualifying position matters more than in most races. We have to be perfect in practice, perfect in qualifying."

"No pressure then."

She laughed softly. "Just a little. But that's what I love about it—the precision required, the puzzle of finding the perfect setup, the satisfaction when everything comes together, and we win."

"When's the race?"

"Two weeks from Sunday. But the prep starts now—car setup, simulations, strategy meetings. That's why they need me back so urgently. The engine modifications are critical."

"And after Monaco?"

"Back to Maranello briefly, then Montreal for the Canadian Grand Prix. Then Spain. Then Austria. The season is back-to-back through summer."

"When will you be back in India?"

"Not until August at the earliest. Maybe September. But I'll be back after 3 weeks for Anvitha's wedding" Her voice went small. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise." He pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "We knew this going in. Your schedule is insane, and mine's not much better with the startup. We'll figure it out."

"Video calls?"

"Every day if you want them. Even if it's just ten minutes. Even if you're exhausted."

"Texts?"

"Constant. I'll tell you about boring business meetings. You can tell me about race drama."

"Photos of random moments?"

"All of them. I want to see your life, even the boring parts."

"Voice messages when time zones make calling hard?"

"Yes. All of it. Whatever we need to stay connected."

She was quiet for a moment, then: "What if it's not enough? What if the distance is too hard?"

"Then we deal with it. Together. Ira, listen to me—" He shifted so he could look at her properly. "I know this is scary. I know you've been hurt before by someone who couldn't handle your career. But I'm not that person. I'm choosing this—choosing you—with full knowledge of what it means. The distance, the time difference, the crazy schedule. All of it. I'm choosing it because you're worth it."

"How are you so sure?"

"Because I've never felt like this before. Never wanted to make something work this badly. Never met someone who makes me want to be better, do better, try harder. You make me want to be the kind of person who deserves you."

"Shaan—" Her voice broke slightly. "You already are that person."

"Then we're going to be fine. It'll be hard, but we'll be fine."

She kissed him then—soft, sweet, full of promise and hope and trust.

When they broke apart, Rishaan glanced at the clock. "We have about three hours before everyone arrives."

"What should we do with three hours?"

"Well, we could start packing—"

"Or?"

"Or we could stay right here and keep doing this."

"I vote for option two."

"Wise choice."

They spent the next two hours exactly where they were—curled together on the couch, talking and kissing and laughing, learning each other in ways that had nothing to do with grand gestures and everything to do with small moments of connection.

Rishaan learned that Samaira got a tiny crinkle between her eyebrows when she was thinking hard about something. That she played with her hair when she was nervous. That her laugh, when she really let go, was loud and uninhibited and beautiful.

Samaira learned that Rishaan's ears turned red when he was embarrassed. That he had a habit of running his hand through his hair when he was figuring out what to say. That he whispered sweet things in Telugu almost unconsciously—bangaram, chinni, kannamma—endearments that made her heart skip.

"Say that again," she requested when he called her bangaram for the third time.

"Bangaram?"

"Yeah. Do you know What does it means?"

"Golden. Or precious golden one. It's a term of endearment."

"I like it."

"Then I'll keep using it." He pressed a kiss to her temple. "My bangaram."

At 6:30, they reluctantly untangled themselves to start some preliminary packing. Samaira opened her suitcase while Rishaan made them both coffee in her rarely-used kitchen.

"Do you have mugs?" he called.

"Cabinet above the coffee maker!"

"Found them! Do you have actual food in this apartment or just coffee?"

"Why would I have food? I'm never here!"

"Ira, that's concerning!"

"My mother stocks the fridge when she knows I'm coming home!"

"And when she doesn't know you're coming?"

"Then I order in or eat at my parents' place!"

He appeared in the bedroom doorway with two mugs, shaking his head. "We're working on this. When you're home, you're eating proper meals."

"Yes, sir," she said sarcastically, but she was smiling.

They were folding clothes together—Rishaan having appointed himself assistant packer—when the doorbell rang at 7:02.

"They're early," Samaira said.

"They're eager to spend time with you before you leave."

She opened the door to chaos. All four friends had arrived together, laden with bags of food, wine, and what appeared to be entirely too much enthusiasm.

