Morning - 7:15 AM
Rishaan's POV:
Rishaan woke slowly, awareness returning in pieces. Soft morning light filtering through unfamiliar curtains. The weight of someone pressed against his chest. The scent of jasmine and something uniquely her.
Samaira.
His eyes opened fully, and he took in the scene, Samaira curled into him, her face peaceful in sleep, one hand fisted in his shirt like she was afraid he'd disappear. His arm was wrapped around her waist, holding her close, their legs tangled together under the blanket someone must have pulled over them during the night.
They'd fallen asleep like this, talking until exhaustion won, neither willing to let go even in sleep.
He should probably feel awkward about waking up in her bed after knowing her for only six days. Should probably overthink the intimacy of it, the speed at which they'd fallen into this comfortable domesticity.
But he didn't. This felt right. Natural. Like coming home to a place he'd been searching for without knowing.
How had this happened in six days? How had someone gone from a stranger at an engagement party to the person he couldn't imagine not talking to every single day?
Then he remembered.
They'd met before. Years ago. He'd forgotten—no, not forgotten, just filed it away as an insignificant moment that didn't matter.
Except now it mattered. Now every interaction, every moment, every accidental collision suddenly felt like fate trying to tell them something.
Flashback - Six Years Ago
The college fest was in full swing—music blasting from multiple stages, food stalls everywhere, students crowded into every available space. Rishaan had been helping organise one of the tech exhibitions, running between stations, stressed but enjoying the chaos.
"Rishaan!" Ahaan had called, waving him over to where he was sitting with Veer and the girls Rishaan didn't recognise. "Come here! There's someone we want you to meet!"
He'd walked over, curious. Anvitha and Meher were there, sitting with another girl whose back was to him. She was laughing at something Veer said, her hair in a ponytail, wearing jeans and a kurta that somehow looked both casual and put-together.
"Where's this mystery person?" Rishaan had asked.
"Right here—" Anvitha started, but then the girl's phone rang.
She'd turned to answer it, standing abruptly.
Rishaan had been right behind her.
They collided hard, her milkshake flying out of her hand, the Oreo drink splashing spectacularly across his black shirt, cold and sticky and completely ruining the fabric.
"Oh my god!" she'd gasped, her phone still ringing in her hand. "I'm so sorry! I didn't see "
"It's fine," Rishaan had said automatically, even though his shirt was definitely not fine. "Really, accidents happen "
But she was already answering her phone. "Karthik, hi, yes, I'm here, no, just had a small accident "
Karthik. Her boyfriend's name, he'd learned later from Anvitha's apologetic explanation.
Someone had handed him napkins. The girl, Samaira, Anvitha said her name was, had tried to help clean his shirt while still on the phone, looking mortified and distracted, juggling too many things at once.
"It's fine," he'd said again. "Really. I'll just go change."
"I'm so sorry," she'd said, covering her phone. "I'll pay for dry cleaning "
"It's a college fest. My shirt was probably doomed anyway. Don't worry about it."
He'd left to change shirts, finding a friend's spare in someone's bag—and by the time he came back, Samaira was deep in conversation with her boyfriend on the phone, looking stressed.
They'd been introduced properly later, brief, distracted, both of them with other people and other priorities. She'd apologised again. He'd waved it off again. She'd left the next day to go back to the US for her studies.
And that was it. One ruined shirt, one brief apology, one introduction that didn't stick because neither of them was available or interested.
Until now.
Until an engagement party six days ago, when she'd walked in late, tired and guarded, and everything had shifted.
Samaira stirred, making a small sound of protest as she burrowed closer into his warmth.
"Good morning, bangaram," he said softly, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on her back.
Her eyes fluttered open, beautiful brown eyes still heavy with sleep, confused for a moment before focusing on him. Then she smiled, small and soft and genuine.
"Morning," she mumbled. "What time is it?"
"A little after seven."
"Too early." She closed her eyes again, but made no move to pull away from him. "Five more minutes."
"You have a flight in a few hours."
"Still too early."
He laughed quietly, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Come on, Ira. You need to get up, shower, and do all your pre-travel preparations."
