Ashriti's POV
The auto stopped in front of Appetite.
My heart was beating louder than the traffic around me.
"Kitna hua, bhaiya?" I asked.
"500."
I frowned slightly.
It didn't feel right.
But before I could question it, I pulled out a five-hundred-rupee note from my purse.
And then-
A voice came from behind me.
"Amir ladki dekh ke dugna price le rahe ho kya? Meter ke hisaab se toh sau rupaye hua hai."
My breath caught.
I turned slowly.
And there he was.
Shivrit.
Leaning casually against a black bike.
White shirt.
Sleeves folded.
Confidence stitched into his posture.
He wasn't smiling.
But his eyes were.
For a second, the world blurred.
He walked toward us calmly and pulled out a hundred-rupee note.
"Yeh lo," he said to the auto driver.
The driver mumbled something and left.
I stood there frozen.
Someone just saved my money.
For me.
Not because of my surname.
Not because of my father.
But because he didn't want me to be cheated.
It was just a hundred rupees.
But no one had ever done something that small for me before.
"Thank you," I said softly.
He looked at me.
Not at my clothes.
Not at my bag.
At me.
"Instead of wasting your money," he said lazily, "you could just give it to me."
There it was.
The shift.
The reminder.
The joke that wasn't entirely a joke.
My little bubble burst.
Of course.
Why did I expect something else?
He saw my expression change.
And for a second-
Something flickered in his eyes.
Amusement?
Satisfaction?
Or calculation?
"Relax," he said. "I'm kidding."
Was he?
I couldn't tell.
Before I could overthink it further, he gestured toward the entrance.
"Chalein, Bunny?"
My stomach flipped at the nickname.
He held the door open for me.
Another small gesture.
Another small win for my heart.
Inside, the restaurant was dimly lit.
Soft music.
Couples sitting close.
Whispers.
This wasn't just a café.
It was intimate.
Why did he choose this place?
Does he want people to assume something?
Does he want me to assume something?
He leaned slightly closer as we walked.
"You look different," he said quietly.
My breath hitched.
"Different how?"
"Less innocent."
I didn't know whether that was a compliment or a warning.
But I liked it.
And that scared me.