"We brought biryani!" Veer announced.

"And Chinese!" Meher added.

"And pizza because we couldn't decide!" Anvitha finished.

"That's way too much food," Samaira said.

"There's no such thing as too much food," Ahaan countered, heading straight for the kitchen with bags.

Within minutes, her apartment was transformed—food spread across the dining table, music playing from someone's speaker, friends scattered across every available surface.

"Okay," Meher said, taking charge. "Efficient packing plan: Anvitha and I handle clothes. Veer and Ahaan handle books and miscellaneous items. Rishaan helps Samaira with important documents and work stuff. Everyone else handles food consumption."

"That's not a plan, that's chaos," Samaira protested.

"Organised chaos. The best kind. Now go supervise your work stuff while we handle everything else."

8:30 PM - Organised Chaos

Samaira's POV:

Packing with friends was exactly as chaotic as expected.

In the bedroom, Anvitha was holding up two nearly identical black dresses. "Do you need both of these?"

"They're different!"

"They're the same dress in slightly different fabrics!"

"Which means they serve different purposes!"

"This is why you're always over the weight limit," Meher said, carefully folding a saree. "You pack like you might need options for seventeen different scenarios."

"I might!"

In the living room, Veer had discovered Samaira's collection of engineering textbooks and was reading titles out loud with increasing bewilderment.

"Advanced Thermodynamics? For fun?"

"It's interesting!" Samaira called back.

"Fluid Dynamics and Heat Transfer? As leisure reading?"

"Don't judge me!"

"I'm not judging, I'm concerned! Ahaan, back me up here—these are textbooks! For reading! Voluntarily!"

"Leave her alone," Ahaan said. "Some people find different things interesting."

"Thank you, Ahaan!"

"Though I do question the thermodynamics thing—"

"AHAAN!"

Rishaan was helping Samaira sort through paperwork at her desk—passport, travel documents, work files that needed to come back to Italy.

"You're very organised," he observed, watching her systematically check off items on a list.

"I have to be. International travel for work requires precise documentation."

"It's attractive. The organisation."

She looked up, surprised. "Really?"

"Really. Watching you be competent and systematic is doing things for me."

"Shaan!"

"What? I'm just being honest!" He was grinning, completely unrepentant.

From the other room: "Are they flirting in there? They're definitely flirting!"

"Mind your business, Veer!" Rishaan called back.

"Your flirting is everyone's business! It's cute! We're invested!"

"I'm going to murder him," Rishaan muttered.

"Get in line," Samaira said.

At 9 PM, they took a break for food. Everyone gathered in the living room with plates piled high, sitting on the floor because Samaira didn't have enough chairs for six people.

"This is nice," Anvitha said, looking around. "All of us together."

"Even though it's for a sad reason," Meher added.

"Not sad," Samaira corrected. "Just... adjusted plans. I'll be back in 3 weeks for the wedding anyway."

"Three weeks," Veer said. "That's forever."

"It's really not—"

"For us it is! We just got used to having you around again!"

"I know. I'm sorry."

"Stop apologising," Ahaan said firmly. "You're doing your job. We're proud of you, even if we're going to miss you."

"We're going to miss you so much," Anvitha said, her voice going watery. "Don't make me cry—I'm getting married in three weeks, and I need to preserve my emotional stability!"

That made everyone laugh, breaking the tension slightly.

"Video call during the Monaco race?" Meher suggested. "So we can watch together even if you're there?"

"I'll be working during the race—"

"After the race, then. When you're celebrating your inevitable victory."

"That's presumptuous."

"That's confidence in your abilities. There's a difference."

They talked about the upcoming wedding—final preparations, last-minute details, the chaos of coordinating two family events. They talked about work—Veer's family business expansion, Meher's new client, Ahaan's important case, and Anvitha's architectural project.

And every so often, Samaira would catch Rishaan watching her with that soft expression that made her chest feel tight. Their hands would find each other under the table, fingers linking, both of them taking comfort in the contact.

Around 10 PM, they returned to packing. The friends had transformed it into a game—who could fold clothes fastest, who could Tetris books into the suitcase most efficiently, who could make Samaira laugh hardest while she was trying to be serious about weight limits.