"Don't wanna."
"I know. But Ferrari awaits."
She groaned but finally opened her eyes properly. "I hate Ferrari right now."
"No, you don't. You love Ferrari. You love your job."
"I love my job when it's not making me leave you the day after our first kiss."
"Technically, we kissed a lot yesterday. Multiple kisses. So it's the day after our first through—what, twentieth? kiss."
"Stop being mathematical about our kisses."
"Sorry. Engineer brain."
"You're not an engineer, you're a business guy."
"Details."
She was smiling now, more awake, and Rishaan took the opportunity to really look at her—hair messy from sleep, face free of makeup, wearing comfortable pyjamas she'd changed into at some point while he'd dozed. She was beautiful like this. Real and unguarded and his.
"What are you thinking?" she asked, catching him staring.
"That you're beautiful. That I don't want you to leave. That I'm going to miss you terribly." He cupped her face with one hand. "But mostly that you're about to go do something incredible, and I'm so proud of you I could burst."
Her eyes went suspiciously bright. "Shaan—"
"I mean it, Ira. You're brilliant at what you do. Ferrari's lucky to have you. Monaco's lucky to have you working on their race. And I'm lucky to have you at all, even if it's from different continents for a while."
"How are you so good at this? At saying exactly what I need to hear?"
"Practice? No, wait—natural talent." He grinned when she swatted his chest. "Okay, okay—I just pay attention. You're easy to read when you let your guard down."
"Only with you."
"I'm honoured." He meant it. "Now come on, up. Let's make the most of the morning before I have to watch you get on a plane."
She kissed him—morning breath and all, neither of them caring—before reluctantly rolling out of bed.
"I'm showering," she announced. "And you're—what are you doing?"
"I'm going back to my place to freshen up and change. Can't send you off to Italy in yesterday's clothes. What kind of boyfriend would I be?"
She paused in the doorway, turning back to look at him. "Boyfriend?"
Rishaan froze. Had he overstepped? Moved too fast? "I mean—if you want—we haven't really discussed labels—"
"Boyfriend works," she interrupted, her smile growing. "Girlfriend and boyfriend. Us."
Relief flooded through him. "Us. I like that."
"Me too." She hesitated. "How long will you be?"
"An hour? I'll bring breakfast. My part-time maid—the one who's been with my family since I was a kid—she makes incredible breakfast food. I'll ask her to pack something and bring it over."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Let me do this, Bangaram. Let me take care of you before you leave."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but instead she just nodded. "Okay. An hour."
"One hour," he confirmed. "Now go shower. You have a very attractive bedhead, but probably not airport-appropriate."
She threw a pillow at him, but she was laughing as she disappeared into the bathroom.
7:45 AM
Samaira's POV:
The hot shower helped wake Samaira fully, washing away the last remnants of sleep and the haze of waking up in Rishaan's arms.
Samaira stood, heading to the bathroom to splash water on her face and try to look presentable. As she was brushing her teeth, something niggled at her brain—a memory trying to surface.
The first time she'd seen Rishaan wasn't at the engagement party.
She stopped mid-brush, staring at herself in the mirror as the memory crystallised.
The college fest. Four years ago? Five? Six? She'd been home from the US for winter break, visiting during her undergraduate studies. Anvitha had invited her to their college fest—"come see where we all spend our time, meet everyone properly."
She'd coordinated with Ahaan and Veer to surprise Anvitha and Meher. They'd given her a guest pass. She'd found them at the food stalls, and the surprise had been successful—hugs and excitement and catching up over milkshakes and Chinese food.
And then
"Where's Rishaan?" Anvitha had asked Ahaan. "He should meet Samaira!"
Samaira had been drinking an Oreo milkshake, half-listening to Veer's story about something ridiculous, when her phone rang.
Karthik. Her boyfriend at the time—the relationship that would end a year later, when his family made it clear that a daughter-in-law who travelled the world wasn't what they wanted.
She'd stood to answer the call, turning quickly,
And collided with someone solid.
