ZAVIAN~

I was already in the living room, adjusting my cufflinks when she walked down the stairs.

Wearing a soft, pleated blue dress she looked  breathtaking.

Every line of her dress fell in place like it was made for her. Her hair framed her face with such ease no effort, no trying too hard  and yet, she looked gorgeous.

“You look beautiful,” I said before I could stop myself. The words tumbled out of my mouth like they had a life of their own.

She glanced at me, trying to hide the little smile tugging at her lips.

“Thank you, Mr. Malhotra.”

Her voice had a rhythm I couldn’t define, and for a second, I wondered what kind of spell she had cast on me.

“Chalein?” she asked softly.

( lets go )

I nodded.

We walked towards the parking area together. I chose the Rolls Royce tonight it felt like a quiet kind of luxury, just enough for what I had planned.

I opened the passenger door for her. She slipped inside with a small “thanks,” careful, elegant.

I moved to the driver’s seat. The car started, and silence settled between us thick and almost too loud. I glanced at her once, then back to the road.

“What do you plan to do after college?” I asked, trying to cut through the quiet.

She turned slightly towards me. “I want to start my own clothing company.”

“That’s good,” I replied. And I meant it.

She nodded once, eyes watching the buildings pass.

Then she asked, almost hesitantly, “You don’t have any siblings?”

“No.”

She hesitated, then asked again, quieter this time, “And your parents?”

I swallowed the sudden knot in my throat. “No more.”

Silence returned, but it wasn’t cold. It was heavy with things unsaid. I could feel her gaze on me, gentle and unsure.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said, voice soft.

“Mhm.” That’s all I could say. There was no place in the world I hadn’t buried that grief.

When we reached the restaurant, I wore my specs and mask. The risk of being recognized was always lurking. I opened her door again, and she stepped out gracefully.

Inside, we walked to our table. The restaurant was completely empty.

“There’s no one here?” she asked, looking around, a crease forming on her forehead.

“I booked the whole place.” I said calmly.

She stared at me, shocked. “But why?”

I gave a slight smirk. “Why not?”

She huffed.

As soon as we settled into our seats, she looked at me and said,

“I want to tell you something.”

I nodded. “Go ahead.”

“I want to go back to college.” she said.

“Okay.”

“I’ll leave tomorrow from the hostel.”

“You don’t have to. You can go from the penthouse.”

“I don’t want to—”

“You’re not a burden, sunshine.” I cut her off gently. “Don’t even think like that.”

She made a face. That signature I’m not convinced yet but I hear you face.

“Don’t make faces,” I teased. “Tell me, what do you want to eat?”

“Pani puri,” she grinned.

I paused. “What’s that?”

She gasped. “You don’t know pani puri?”

I shook my head.

In seconds, she pulled out her phone and showed me a photo. “This. This is pani puri.”

I frowned. “You’re not eating that, sunshine.”

“Why?”

“It clearly looks unhealthy.”

“It’s not!” she defended passionately, like a kid whose favorite toy was being taken away.

“I’m not letting you eat that.”

“But I want to.”

“Well, they don’t have this thing here.”

“Mr. Malhotra!” she said, shocked. “Don’t call my pani puri ‘this thing’!

I laughed, hands up in surrender. “Okay, sunshine. What else, then?”

“I don’t know.”

“Fine. I’ll decide.”

I ordered for both of us. She didn’t protest, just watched curiously.

When the food arrived, she blinked in confusion.

“What is this? This looks like actual fancy food.”

“I know.” I said.

She rolled her eyes dramatically.

“It’s macaron, frrrozen, goldopfel, and stacked pancakes,” I explained.

She didn’t respond. Instead, she Googled each dish right there at the table. When she looked back up, her expression was pure disbelief.

“These cost three lakh rupees.”

I nodded. “Yes.”

Her voice rose, “Are you mad?!”

I blinked, calm. “Why? What’s the issue?”

“I am not eating food this expensive!”

“This isn’t expensive for me.”

“Well, for you, nothing is expensive, Mr. Malhotra!”

“Why are you getting so furious? Just eat, sunshine.”

She gave me another eye-roll before picking up a goldopfel piece.

“Is it good?” I asked.

“Tasteless,” she replied instantly, almost stubbornly.

I smiled. “Little angry sunshine,” I whispered to myself.

After dinner, we walked out. I opened the door for her again. We began the drive back. It was peaceful until I noticed her eyes wander outside. She was looking at a street vendor. Her face softened.

I knew exactly what it was.

“Do you want to eat that?” I asked gently.

“No,” she said, a little too quickly.

I stopped the car and reached into the glovebox.

Masks. Caps. I always had backup in case of paparazzi.

“Wear this,” I told her.

“Why?”

“We’re going out.”

She looked at me, confused. “Why should I wear it? You’re the celebrity, not me.”

“If they spot me, they’ll photograph you too. Do you want that?”

She went still for a second. “No,” she said, and quietly put on the mask and cap.

I wore mine, opened her door again.

We walked up to the vendor.

“Give these.” I said to him.

“Bhaiya, do plate laga dijiye,” she told him, beaming.

( give us two plates )

“He won’t understand English,” she whispered to me.

I just smiled. Watching her like this vibrant, happy, free I didn’t want the moment to end.

“Eat. I’m watching,” I said.

“You have to eat too.”

“I don’t like it.”

“Try one. For me. Please.”

She lowered my mask gently and fed me one. It was soggy. Tangy. Messy.

But her eyes were shining.

And suddenly, it was the most delicious thing I’d ever had.

“How is it?” she asked.

“Good.”

She laughed, wiping her fingers on a tissue, and I couldn’t stop staring. She was glowing.

When she was done, she turned to the vendor. “Bhaiya, kitne huye?”

( how much )

“Pachaas rupee, madam.” he said.

( 50 rupees madam )

I reached for my phone. “Let me scan—”

“No,” she said. “You already did too much tonight. Let me pay.”

“Why?”

“Because I want to. I want to give something back.”

“Stop it, sunshine,” I said, just as I noticed camera flashes in the distance.

Paparazzi.

“Shit.”

I shoved a few bills into the vendor’s hand. “Keep the change.”

“This is too much, Zavian—” she said but i cut her off.

“Let it be sunshine.”

I grabbed her hand. “We need to go. Now.”

They rushed toward us, flashes blinding.

“Sir! Sir! Who is she?! Your girlfriend? Sir, just one photo—”

She looked terrified.

And I hated it.

I love being rich. But this? This part of fame?

It clawed at my nerves.

“LET US GO!” I snapped.

I opened her door, helped her inside, then rushed to the driver’s side.

They chased. I hit the gas.

When we were finally away from them, I glanced at her.

“You okay?”

She nodded, then whispered, “What was that?”

I didn’t sugarcoat it.

“That’s my life, sunshine.”

I looked straight ahead, then added quietly,

“And now you’re a part of it.”