"This is going to be over the weight limit," Samaira said, examining her bulging suitcase.

"So remove something," Meher suggested.

"But I need everything!"

"You don't need five pairs of black shoes that look identical."

"They're different! These are work shoes, these are dinner shoes, these are—"

"Ira," Rishaan said, and she stopped mid-sentence.

Everyone else stopped too, noting the nickname.

"Ira?" Anvitha repeated, her voice going soft. "He calls you Ira?"

"Sometimes," Samaira admitted, her face warming.

"That's adorable," Meher declared. "What does she call you?"

"Shaan," Rishaan said, looking pleased.

"SHAAN?" Veer clutched his chest. "You have a couple nicknames! We're witnessing relationship milestones!"

"Veer—" Rishaan warned.

"This is amazing! First the hand-holding, then the book date, now the nicknames! What's next, matching phone wallpapers?"

"I will physically fight you."

"You love me too much."

Despite the teasing, the friends were clearly delighted. The nicknames meant something—intimacy, seriousness, a future beyond just figuring things out.

By 11 PM, the suitcase was packed, the apartment was (mostly) cleaned up, and everyone was sprawled in various states of exhaustion.

"We should go," Ahaan said reluctantly. "Let Samaira get some sleep before her flight."

"What time is your flight?" Anvitha asked.

"3:45 PM. I should leave for the airport by 1."

"We'll all come to see you off," Meher decided.

"You don't have to—"

"We're coming. End of discussion."

There were hugs at the door—long, tight hugs that conveyed everything words couldn't. Promises to stay in touch, to video call, and to make this work despite the distance.

Anvitha was crying. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"I'm going to miss you too. But I'll be back for the wedding. I promise."

"You better be. You're my maid of honour!"

More hugs. More promises. More reluctant goodbyes.

Finally, it was just Rishaan and Samaira standing in her doorway.

"Are you staying?" she asked quietly.

The others had already moved toward the elevator, giving them privacy.

"Do you want me to?"

"I don't want you to leave yet."

"Then I'm staying."

11:30 PM - Just the Two of Them

Rishaan's POV:

After everyone left, the apartment felt simultaneously too big and too intimate—just the two of them in the space Samaira barely lived in, surrounded by packed bags and the reality of her imminent departure.

They cleaned up the remaining food mess together in comfortable silence—Rishaan washing dishes while Samaira dried and put them away.

"You don't have to help," she said. "You've been helping all day."

"I want to." He handed her another plate. "Besides, if I stop moving, I'll have to think about you leaving tomorrow, and I'm not ready for that yet."

"Shaan—"

"I know. I know it's necessary. I know it's your job. I'm not trying to make you feel guilty." He dried his hands and turned to face her. "I just—I really don't want you to go."

"I really don't want to go either."

They stood there in her kitchen, looking at each other, both feeling the weight of unsaid things.

"Come here," Rishaan said finally, opening his arms.

Samaira moved into them immediately, wrapping her arms around his waist, pressing her face into his chest. He held her tight, one hand stroking her hair, both of them just breathing together.

"I'm going to miss this," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt. "Having you close. Being able to touch you whenever I want."

"Video calls aren't the same."

"Not even close."

"But we'll make it work."

"We will," she agreed. "But I'm allowed to hate it anyway."

"You're definitely allowed to hate it."

They stayed like that for a long moment, then moved to the couch—their spot now, apparently. Samaira curled into Rishaan's side, his arm around her shoulders, both of them trying to memorise this feeling for when distance made it impossible.

"Talk to me," Samaira said. "About anything. Everything. I want to hear your voice."

So Rishaan talked. He told her about his startup—the challenges, the successes, the frustration of trying to prove himself separate from his family name. He told her about his dreams for the company, about the traditional businesses he wanted to help modernise, about the satisfaction of building something that mattered.

He told her about his relationship with his parents—complicated, distant, full of expectations but empty of affection. How he'd learned to stop expecting them to show up, to stop hoping they'd notice his achievements beyond how they reflected on the family business.