Her milkshake had gone flying, splashing across a black shirt, and she'd looked up to see an extremely attractive guy looking down at his ruined clothes with resigned acceptance.
"Oh my god! I'm so sorry!"
"It's fine. Really, accidents happen—"
But she'd been answering Karthik's call, distracted and flustered, trying to apologise while her boyfriend asked what the noise was, juggling too many things at once.
The guy—Rishaan, she realised now—had been gracious about it. They'd been introduced briefly. She'd apologised profusely. He'd waved it off. She'd left the next day.
She'd completely forgotten.
Or maybe not forgotten—just filed it away as an insignificant moment with someone who was taken (she'd learned later he had a girlfriend then too) and who didn't matter beyond that one awkward interaction.
Except he did matter. He mattered so much now that her chest ached thinking about leaving.
Samaira grabbed her phone and called him.
He answered on the second ring. "Miss me already, bangaram?"
"I just remembered."
"Remembered what?"
"We met before. Six years ago. At your college fest. I was visiting from the US, and I—" she laughed, embarrassed, "—I spilt my Oreo milkshake all over your shirt."
There was a pause. Then: "You remember."
"You remember, too?"
"I woke up thinking about it this morning. I'd forgotten until recently, but seeing you at the engagement party, something about you was familiar. It took a few days for the memory to surface."
"I can't believe I ruined your shirt and then forgot about you entirely."
"To be fair, we both had other people. Other priorities. It wasn't the right time."
"And now?"
"Now is exactly the right time." His voice was warm, certain. "Even if the timing is terrible in other ways."
"I'm sorry I forgot."
"Don't be. We found each other again when it mattered. That's what counts."
"Still. I owe you a shirt."
"Ira, you owe me nothing. But I'll accept the apology if you promise to spill drinks on me regularly so I have an excuse to be close to you."
"That's a terrible pickup line."
"But is it working?"
"Annoyingly, yes."
She could hear his smile through the phone. "I'm almost back at my flat. Gonna shower and change. See you in forty-five minutes?"
"I'll be here."
"Counting on it, bangaram."
8:00 AM - Breakfast Together
Rishaan returned at exactly 8 AM—showered, changed into fresh clothes, and carrying bags that smelled incredible.
"Anjali Aunty went overboard," he said, setting everything on the dining table. "She found out you were leaving and decided you needed 'proper food' before your flight."
"I'm starting to think all the older women in your life bond over feeding people."
"It's their love language." He started unpacking containers. "We have idlis, vadas, dosa, three types of chutney, sambar, and" he pulled out one more container with a flourish, "pongal, because Aunty said you'd need something comforting."
"This is enough food for six people."
"She tends to overestimate. Or she knows we have friends coming over later and plans accordingly." He arranged everything carefully. "Eat. You need energy for the flight."
They sat together, and Samaira realised this was one of those moments she'd remember a simple breakfast in her rarely-used apartment, comfortable silence punctuated by easy conversation, the domesticity of sharing food with someone who cared.
"Tell me about Anjali Aunty," she said, trying a perfectly crispy vada.
"She's been with my family since I was maybe seven or eight. Started as a maid, but she became more like family—at least to me. She was there for school projects when my parents weren't. She taught me to make coffee properly. She scolded me when I deserved it and hugged me when I needed it."
"She sounds wonderful."
"She is. She has a son about my age who lives in Bangalore. She used to work full-time, but now she just comes a few times a week to cook and clean. Says she's too old for full-time work, but I think she just likes having more time for herself."
"Does she know about me?"
"I may have mentioned you." His ears went slightly red. "Once or twice. Or possibly every day since I met you."
"Shaan!"
"She's excited to meet you properly. When you're back for Anvitha'swedding, I'll take you to visit her."
"I'd like that."
Her phone rang—a video call from her parents. Samaira glanced at Rishaan apologetically.
"Answer it," he said immediately. "I'll check your bags, make sure you haven't forgotten anything. Take your time."
He disappeared into her bedroom, giving her privacy, and Samaira answered the call.
"Hi, Amma, Nanna!"
