Amara's POV:
Saturday arrived cloaked in an amber sunset, the rain finally thinning to a soft mist. Jia had darted off to the library for a study group, leaving me to wander through the little café district near campus. I'd just stepped inside a warm brick-walled café when the tiny chime over the door rang again.
Vihaan.
He looked effortlessly composed in a charcoal sweater, scanning the room until his gaze locked on mine. That steady focus sent a strange current through me—half comfort, half warning.
"Hey," he said, his voice low enough to make the moment feel private, even in the crowded café. "Mind if I join you?"
Before I could answer, the door chimed a second time. Julian.
He moved with the same quiet confidence I remembered, though his eyes flicked toward me with a surprise he tried to hide. The air between us tightened.
"Amara," he said, a polite nod that carried a shadow of something unspoken. Then his attention shifted to Vihaan, a smile curving just a little too easily. "Small world."
Vihaan rose slightly, offering a hand. "Julian Salvatore, right? We met at the business party."
Julian accepted the handshake, but his gaze slid back to me. "I didn't realize you two were…acquainted."
I felt the weight of both sets of eyes—Vihaan's calm, Julian's sharp, almost probing. My pulse quickened. "We…know each other through a project," I managed, hoping the words sounded steadier than I felt.
The waiter arrived, breaking the tension with clinking cups. Vihaan ordered for us without looking at the menu—as if he already knew my favorite drink. Julian arched an eyebrow at the familiarity but said nothing.
For a few beats, conversation hovered on neutral topics: campus events, the unrelenting rain, the upcoming charity gala Liam was hosting. But every glance Julian sent me felt like a quiet interrogation, while Vihaan's presence remained an anchor, his occasional side looks checking that I was okay.
I couldn't shake the feeling that the room itself had shrunk, that old memories and new questions were weaving tighter around us.
The night after the café meeting with Julian felt different—quieter, as though the city itself was catching its breath. Vihaan texted just after dusk: "Need a break from studying? Short walk?"
I almost said no. But something about his messages always carried a calm I couldn't resist.
When I stepped outside, he was already waiting by the corner lamp post, the soft glow outlining the edges of his dark coat. We fell into step without a word, the drizzle around us more silver mist than rain.
"You looked a little…elsewhere today," he said after a while, his voice low enough to blend with the night air.
"I'm always elsewhere," I tried to joke, but the sound came out soft, almost fragile.
He didn't push, just walked beside me, matching his pace to mine. That quiet understanding—that he didn't need answers to stay—felt warmer than any embrace.
As we reached the riverside, he finally spoke again."You know…you don't have to tell me everything. I just like…this. Walking. With you."
The simple words settled deep, like a promise without pressure.
I glanced up at him, catching the faintest smile—half shy, half certain. The city lights shimmered in his blue eyes, and for the first time in a long while, the weight in my chest eased.
"Want some corn dogs?" I asked as I saw the van at the corner.
"Okay," he said while smiling a little bit, and I went to buy for the two of us. He sat there waiting for me. I got the snack, and I returned with a happy face, but he wasn't there.
A flicker of worry zipped through me until I spotted him a little farther down the path. He stood near a coffee cart where a girl in a cherry-red coat was laughing at something he'd just said. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear—too slow, too practiced—and for a breath I forgot the cool night air.
I walked toward them, the warm paper bag crinkling in my hand. Why does it matter if someone smiles at him? It shouldn't. But the tiny twist low in my stomach said otherwise.
"Corn dogs acquired," I said, a touch too bright.
The girl's smile faltered as Vihaan turned immediately, his eyes catching mine as if he'd been waiting all along."There you are," he said, and the way his voice softened around the words chased the strange chill right out of me.
He took the bag from my hand, fingers brushing mine—a small, casual touch that sent a current I wasn't prepared for. The girl offered the coffee, and I took it from her before she could reach Vihaan.
"Thank you! Good night," I said while grabbing the coffee.
We moved back toward the riverside rail, our shoulders close enough to share the quiet warmth. I tried to focus on the steam rising from the food, but my mind kept circling the way the girl had leaned in, how easily Vihaan's presence drew people.
I looked at him, frowning, and he looked back at me, confused.
It shouldn't bother me. But it did. And that whisper of jealousy burned like a sudden truth I could no longer ignore.
Vihaan bit into the corn dog, watching me with a sly little curve at the corner of his mouth."You okay?" he asked, casual but curious. "You look like you're solving a calculus problem."
I tore off a piece of mine a bit too sharply. "I'm fine. Just…thinking."
"Hmm." He tilted his head, the soft streetlight catching the blue in his eyes. "About the mystery girl from the coffee cart?"
I nearly choked. "What? No. Why would I—"
He laughed quietly, low and warm. "Relax. I was just asking for the coffee flavours as they didn't have a menu."
"Oh." My voice came out lighter than I meant. "Right. Of course."
"Unless," he said, leaning a fraction closer, "you were jealous."
Heat flared in my cheeks. "Don't flatter yourself," I muttered, but the words sounded weak even to me.
He smiled—slow, knowing, but not smug. "Didn't plan on it. But I'm not complaining."
The night hummed around us: distant traffic, a soft breeze carrying the scent of roasted corn. And in that easy silence, with our shoulders nearly touching, I realized the ache in my chest wasn't just jealousy. It was the quiet, unshakable pull of someone I couldn't ignore anymore.
We fell into step along the riverside path, the city's noise fading into a distant hum. Streetlights pooled gold across the pavement, and the air smelled faintly of rain and roasted corn.
Neither of us spoke for a while. Our shoulders brushed now and then, each light touch sending a tiny spark up my arm. I kept waiting for him to say something—maybe tease me again—but he stayed silent, hands in his pockets, eyes on the water.
"You're awfully quiet," I finally said.
"So are you." He glanced at me, that small, crooked smile back again. "But I don't mind it. Feels…good."
Something loosened in my chest. "Yeah," I murmured. "It does."
Vihaan's POV:
The apartment was silent except for the soft patter of rain against the windows. I dropped my keys on the counter and leaned back against the door, letting the quiet swallow me.
But my mind refused to settle.
First came the picture of her standing beneath that lamppost, mist clinging to her hair like a halo. Then the sound of her laugh when she tried to deny she'd been jealous—the tiniest hitch in her voice giving her away.
Jealous.
Amara Salvatore, who could silence a room with one glance, had snatched a coffee cup out of another woman's hand as if it belonged to her. The memory made an involuntary smile pull at my mouth.
I replayed every small detail: the way she tore into her corn dog a bit too sharply; the quick flush on her cheeks when I teased her;The stubborn lift of her chin said more than any words.
She'd been beautiful before. Tonight, though, there was something different—unguarded. As if, for a few breaths, she'd let me see a side of her no one else could.
And I liked it. Too much.
I walked to the window, watching the city blur into streaks of silver under the drizzle. Part of me wanted to call her, just to hear that quiet, amused tone she used when she pretended not to care. Instead, I shoved my phone deeper into my pocket.
This isn't supposed to happen, I reminded myself. She's a client. Complicated. Tied to a family name that already sends ripples through every case file on my desk.
Still, the thought of Julian's sharp eyes on her earlier set something hot and possessive low in my chest.That smile Julian gave her wasn't really a smile that a close cousin would give.
I exhaled slowly, as if that could bring something that I never expected. It didn't.
Instead, Amara's voice filled the quiet: "Don't flatter yourself."Yet even then, she'd smiled.
Some truths don't need to be spoken to be real.