Amara's POV:
We had dinner together, he was indeed very happy, and I am happy because after a long time, he was this happy, and I will not have any fear of him going distant again. We didn't talk much while eating, and it never felt heavy or awkward.
Finally, he broke the silence: "Ama, would you change something for me?" he asked, and for some reason, his face was straight.
"What?" I asked
"Can you please stop calling me Mr. Mickelson. It feels like I am interacting with a judge or other lawyers," he said, and I would be lying if I said he sounds like a mature person or even looked like one.
I laughed because of his facial expressions; he was really annoyed by Mr. Mickelson.
"Fine, then, what should I call you?" I asked while still holding my laugh.
He tilted his head, pretending to think, but the corner of his mouth already betrayed a grin.
"Vihaan," he said at last, drawing the syllables out. "Just Vihaan. Or—" he gave a small shrug—"whatever you'd call someone you… actually like."
I raised an eyebrow, enjoying the way his ears turned a little pink. "So … 'Mr. Grumpy' is off the table?"
A low chuckle escaped him. "Dangerously off the table."
"Hmm. Vihaan it is, then," I said, deliberately slow, tasting the name as if it were something decadent.
He leaned back, satisfied but still watching me. "Better. Much better."
For a beat, we just smiled at each other, the clink of cutlery and the quiet hum of the restaurant wrapping around us. No storm, no walls—just the easy kind of silence that feels like an invitation rather than an absence.
The night had that quiet magic where every sound felt softened, as though the world itself was holding its breath. He parked in front of my gate, the hum of the engine fading into silence. All the misunderstandings of the past days seemed to melt away, leaving only a delicate calm between us.
I stepped out first, my heart still buoyant from the evening. I was barely a step from the gate when his voice reached me—low, hesitant."Ama?"
I turned, a small pulse of surprise running through me. "Hmm?"
He was walking toward me now, slow and unsure, the glow of the streetlamp wrapping him in a gentle halo. For a heartbeat, we just looked at each other, our breaths fogging faintly in the cool night air.
"Thank you," he said at last, his voice almost a whisper. I tilted my head, curious. "For what?"
He stopped just close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him. His eyes flicked away for a second, as though he had to steady himself, then found mine again." For coming into my life," he said, and the quiet honesty and innocence in those words made my chest tighten.
Before I could answer, he carefully took my hands—his touch light, almost shy, as if afraid the moment might break. Then he leaned forward, a breath of hesitation, and pressed the gentlest kiss to my forehead.
The world seemed to pause—just the faint rustle of leaves, the sound of my own heartbeat. When he pulled back, there was a small, nervous smile on his lips. "Good night," he murmured.
I stood there a little dazed, my face warm despite the night's coolness, as he turned back to the car. The soft glow of his taillights disappeared down the quiet street, leaving me under the moonlight, holding the echo of his words like a secret I wanted to keep forever.
Jia's POV:
I was a little busy arguing with Adrian on the call when I saw Amara entering, blushing hard, looking downwards. I had no question about their misunderstanding because her face says it all that it solved, but I need to ask about what made her blush so hard. "We will argue later, is it possible. You wouldn't forget the topic, right?" I asked Adrian, as he always forgets what we were talking about earlier.
"Fine, nosy head, go ahead and get some daily dose of gossip," he said while giggling on the other side of the call.
"See, who came? Umm, I think someone is really happy today. May I know the full detailed recap?" I asked teasing Ama.
She was damn shy as she started blushing even more and scratched her neck.
I narrowed my eyes, already grinning. "Oh-ho, that's not just a casual blush. That's a story."
Ama covered her face with both hands, muffling a small laugh. "Jia, stop."
"Stop? Never. Start talking." I plopped down on the couch, patting the spot beside me like an eager interviewer. "Did he say something? Do something? Was there—" I gasped dramatically—"a kiss?"
Ama peeked at me through her fingers, cheeks an even deeper rose. "Not… like that," she murmured, her voice barely a whisper.
I leaned forward, thrilled. "Not like that means something happened. Spill."
She sank onto the couch, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve. "He… thanked me," she said, shy smile flickering.
I raised a brow. "That's it? Just 'thank you'? Come on, Ama, I need more than a polite handshake."
Her eyes softened as she remembered, the blush blooming again. "He held my hands," she admitted, so quietly I almost missed it. "And…" she touched her forehead with her index finger, " kissed me here."
I squealed, grabbing a pillow and hugging it to my chest. "A forehead kiss? That's so romantic. That's like… next-level 'I adore you' energy."
Ama laughed, shaking her head, but I caught the dreamy sparkle in her eyes. "It was… different," she said, voice drifting. "Like he really meant it. Like it wasn't just a moment—it was a promise."
I sighed, a mix of envy and delight. "Ugh, I'm living for this slow-burn movie you two are starring in. Adrian's going to sound so boring after this."
She nudged me with her shoulder, still shy but glowing. "It wasn't a movie. It was just… us."
"Exactly," I said, grinning. "The best kind of story."
Amara's POV
Just a few minutes after his message popped up: "Just got home."
His texts are always short but hold so much power and emotion. Later, when the house finally settled into silence, I curled up in bed with the lights off and the window cracked just enough for the night breeze to slip through.
The room smelled faintly of jasmine from the garden. I pressed my palms together, still remembering the warmth of his hands around mine.
That single, feather-light kiss on my forehead replayed in a loop—gentle, certain, like a secret only the two of us understood. It wasn't about fireworks or grand gestures. It was steadier, deeper.
I caught myself smiling into the dark. Every time I blinked, I saw his eyes—soft, hesitant, and so full of quiet affection that it almost hurt.
Somewhere outside, a scooter hummed past, and the city went back to sleep. But I stayed awake a little longer, letting the memory settle like a lullaby.
For the first time in a long while, the night felt endless in the best way—like tomorrow could wait while I drifted through this gentle, golden warmth of us.