Her parents' faces filled the screen—her mother, Lakshmi, looking concerned, her father, Vamshi, looking resigned to his daughter's career demands.
"Chinni," her mother said. "How are you feeling about leaving so soon?"
"I'm okay, Amma. Disappointed, but okay."
"We're sorry your vacation got cut short," her father added. "But we're proud of you. Ferrari needs you—that's something to celebrate, even if it's inconvenient."
"Thanks, Nanna."
"Are you packed? Do you need anything?" her mother asked, switching to practical mode.
"All packed. Rishaan's been helping—actually, he's here now checking my bags."
Her mother's expression shifted to something knowing and pleased. "He stayed to help?"
"He... may have stayed the night." Samaira's face warmed. "We were up late packing with everyone, and then we just talked, and"
"Samaira," her father interrupted, his voice gentle. "You don't need to explain. You're an adult. We trust your judgment."
"We like him," her mother added. "Both of us. He's good for you, beta. We can see it."
"I like him too, Amma. A lot."
"Then we support you. Whatever you decide, however you want to handle the distance, we support you."
They talked for a few more minutes, logistics about when she'd call next, reminders to eat properly and sleep enough, and promises to video call after she landed.
"Tell Rishaan we said bye," her mother said. "And that we expect to see him again when you're home ."
"I will, Amma. Love you both."
"Love you too, Chinni. Safe travels."
After she hung up, Rishaan emerged from the bedroom with her passport and documents.
"Everything's organised and in your carry-on," he reported. "Your parents say hi?"
"They say bye, and they expect to see you again ."
"I'll be there with bells on." He set the documents on the table and sat back down. "My turn. Nannamma is calling, she wants to say bye."
Sure enough, his phone rang. He answered on video call, and Savitri's face appeared, bright-eyed and smiling despite the early hour.
"Chinna! And is that my Samaira?"
"Hi, Ammamma," Samaira called, moving so she was in frame.
"There she is! Child, I heard about your flight today. Such short notice!"
"Work emergency, Ammamma. I'm sorry, I have to leave so soon."
"No apologies! You're doing important things. I'm proud of you." Nannamma's expression softened. "But I'll miss you. Come back soon, yes?"
"I promise. August at the latest."
"Good. And Rishaan" Nannamma turned her attention to her grandson, "you take care of yourself while she's gone. Don't work too hard. Don't forget to eat. Don't mope around like a lost puppy."
"Nannamma!" Rishaan protested.
"What? I know you. You'll throw yourself into work and forget to be human. Don't do that."
"I'll try not to."
"And Samaira, you keep him honest. Call him regularly. Make sure he's eating and sleeping."
"I will, Ammamma."
"Good. You're good for each other. Don't forget that when distance makes things hard."
They talked for a few more minutes, Nannamma extracting promises to call often, reminding them both that love required effort, giving blessings for safe travels and successful work.
After they hung up, Samaira and Rishaan sat in comfortable silence, both processing the morning's goodbyes.
"I need to give you something," Samaira said, pulling out her phone. "My assistant's number. Priya. She handles my schedule and knows where I am at all times. If there's an emergency and you can't reach me, call her."
"Okay," Rishaan added the contact. "And I'm giving you my assistant's number, Prerna. She's been with me since the startup began. Actually," he smiled, "her husband Aditya was my first employee. He started with the company three years ago, and Prerna joined as my assistant about a year later. They fell in love working together and got married last year."
"That's adorable."
"They have a baby daughter now, Ananya. She's maybe eight months old and the cutest thing you've ever seen. When you're back, I'll take you to meet them. Prerna keeps telling me she wants to meet the girl who's made me 'insufferably happy' this past week."
"I'm making you insufferably happy?"
"Unbearably so. Prerna says I smile at my phone like an idiot constantly."
"You do smile at your phone like an idiot."
"Because you're texting me!"
"Fair point."
Samaira added Prerna's number, filing it under "Rishaan's Assistant - Emergency Only."
"We're prepared for every contingency," Rishaan said, looking at his phone where he'd added Priya's number the same way.
"We are. Very adult of us."
"Look at us, being responsible while maintaining a long-distance relationship."
