Page 5 of The Ruin I Chose

Vaibhav pulled me into a tight hug, lifting me off my feet with surprising ease. I was far from a small woman. I was curvy yet confident in my own skin, and unapologetically a size-14 woman on my best days, yet Vaibhav lifted me as if I weighed absolutely nothing. Ritu blinked, caught off guard by our easy, unspoken camaraderie.

“You came,” he said, eyes lighting up, hands still on my waist.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” I replied, introducing Ritu.

We walked through the collection—each piece a meditation on light and texture. Vaibhav shared the story behind each one, his voice soft and full of awe. I ran my fingers along the edge of a pendant made from recycled paper pulp and brass mesh.

“This one,” I said, “inspired by the sea. We’ll build a custom version for Ritu’s dining room—lower it, cluster it, let it whisper.”

Ritu fired off inspiring ideas, with animated gestures. We agreed to meet back in Mumbai to finalize designs and commercials. Vaibhav nodded, already sketching possibilities on his iPad.

Then I saw his flicker in my periphery. My chest clenched, and a breath caught in my throat. Everything seemed to slow down. I nudged Ritu.

“That’s him,” I whispered.

“Holy shit!” she nearly screamed.

He turned, and our eyes met. And for a moment, neither of us looked away. My heart hammered a loud, relentless rhythm in my ears, like it wanted out. Then I looked away and ducked behind a light sculpture like a teenager caught ogling her crush.

I felt ridiculous and giddy. Almost exposed.

He was testing out an armchair in the booth across ours. His hand brushed slowly across the fabric—fingers gliding like they spoke fluent texture. He sat down, testing its comfort while the sales rep chattered beside him. He barely listened, utterly immersed as if the chair were telling him a story only he could hear.

“Go talk to him. Give him your suggestions.” Ritu elbowed me. “Do your magic.”

“He doesn’t look like someone who needs my help,” I muttered.

“At least initiate a conversation.”

I shook my head and pulled her away. I didn’t even know the man’s name. And what was I going to say?

Hi. I’m the one who bumped into you, accidentally spilled scalding coffee all over your shirt. Then got caught in your dreamy eyes and drowned in your scent?

Ritu snorted. “You were practically drooling at the sight of him.”

Warmth surged up my neck, heating my cheeks. She wasn’t wrong. That man was sculpture. Perfectly toned, and he smelled divine.

My mind flashed back to the airport—my hands on him, the world suspended. Why was he still in my thoughts? With everything unravelling, did I really need something so magnetic to derail me? I was toeing the edge of dangerous waters.

I brushed it off. I had a home to build, not fantasies to entertain.

As evening settled in, the fair began to wind down. We were exhausted but exhilarated. We’d hit every mark on our list.

I was mid-sentence, laughing at something Ritu said, when I collided headfirst into someone’s back. Not a bump—a full-on headbutt.

“Oh, dammit,” I muttered, rubbing my forehead.

Ritu’s smile held, but her eyes widened, recognition blooming like a slow sunrise. I looked up and froze.

“You again,” he said, voice low, almost amused.

My body stiffened, caught between shock and anticipation.

Did he remember me?

“Mr. Marcello, sorry—the invoice took a little longer than expected,” said a tall woman in a black skirt and blazer, handing him an envelope.

Marcello.