Zayra’s private dining lounge wasn’t just a room—it was an experience curated down to the finest breath. It whispered of luxury, not in the loud, ostentatious way so many places in Mumbai did, but with the quiet confidence of timeless elegance. Amber lighting cascaded in soft waves over rich teakwood paneling, creating shadows that danced delicately across the floor. Chrome accents reflected back faint glimmers of gold, and the faint notes of instrumental jazz floated through the air like silk.

Abhiram sat alone at the in the private lounge booked for him and Maithili. The tailored charcoal suit he wore complimented the quiet sharpness of his demeanor. He didn’t check his phone, though it lay beside him, screen-down and silent. Instead, one finger tapped steadily against the armrest, betraying the slight tension humming beneath his composed surface.

He glanced at his watch.

7:10 PM.

Not late. He exhaled softly and allowed himself another moment of calm. This wasn’t a business pitch or a contract negotiation—it wasn’t something he could rehearse or script. It was a meeting that might very well shift the axis of his future. The thought made his shoulders stiffen for a beat.

Then the soft click of the door interrupted the stillness.

He looked up.

And there she was.

Maithili stepped into the room, framed by the doorway like the opening note of a beautiful composition. The pastel pink of her kurti seemed to catch and reflect the golden hues of the space, softening her features in a way that made her seem both ethereal and entirely grounded. Silver embroidery caught the light with each step she took, subtle but undeniably elegant. Her hair was left open, cascading around her shoulders with effortless grace, and she wore no heavy makeup—just enough to catch a glow, to allow her natural warmth to rise to the surface.

Abhiram stood almost instinctively. His posture straightened, his breath paused.

Their eyes met—a fraction too long for a casual greeting, a second too short to be called anything more. A glance that said: Here we are.

Maithili took a slow step forward and extended her hand, her voice quiet but clear. “Hello.”

Abhiram reached out and shook her hand, his grip firm but gentle. “Hello. Please, take a seat.”

She offered a nod, settling into the chair across from him. There was a grace in her movements—a kind of intentional composure that came from someone trying very hard not to show how tightly their heart was beating.

“I hope I didn’t keep you waiting too long,” she said, adjusting the edge of her dupatta. “The traffic was—”

“—Mumbai,” he finished for her, a small, knowing smile touching his lips. “No explanation needed.”

Maithili let out a quiet laugh—more out of shared understanding than amusement. “Right.”

And then came the pause.

Not awkward. Not yet. But layered. The kind of pause that fills itself with all the things two strangers-turned-possibilities aren’t quite sure how to say.

The moment broke with a gentle knock on the door.

“Come in,” Abhiram said, voice calm, the kind of command born from habit more than effort.

The door opened to reveal a woman dressed in a striking ivory saree, her presence confident yet graceful. She carried herself with ease, the kind that made people look twice—not because of how she looked, but because of the warmth she radiated.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” she said, eyes landing on Maithili with instant affection.

Abhiram stood slightly. “This is Richa—my friend Vikrant’s sister-in-law and the brains behind Zayra.”

Richa stepped forward without hesitation and enveloped her in a quick, friendly hug. “You look absolutely beautiful,” she said warmly. “And just so you know—I’m not just Vikrant’s sister-in-law. I’m like a sister to Abhi too. Probably more bossy, definitely more stylish.”

Maithili chuckled, already at ease with Richa’s energy.

“I won’t take your time,” Richa added, stepping back with a wink. “I just came to say hi. Don’t worry about ordering—I’ve already asked the chef to send out the best from our kitchen. Maithili, any allergies I should know about?”

Maithili shook her head. “No, none at all.”

“Perfect.” Richa smiled once more, already heading to the door. “Have a great evening, you two.”

The door clicked shut behind her, and just like that, they were alone again.

This time, it was Maithili who broke the quiet.

“I didn’t know she was the owner,” she said softly. “She’s… lovely.”

Abhiram nodded, leaning back slightly in his chair. “She is. Runs this place like a well-oiled machine. Fiercely kind, fiercely efficient.”

There was a pause again—but now, it felt different. The silence wasn’t thick with discomfort. It felt like room. Room to breathe. Room to be.

Maithili sat upright, her fingers tracing the rim of her water glass for the fourth time in a minute. Each rehearsed opening line dissolved on her tongue before she could speak. Where do I even begin? Her thoughts spun, a carousel of half-formed sentences she couldn’t grasp.