"We're basically relationship experts now."
"Six days in and already experts. Impressive."
They were both smiling, keeping things light despite the weight of the approaching goodbye.
"What time are your friends coming?" Rishaan asked, pulling her close.
"Twelve-thirty. We need to leave by one to make it to the airport with time to spare."
He checked his watch. "That gives us almost a few hours."
"Four hours," she repeated. "A Few hours and then—"
"And then we make it work from a distance until we see each other again," he finished firmly. "No sad thoughts. Not yet. We have a few hours."
"A few hours," she agreed. "What should we do with them?"
"This." He kissed her softly. "Exactly this."
They spent the morning exactly where they were—curled together on the couch, talking and kissing and memorising each other in ways that had nothing to do with appearances and everything to do with essence.
Samaira told Rishaan about Monaco, not the work side, but the city itself. The narrow streets and ridiculous wealth, the harbour filled with yachts, the casino where she'd never gambled but had walked past dozens of times. The tiny apartment Ferrari kept for staff during race weeks, barely bigger than a hotel room but with a view of the Mediterranean.
"It sounds beautiful," Rishaan said.
"It is. Very beautiful and very lonely."
"Not this time. This time you'll have someone to call, someone waiting to hear about your day."
"You'll really want to hear about engine specifications and tyre strategies?"
"I'll want to hear about anything that matters to you. If engines matter to you, they matter to me."
She kissed him for that.
Rishaan told her about his startup—the frustrations and victories, the small businesses he'd helped modernise, the satisfaction of building something that was entirely his. He told her about the textile company, the weight of family expectations, and the complicated relationship with work that was obligatory rather than chosen.
"Maybe you should step back from the family business," Samaira suggested. "Focus entirely on your startup."
"My parents would never allow it."
"You're twenty-eight. Their permission isn't required."
"It's complicated "
"It's only complicated because you let it be. Shaan, listen to me," she shifted to look at him properly, "you're brilliant and capable, you've built something successful completely on your own. You don't need their business or their approval. You think you do because they've made you feel obligated your entire life."
He was quiet, processing. "You're not wrong."
"I'm definitely not wrong. And you know it."
"Maybe when things are more stable with the startup, I'll consider it. But right now"
"Right now you're managing two full-time jobs and wondering why you're exhausted all the time."
"Are you psychoanalysing me, Dr Reddy?"
"I'm observing you, boyfriend Chowdary. There's a difference."
"Boyfriend Chowdary. I like that."
"You would."
They dissolved into laughter, the serious conversation shifting back to playfulness naturally.
At 11:30, Samaira reluctantly untangled herself. "I should double-check my suitcase. Make sure I didn't forget anything important."
"Want help?"
"Always."
They went to her bedroom, where her suitcase sat fully packed from last night's chaos with her friends. Rishaan methodically went through her checklist while she verified documents.
"Passport?"
"Check."
"Work laptop?"
"Check."
"Chargers for everything?"
"Check."
"Books I bought you yesterday that you'll definitely not have time to read, but packed anyway?"
"Check, and I will read them! Maybe. Eventually."
"Engineering textbooks that terrify normal people?"
"Check, and they're not terrifying!"
"Veer would disagree."
"Veer thinks anything without pictures is terrifying."
They finished the check with forty-five minutes to spare before the friends arrived. Samaira zipped the suitcase closed with an air of finality.
"That's it," she said. "All ready."
"All ready," Rishaan echoed, though neither of them moved.
They stood there in her bedroom, the scene of last night's confessions and this morning's bittersweet awakening and let themselves feel the weight of impending separation.
"Come here," Rishaan said finally, opening his arms.
Samaira moved into them immediately, wrapping herself around him, pressing her face into his chest, breathing him in.
"I'm really going to miss you," she said, her voice muffled against his shirt.
"I'm really going to miss you too, bangaram." He held her tighter. "But we're going to be fine. We have phones and video calls and—"
"And three weeks before I'm back."
"Three weeks. We can do three weeks."
"Can we?"
