The server had barely left the room, but the warm aromas from the dishes lingered like a third presence between them. As Maithili’s face lit up at the sight of the food, her fingers moved with practiced ease, sampling a little of everything. She clearly savored good food—not just with her palate, but with genuine appreciation. Abhiram watched her, oddly intrigued.

Then he finally broke the silence.

“So…”

Maithili looked up mid-bite, giving him a nod to go on.

“You mentioned earlier… about rejecting proposals, setting your own conditions. If you don’t mind me asking, what were they? What made you step away from those matches? And more importantly—” he paused briefly, his voice low, cautious, “—what changed that made you agree to meet me?”

Maithili placed her spoon down, her expression calm, unwavering.

“My condition isn’t outrageous, Mr. Sinha. I don’t know how much you’ve known about me beyond the ‘rejections’ I've done… but let me give you a proper introduction.”

She took a small breath and continued, “I’m the only daughter to my parents. I lost my father when I was 13. Since then, my mother has been my everything—my strength, my anchor, my home. So yes, when I get married, I won’t leave her behind. She’s part of the package. No temporary visits, no ‘she’ll join us later’ arrangements. She stays with me. That’s non-negotiable.”

She held his gaze with quiet confidence. There was no defiance in her tone—only truth.

“Most proposals I turned down because the men—or their families—couldn’t accept that. They revere their own parents, but mine? She’s seen as an inconvenience. A burden.”

Abhiram didn’t respond right away. He looked at her, not with judgment, but with something heavier—contemplation.

“What if no one had ever agreed?” he asked softly.

Maithili shrugged, her voice steady. “Then I wouldn’t marry. My happiness doesn’t come at the cost of her solitude.”

There was a stillness in the air, the kind that followed a truth so personal, so fully accepted by the speaker, that it needed no approval.

“I… admire that,” Abhiram said finally. “Truly.”

A faint smile curved her lips. “Now, since we’re exchanging truths… may I ask something?”

He nodded.

“Do you really want to get married again? Or is this just to fulfill your parents’ idea of a ‘normal’ life?”

The shift in him was almost imperceptible—but it was there. A slight clench of the jaw. A breath that carried weight.

“Marriage was not something I ever planned after… everything,” he said slowly. “I’m here because my parents believe I should move on. But honestly, I’m terrified.” His voice lowered. “Not for me. For Myra. I don’t want to bring someone into her life who doesn’t belong. Or worse—make a mistake that ends up hurting her.”

It was the most honest thing he had said all evening.

Maithili’s voice softened. “Do you miss Myra’s mother?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Silence hung for a few seconds too long. Then, a small smile tugged at his lips, and when he finally spoke, his tone had changed—gentler, wistful.

“For the past three years, Myra has been my whole world. Before her… I used to drown myself in work. But after she came along, everything changed. She flipped my world upside down.”

He looked away, remembering something. “She’s exactly like her mother. Her eyes, her quirks… it’s like seeing her all over again.”

Maithili listened, a quiet understanding in her gaze. And yet, there was a flicker of uncertainty—was he still in love with his wife? Or simply speaking as a man who’d known love and loss?

“I agree,” she said softly. “Myra is a lovely child. That brief meeting last week was enough for me to see how bright and kind she is. You’re doing a wonderful job raising her.”

Abhiram chuckled lightly. “She’s lovely, yes… but don’t be fooled. She can be demanding, wildly stubborn, and completely capable of making us dance to her tunes.”

Maithili smiled. “If this… goes forward,” she gestured vaguely between them, “do you think she’d accept someone new in her father’s life?”

He paused, his face thoughtful.

“It would be a lie if I said yes. We’ve never talked about a ‘mother’ in front of Myra. Not directly. When she started school, she once asked… seeing all her friends have moms. I didn’t know what to say. I think my mother told her something, but since then, she’s never brought it up again. So honestly? I don’t know how she’ll react.”

Maithili nodded, appreciating his honesty.

The table fell into a thoughtful silence—neither awkward nor strained.

Then Abhiram said, suddenly and softly, “I’m sorry, Miss Kulkarni.”

She looked at him, puzzled.

“I judged you before I even met you. Worse—I said it to your face. I was guarded. Harsh. I apologize.”

Maithili smiled gently. “It’s okay, Mr. Sinha. I understand where you were coming from. You were being protective—for your daughter and for her future. That’s not something to be sorry for. Now that we’re on the same page… that’s all that matters.”