Abhiram wasn’t helping.

He just… watched. Calm. Too calm. His posture was relaxed, but his gaze—sharp, assessing—betrayed a mind working behind the stillness. A man physically present but mentally pacing.

Her phone buzzed, the vibration sharp against the teakwood table. She flinched, then glanced at him, an unspoken apology in her eyes.

“Excuse me,” she murmured.

A nod. Nothing more.

The email was urgent—some last-minute fire at work—but she dismissed it with a swipe, locking her screen with more force than necessary. “Sorry. Work.”

Again, that infuriating nod.

Seriously? Her nails dug into her palm under the table. Say something. Anything.

Trying to fill the space, Maithili offered, “I work in a startup.”

Again, he nodded. No comment. No curiosity.

Maithili’s mind buzzed louder than the phone had.

He’s different in person. Colder maybe? Or just... guarded. Why is he just nodding? Doesn’t he have anything to ask? Am I supposed to carry the conversation all alone? Should I dive into the topic, or wait for him to say something? Oh god, this is harder than I thought. Where do I even begin?

She looked up.

He was looking at her.

Their eyes met.

It lasted only a heartbeat—but long enough to make her look away, flustered.

Abhiram leaned slightly forward, folding his hands on the table. His voice, when he spoke, was calm. Controlled.

“So... Miss Kulkarni.”

"Miss Kulkarni?"

Her name—her last name—hung in the air like a curtain of glass between them. Polite. Distant. Professional.

She tilted her head slightly and forced a polite smile, but inside… her thoughts were anything but calm.

“Why is he using my last name?”
“Is this an interview?”
“I came here to meet him as a prospective partner, not to apply for a job.”
“Should I have brought my résumé?”
“God, he’s really not making this easy.”

Before she could recover, he asked, quietly but directly, “Why me?”

She blinked, taken off guard. She had expected awkward small talk, maybe some polite probing. But this—

“I’m sorry?” she replied, matching his earlier tone, even borrowing his detachment. “I didn’t get you, Mr. Sinha.”

Abhiram leaned forward slightly, his fingers interlaced on the table, elbows resting carefully. “You understood my question,” he said. “But let me rephrase it for clarity, Miss Kulkarni.”

He took a breath, measured and deliberate.

“You’re young. Independent. No baggage. No past that I know of. A good career. A stable life. So why—why would you consider getting married to someone like me?” His voice didn’t waver, but there was something beneath it. A quiet armor. “A single father. With a past. With a child. A three-year-old daughter who already has her own world. Why would you even agree to this meeting when you could have chosen someone… simpler?”

The air went still again.

The air turned brittle.

Maithili opened her mouth—but Abhiram wasn’t done.

“If this meeting was pressured—family, society, whatever—just say the word. I’ll handle it. No obligations.”

Something in his tone—the careful neutrality, the edge beneath it—ignited a spark in her chest.

She cut him off, her voice quiet but steel-edged. “Thank you for your concern, Mr. Sinha. But I own my decisions. Always have.” She held his gaze. “My mother raised me to stand by my choices—good or bad. And I came here willingly. If I say yes, it’ll be because I want to. If I walk away, it’ll be for the same reason.”

Abhiram’s mask slipped—just for a fraction of a second. His gaze flickered, and something shifted in his eyes.
Surprise?
Amusement?
Respect?

It was hard to tell. Whatever it was, it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

Just then, the server arrived, balancing two elegant plates of seared scallops, the tamarind glaze glistening under the soft ambient lighting. The interruption, though brief, was a welcome pause—a temporary break from the unspoken tension thickening between them.

As the plates were placed in front of them, Maithili reached for her fork, her expression unreadable. She offered a polite smile, though her words came with quiet sharpness.

“Now,” she said, lightly twirling her fork. “Since we’re asking questions… why did you agree to meet me?”

Abhiram didn't hesitate. “Curiosity,” he said, simply.

Maithili arched an eyebrow, her tone teasing but inquisitive. “You’re curious about…?”

He set down his napkin, met her gaze, and replied with calm candor, “Knowing why you agreed to marry me.”

Maithili paused mid-bite, then slowly set her fork down on the edge of her plate.

