“You’re failing.”
“I’m very happy right now.”
“I can see that.”
“And you said yes.”
“Don’t remind me.”
He laughs softly. His hand finds mine. “You’re sure?” he asks quietly.
“I’m here, aren’t I?” His smile softens.
And then he leans in. Our lips meet again. And this time—it’s different. Less hesitant. More certain.
My hand tightens in his. His other hand rests lightly at my waist. And for a moment—every thought in my brain vanishes. His tongue twirls against mine as if we are in a heated dance as he teases me. A loud, unexpected noise startles me as I jump back. He frowns and glances at his wrist. I follow his gaze.
His heart rate.
Elevated.
I stare at him for a moment and I can’t help the laughter bubbling inside me and he joins me, his lips still swollen but his laugh is carefree. He steps closer to me again and rests his forehead against mine, “You see the things you do to me, Sunshine?”
CHAPTER 41
ARYAN
If anyone had told me a month ago that I’d be sitting across a small wooden table, watching Ishika Vyas explain lighting like it’s a moral philosophy, I would’ve laughed. Not because it’s unbelievable. Because I wouldn’t have understood how much I would want it. She chose the place. That still makes me smile.
She didn’t ask for my opinion, didn’t “check what I prefer,” didn’t do the careful dance people usually do around me. She just said,I’m picking, and sent me the address like it was a meeting invite. There was a very clear subtext there—you’re not turning this into one of your expensive statements—and I let it go.
Mostly because I liked the way she took control of something that wasn’t work. Also because I knew she’d pick something thoughtful. What she doesn’t know is that the bill is still mine. Entirely. Irrevocably. I’ll let her argue about it when the time comes. I’m looking forward to that fight already.
Right now, though, I’m too distracted. She’s talking. And I’m not even pretending to focus on anything else. “…see, the thing is, most places overcompensate with lighting,” she’s saying, leaning slightly forward, her fingers loosely wrapped aroundher glass. “They think brighter equals better, but it just flattens everything. Here, they’ve used layers. It creates depth.”
I follow her gaze toward a corner of the restaurant. She’s right. Of course she is. But I don’t care about the corner. I care about her. About the way her voice shifts when she’s explaining something she loves. About how her brows draw together slightly when she’s thinking through her own thoughts. About how she doesn’t realize she’s doing any of it.
Her design brain really doesn’t switch off. “Do you ever stop?” I ask, resting my chin lightly against my hand.
“Stop what?”
“Thinking like this.”
She glances at me, then back at the space she was analyzing. “No.”
“I don’t think I can,” she adds after a second. “Even if I want to.” There’s something quieter under that.
I tilt my head slightly. “Why interior design?”
She pauses. And for a moment, I think she’ll brush it off. Give me something practical. Safe. Instead, she leans back slightly, her fingers tapping absently against the table as she considers the question. “It’s the only thing that ever made sense to me,” she says finally. Her voice is calmer now. Less analytical.
“When I lost my parents...” She shrugs lightly, like she’s minimizing it even as she says it. “Everything in my life changed.” She finally meets my eyes, “The only thing that didn’t was the home they built together when I was six. I like certainty, I think. I like knowing that something can fade but will still stay.” I don’t interrupt. I don’t need to.
“I think I just…liked the idea that I could take a space and make it feel the way I wanted. That I could control how something looks, how it works, how it affects people.”
Her gaze drifts briefly across the restaurant again. “It’s strange,” she adds, almost to herself. “You can’t control life, but you can control the environment people live in. And sometimes…that’s enough.”
I sit there, just looking at her. Because that—that tells me more about her than anything she’s said before. “You make things feel safe,” I say quietly.