"We have to. So we will." He pulled back slightly to look at her face. "Ira, listen to me. This—us—we're worth the distance. Worth the effort. Worth the difficulty. You believe that, right?"
"I do. I really do."
"Then we'll make it work. However, we need to. Whatever it takes."
"Promise?"
"I promise. I'm yours, Ira. Completely, entirely, irrevocably yours. Distance doesn't change that."
"I'm yours too," she whispered. "Across oceans and time zones and however long it takes to see you again. I'm yours, Shaan."
He kissed her then—intense and full of promise. Not a goodbye kiss, but a "see you later" kiss. A "this isn't ending" kiss. A "we're just beginning" kiss.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, Samaira's phone buzzed with a text.
Anvitha: We're here! All of us! Come down when you're ready!
"They're early," Samaira said.
"They're eager to see you before you leave."
"I need to, she gestured vaguely at her face, "fix my face. You made me cry with your sweet words."
"You look beautiful."
"I look like I've been crying."
"Beautiful crying. It's a whole aesthetic."
She swatted him, but was smiling as she went to the bathroom to repair her makeup.
Rishaan grabbed her suitcase and carry-on, hauling them to the front door. He did one final check of the apartment—windows closed, lights off, nothing forgotten—and by the time Samaira emerged from the bathroom, everything was ready.
"Okay," she said, taking a deep breath. "I'm ready."
"No, you're not," he said gently. "But we're going anyway."
"Yeah." She squared her shoulders, gathering her courage. "We're going anyway."
1:35 PM - The Airport
The friends had all come in separate cars, planning to caravan to the airport together. When Samaira and Rishaan emerged from her building—he carrying her luggage, she holding her purse and documents—everyone was waiting by the cars.
"Finally!" Veer called. "We thought you two might have run away together instead."
"Tempting," Rishaan muttered, loading Samaira's suitcase into his trunk.
"We heard that!" Meher said.
They decided to all ride together in Rishaan's car—impossibly crowded with six people and luggage, but none of them was willing to be separated for the drive.
Anvitha and Ahaan squeezed into the backseat with Meher. Veer called front seat privileges, leaving Samaira to sit on the centre console between Rishaan and Veer, which was completely unsafe and illegal, but no one cared.
"This is ridiculous," Samaira said, trying to find a comfortable position.
"This is friendship," Anvitha corrected from the back, where she was squished between Ahaan and Meher. "Uncomfortable but together."
The drive to the airport was chaotic—everyone talking over each other, sharing last-minute stories, making Samaira promise to text constantly, and extracting commitments for video calls and photo updates.
"You'll call during Monaco?" Meher asked.
"After the race," Samaira promised. "When everything's done."
"You'll win," Veer said confidently. "Obviously."
"That's not how racing works"
"You'll win because you're brilliant and Ferrari is lucky to have you. End of discussion."
They arrived at the airport at 1:15—plenty of time for Samaira's international flight. Rishaan found parking while everyone piled out, retrieving luggage and gathering in a loose circle near the terminal entrance.
This was it. The actual goodbye.
Samaira looked at her friends—her chosen family, the people who'd known her through everything—and felt her composure crack slightly.
"Don't cry," Anvitha said, her own eyes suspiciously bright. "If you cry, I'll cry, and then my wedding makeup trial next week will be ruined because my eyes will be puffy."
"Very practical reasoning," Ahaan said, pulling Anvitha close.
"I'm a practical person."
Meher hugged Samaira first—tight and fierce. "Call me when you land. Text me constantly. Send me photos of Italian fashion so I can live vicariously."
"I will," Samaira promised.
"And come back for the wedding. You promised."
"I'll be back. Three weeks after Montreal and Barcelona. I promise."
Next was Veer, who picked her up in a bear hug that lifted her off the ground. "You're my sister. That's non-negotiable. So I'm allowed to tell you that you better take care of yourself over there and eat actual meals."
"I will, I promise."
"And be happy. You deserve it."
"Thank you, Veer."
Ahaan was next, also treating her like a sister, his hug warm and protective. "Stay safe. Work hard but not too hard. And remember—if you need anything, legal advice, someone to yell at Ferrari on your behalf, I'm one call away."