They didn’t hold hands. They didn’t exchange hopeful promises.

But between spoonful of dessert and the subtle softening of their voices, something unspoken settled between them:

A beginning—not of romance, not yet—but of mutual respect.

Abhiram looked at Maithili, his gaze steady but curious.

“If you don’t mind,” he said slowly, “I have one final question… from my side. May I?”

Maithili smiled—part amused, part thoughtful. The same man who judged her openly, now asking permission, almost with a quiet request in his tone. She tilted her head and gave a small nod. “Of course, Mr. Sinha.”

He hesitated for a second, carefully framing his words. “You never had any past relationships? Boyfriends?”

A flicker of amusement passed through her eyes.

“Hmmm… no boyfriends. No relationships,” she said honestly. “But I did have a crush once. Back in college. Nothing serious. Just a quiet, one-sided thing. I was more of an observer, really. Admiring from a distance.”

Abhiram leaned in slightly, listening with interest.

“We lost touch after graduation. Life moved on. Then, out of the blue, “Years later, we crossed paths again. And to my surprise, he proposed. For marriage.”

She glanced at Abhiram, her smile faint. “I won’t lie—I was thrilled, initially. I mean, my teenage crush had mutual feelings? Who wouldn’t be flattered?”

Abhiram raised his eyebrows, curious. “Then what happened?”

“I told him about my condition,” she said simply. “That my mother would live with us. Non-negotiable. He… wasn’t okay with it. Said his parents wouldn’t accept it. That my priorities, once married, should shift.”

She paused, her voice calm. “So, I rejected it.”

Abhiram looked at her, brows slightly drawn. “Weren’t you heartbroken? I mean… years of holding on to something, even if quietly?”

Maithili exhaled, thoughtful. “It was just a teenage crush. That’s all. Yes, I was excited when he proposed, but… after hearing his views, I felt foolish. I wasn’t heartbroken. Just disappointed in myself—for ever admiring someone like that.”

Her eyes met his. “He wanted me… but not my mother. And to me, that’s the same as not wanting me at all.”

Abhiram shook his head, a sharp breath escaping him. “Unbelievable. Even now, people still think that way.”

Maithili blinked, surprised by the emotion in his voice. It wasn’t casual empathy—it was genuine frustration. Not because he was offended for her, but because he understood.

And in that small, quiet moment—layered in reflection and warmth—she saw him differently.

Not as a businessman.
Not as a father.

But simply… as a man.

And something about that stayed with her.

Soon the dinner plates had been cleared. But neither Maithili nor Abhiram made a move to leave just yet.

There was something lingering between them—not romantic, not dramatic. Something quieter. The kind of silence that didn’t need to be broken anymore.

“Do you want to step out?” Abhiram asked, nodding toward the private garden corridor just outside the restaurant.

Maithili agreed with a simple nod.

They walked side by side through the gently winding path, lined with flickering lanterns and the faint scent of jasmine. The city’s bustle had faded into the background, hushed by hedges and shadows. Out here, it was just the two of them—and something unsaid that pulsed just beneath the calm.

They reached a stone bench nestled beneath an old frangipani tree and sat. The silence settled between them again, not awkward, but weighted.

Abhiram, for the first time in what felt like years, felt… peaceful.

Maithili studied him for a moment, then broke the quiet. Her voice was calm, but deliberate. Then, softly, “Mr. Sinha, may I ask you something?”
He turned his head, meeting her gaze. “Go on.”
She hesitated only for a breath.

“Before I even think about what this could be—between us—I need to know something important.”

“It’s about your wife. I know it’s insensitive asking about someone who’s… no longer in this world.”

The words hung in the air, delicate as glass.

Abhiram’s expression shifted, the peace in his eyes replaced by something unreadable.

He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked straight ahead as he said, quietly—

“Who said she’s dead?”

Maithili froze. “What?”

He turned his head, slowly. His voice was firm. Unblinking.

“She’s very much alive.”

The garden lights flickered.

Maithili’s breath caught. For the first time all evening, her calm cracked.

She stared at him, unable to form a response.

Abhiram sat back, eyes shadowed by something darker now. Regret? Guilt? Fear?

But he said nothing more.

And Maithili… she didn’t ask. Not yet.

The silence was no longer peaceful.

It was the kind that came before a storm.