She leaned back slightly, folding her hands gently in her lap. Her voice, when she spoke, was composed—measured—but there was steel behind it.

“Correction, Mr. Sinha,” she said, meeting his eyes squarely. “I haven’t agreed to marry you. I agreed to meet you.”

She let the words hang in the air between them, letting the distinction settle in.

“There’s a lot of difference between the two,” she added, her tone soft, but firm.

Abhiram’s jaw shifted slightly. Whether in recognition or discomfort, she couldn’t tell. But he didn’t respond right away.

She wasn’t here to impress.
She wasn’t here to convince.
She was here to understand—and to be understood.
And she had just made that very, very clear.

Abhiram placed his fork down with quiet finality. His gaze sharpened; his voice steady but direct.

“Fine,” he said, leaning in slightly. “I won’t beat around the bush. I’ll ask you something, directly. And I’d appreciate it if you answered me the same way.”

Maithili met his gaze without flinching. “Go ahead.”

He folded his arms, exhaling. “You agreed to meet me. Something I honestly wasn’t expecting. I want to know the reason behind it. You knew this meeting isn’t just dinner and polite conversation—it could lead to something else.”

“You knew I have a daughter. You knew this isn’t a traditional match. So tell me… what’s the good reason for you to even consider a proposal like this? Let alone agree to meet a man who comes with a child.”

Maithili opened her mouth, but he continued.

“You’ve had proposals before. Good ones. Educated, well-settled men. You rejected most of them without even meeting. But me? You agreed to this. Why?”

His tone was firm now, laced with suspicion.

“Is it the name? The money? The family status?” he asked, searching her face. “Because from everything I know—everything I’ve seen—no woman willingly chooses to become a stepmother. At least, not without something to gain.”

Silence fell like a heavy curtain.

Maithili didn’t respond immediately. She stared at him for a long moment, then slowly picked up her napkin and dabbed her lips. Calm. Composed. But her eyes held a storm.

She set the napkin down and finally said, “How did you know about me. You did your homework on me.”

Abhiram didn’t blink. “Everyone does. Haven’t you?”

Touché, she thought.

She had. Not in a sleazy or invasive way, but yes—through family conversations, through the subtle nudges from Vinod and Poornima. She knew his personal life wasn’t open to many, but enough had been shared. Enough to make her curious.

Enough to make her choose this meeting.

“I had my reasons for not meeting the others, Mr. Sinha,” she said clearly. “Those men—those families—had conditions. Expectations I could not, and would not, meet. And when they heard mine, they rejected me before we even sat across a table.”

Abhiram’s expression was unreadable. She went on.

“But your parents…” she paused, choosing her words carefully, “…didn’t reject me for my choices. They didn’t flinch at the boundaries I set. So yes, I came here. For my own selfish reason.”

Her voice softened, but her spine remained straight.

“I didn’t come for your money or your name. I came because—for once—I wasn’t being asked to compromise who I am.”

A heavy pause lingered between them.

“And if that makes me selfish, then so be it,” she finished.

Abhiram’s expression changed—barely, but it did. Something subtle shifted in his eyes. The defensiveness wavered, just slightly.

He wasn’t expecting that.

And that made all the difference.

The silence hung for a few seconds longer, charged with everything unspoken.

Then Maithili tilted her head slightly, her voice steady but cool.

“Now,” she said, her eyes never leaving his, “since I’ve answered your question honestly, Mr. Sinha… it’s only fair that I ask you something too.”

Abhiram leaned back slightly in his chair, folding his arms—not out of defiance, but almost like he was bracing himself.

“Go on,” he said.

Maithili’s gaze softened, but her words were still deliberate. “Why did you agree to meet me?”

Abhiram arched a brow. “I told you already. Curiosity.”

Maithili gave a short, amused breath.

“You knew this wasn’t going to be easy. You knew your daughter was involved. You also know very well that most women would hesitate to step into this… arrangement. So again, I ask—why me?”

Abhiram’s fingers tapped lightly against his arm, his expression unreadable.

“I suppose,” he said slowly, “because you said yes when I thought you wouldn’t.”

Maithili blinked. “And that made you curious?”

“It did.”

“And now that we’re here?”

He looked at her for a long beat. “Still curious.”

A flicker of a smirk ghosted across her lips. “That’s a dangerous place to stay, Mr. Sinha. Curiosity without clarity.”