"I know. Thank you."
Anvitha was last, and predictably, both of them started crying the moment they hugged.
"I'm going to miss you so much," Anvitha sobbed. "You just got here!"
"I know, I know. I'm sorry."
"Don't apologise for your career! I'm proud of you! I'm just sad!"
"I'm sad too!"
"You'd better video call me from Italy!"
"Every day if you want!"
"I want!"
The three girls held each other for a long moment—best friends since high school, sisters in all the ways that mattered, neither ready to let go.
Finally, Meher gently separated. "Come on, you two. Sam needs to check in and get through security."
The friends moved slightly away, giving Rishaan and Samaira privacy for their goodbye while still staying close enough to be supportive.
"Well," Samaira said, trying to smile.
"Well," Rishaan echoed.
They stood there for a moment, just looking at each other, neither quite ready to say the words that would make this real.
Then Rishaan moved, pulling her into his arms, a hug so tight it almost hurt, like he could hold her there through sheer force of will.
"Listen to me," he said quietly, his lips near her ear. "This isn't an ending. This is just an intermission. Three weeks until I see you at Anvitha's wedding. We're going to talk every day. We're going to be insufferable about how much we miss each other. And when you come back, I'm going to be right here, waiting."
Samaira laughed wetly, her face pressed into his shoulder. "You better be."
"I will be. I promise." He pulled back slightly to look at her. "You're extraordinary, Ira. Go be brilliant in Monaco. Show them why Ferrari is lucky to have you. And then come home."
"I will. I promise."
"And remember—I'm yours. Even across oceans, even in different time zones, even when we can only talk for five minutes at a time. I'm completely, absolutely yours."
"I'm yours too, Shaan. No matter the distance."
He kissed her then—not brief or casual, but deep and thorough and full of promise. A kiss that said all the things they weren't ready to say with words. A kiss that tasted like goodbye and see you soon, and we're going to make this work.
When they broke apart, both breathing hard, he pressed his forehead to hers.
"Go," he said quietly. "Before I convince you to miss your flight."
"I'm going." She stepped back, immediately missing his warmth. "I'll text you when I land."
"I'll be waiting. I'm always waiting for you, Bangaram."
One more look—long, lingering, both of them memorising this moment. Then Samaira grabbed her luggage and headed toward the terminal entrance.
She looked back once. Rishaan was still standing there, watching her, his expression soft and sad and hopeful all at once. He raised his hand in a small wave.
She waved back, mouthed "three weeks," and then turned and walked through the automatic doors.
After Departure
Rishaan's POV:
The airport felt too quiet after she left.
Rishaan stood there for a long minute, maybe longer, just staring at the doors she'd disappeared through, feeling the absence like a physical weight.
"Come on, bro," Veer said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. "She's gone. Standing here won't bring her back."
"I know."
"Let's get you home."
They walked back to the cars in silence. Everyone seemed to understand that Rishaan needed quiet, needed space to process what had just happened.
In his Ferrari—the passenger seat where Samaira had sat just hours ago now conspicuously empty—Rishaan drove on autopilot, barely registering the familiar route back to his flat.
How was it possible to miss someone this much after only six days?
He'd had longer relationships. Relationships that ended without leaving marks, without making him feel like something essential had been extracted from his chest.
But this, this was different.
Samaira was different.
She saw him. Really saw him, not the successful entrepreneur or the dutiful son or the friend who always had it together. She saw the person underneath all that, the one who named pressure cookers as a kid and worked too hard to prove himself and craved affection he'd never gotten from his parents.
And she didn't just see him—she liked what she saw. Wanted it. Choose it despite the complications.
She was brilliant and guarded and funny and so goddamn beautiful it hurt to look at her sometimes. She made terrible decisions about book genres and was ruthlessly competitive about snack-making and looked at him like he was worth choosing.
And now she was gone.
For three weeks. Then maybe they'd have a few days together before she left again for more races, more work, more distance.
This was going to be their life—snatched moments between her racing calendar and his business obligations, video calls instead of conversations, photos instead of presence.