"That's why Nannamma means so much to me," he said. "She was the only one who saw me as a person, not just as the heir. She's the only family I have who actually cares."

"I care," Samaira said quietly.

"I know." He kissed the top of her head. "You're family too now. Different kind, but just as important."

She tilted her head up to look at him. "Family?"

"Is that too much? Too soon?"

"No," she said, her eyes suspiciously bright. "It's perfect. You're family to me, too, Shaan. The family you choose, the family that sees you."

He kissed her then—slow and sweet and full of promise. When they broke apart, both breathing hard, he rested his forehead against hers.

"I'm yours," he said quietly. "Even when you're in Italy, and I'm here. Even when we're in different time zones and can only talk for ten minutes at a time. Even when it's hard. I'm yours, Ira. Completely."

"I'm yours too," she whispered. "Across whatever distance, through whatever challenges. I'm yours, Shaan."

"We're doing this."

"We're really doing this."

"No backing out now."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

They kissed again, and this time it deepened—five days of want and waiting and finally having each other, even for a short time, all pouring into the connection between them.

"Bangaram," Rishaan murmured against her lips, and the endearment made her heart skip.

"Say it again," she requested.

"Bangaram. My precious one. My golden girl." He kissed her between each phrase. "My Ira."

"Yours," she agreed. "Completely yours."

They lost track of time, caught in each other—kissing and touching and talking in quiet voices about everything and nothing. Plans and present feelings and past hurts that didn't matter anymore because they had this, had each other.

At some point, they moved to her bedroom—not for anything beyond comfort, but because the couch was cramped and they both wanted to lie down without separating.

They lay facing each other on her bed, hands linked between them, talking in whispers even though no one else was there to hear.

"Tell me about your first memory," Rishaan said.

"Random question at 2 AM."

"Humour me."

She thought. "I was maybe four. My mother had taken me to a temple festival. There were lights everywhere—strings of bulbs, oil lamps and colourful decorations. I remember thinking it was magic, all that light and colour and music. I was holding her hand and feeling completely safe and happy."

"That's a good first memory."

"What's yours?"

"Nannamma is teaching me to tie my shoes. I was five and getting frustrated because I couldn't do it. My parents were too busy to help, but Nannamma sat with me for an hour, patient and kind, until I got it right. She made me feel like learning to tie my shoes was the most important thing in the world."

"That's why you love her so much."

"That and a thousand other moments like it. She was there when it mattered."

"You're going to be like that," Samaira said. "When you have kids someday. Present and patient and making them feel important."

"You think so?"

"I know so. You're already like that with the people you care about. You pay attention. You show up. You make people feel seen."

"You make me want to be better."

"You're already good enough, Shaan."

"Not without you, I'm not."

She kissed him to stop the self-deprecation. "Don't do that. Don't make me your everything. Be yours first."

"Wise words."

"I learned them the hard way. After Karthik, I had to rebuild myself—figure out who I was without someone else defining me. I needed to be complete on my own before I could be part of a couple again."

"Are you? Complete on your own?"

"I'm getting there. And with you, I feel like I can keep being myself and also be part of an us. You don't ask me to shrink or change. You just... fit."

"You fit too, Bangaram. Perfectly."

They talked until nearly 4 AM—about fears and hopes, about the logistics of long distance, about when they might see each other next.

"After Monaco, I have back-to-back races," Samaira said. "But there's a break in August. Maybe I could come home then?"

"August is three months away."

"I know."

"We can do three months."

"Can we?"

"We have to. So we will."

Eventually, exhaustion caught up with them. Samaira's eyes were drooping, and Rishaan wasn't much better.

"Sleep," he said gently. "You have a long travel day tomorrow."

"Stay," she murmured, already half-asleep. "Stay tonight."

"I'm not going anywhere."

He held her as she drifted off, watching her face relax into sleep, feeling the weight of tomorrow settling over both of them.

In a few hours, she'd leave for the airport. In a few hours, this bubble they'd created would pop, and reality would intrude with flight times and ocean distances and the relentless demands of both their careers.

But right now—right now she was here, warm and real in his arms, her breathing deep and even, her hand still holding his even in sleep.

Right now was enough.

It had to be.

Word Count: 8460

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