It should feel impossible.
But somehow, it didn't.
Because she was worth it. Whatever effort it took, whatever sacrifices were required, whatever patience this demanded—she was worth all of it.
His phone buzzed. A text from her, sent from inside the terminal.
Ira: Made it through security. Miss you already.
Rishaan: Miss you too, bangaram. Safe flight. Text me when you land.
Ira: I will. Thank you for this week. For everything.
Rishaan: Thank YOU for spilling milkshakes on me six years ago and then forgetting I existed. Really set the foundation for this relationship.
Ira: I'm never going to live that down, am I?
Rishaan: Never. I'm going to remind you about it constantly.
Ira: You're impossible.
Rishaan: You like me anyway.
Ira: I really do. Okay, boarding soon. Talk later?
Rishaan: Count on it. Be safe, Ira.
Ira: Always. Miss you, Shaan.
Rishaan: Miss you more, bangaram.
Rishaan pulled into his building's parking garage and just sat there for a moment, phone in hand, staring at their conversation.
Three weeks.
He could do three weeks.
Hell, he'd wait three years if that's what it took.
Because somehow, impossibly, in six days, Samaira Reddy had become his person. His bangaram. His Ira. His Kannamma.
And he wasn't letting that go for anything.
5:30 PM - In Flight
Samaira's POV:
The flight to Dubai—first leg of her journey back to Italy—was half-empty, giving Samaira space to spread out and think.
She'd texted Rishaan after takeoff, as promised. Sent updates throughout—crossing into international airspace, meal service, random observations about her seatmate who was watching a terrible movie without headphones.
His responses were immediate, like he'd been waiting by his phone.
Now, somewhere over the Arabian Sea, Samaira stared out the window at clouds and tried to process the last six days.
She'd come to India expecting a simple vacation. Friend time. Family time. Decompression from the relentless pace of Formula 1.
Instead, she'd found something she hadn't even known she was looking for.
Rishaan.
Shaan, who paid attention to the things she mentioned casually. Who took her book shopping because she'd said she missed buying physical books. Who held her like she was precious. Who supported her career without making her feel guilty for choosing it.
Who called her bangaram and looked at her like she mattered.
How had this happened?
She thought back to that first night—the engagement party where she'd been so tired and overwhelmed, standing in that doorway wishing she'd stayed home.
If she had stayed home, she would have missed this. Missed him. Missed the possibility of something that felt more real than anything she'd experienced in years.
Even with Karthik—her ex-boyfriend, whose family had made it clear she wasn't traditional enough for their expectations—it hadn't felt like this. She'd loved him, or thought she did. But looking back now, it felt shallow compared to what had developed with Rishaan in less than a week.
Maybe because Rishaan actually listened. Actually saw her. Actually wanted to build something together instead of asking her to fit into a predetermined mould.
Her phone buzzed with a new message.
Shaan: Prerna just asked if I'm okay because I've been staring at my phone like a lovesick teenager for the past two hours.
Samaira: Are you okay?
Shaan: Debatable. I miss you, and you've only been gone for three hours. This doesn't bode well for the next three weeks.
Samaira: We're going to be insufferable, aren't we?
Shaan: Absolutely. Our friends are going to hate us. We're going to be THOSE people—the couple who can't stop talking about each other even when apart.
Samaira: I can live with that.
Shaan: Me too. How's the flight?
Samaira: Long. Boring. Would be better if you were here.
Shaan: Next time, I'm coming with you. I'll sit in economy if I have to, just to be near you.
Samaira: That's ridiculous.
Shaan: That's dedication. There's a difference.
Samaira: You're going to say stuff like this constantly, aren't you?
Shaan: Every single day. Hope you're ready, Bangaram.
Samaira smiled, something warm settling in her chest despite the ache of missing him.
Samaira: I'm ready. Bring it on, Shaan.
She looked out the window again, clouds stretching endlessly, the curve of the earth visible from this height, the vastness of the distance she was putting between them.
But distance was just geography. It didn't change what they'd built. It didn't diminish what they'd found.
Word Count: 5671
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