Rahul looked at the pair of steel forks and spoons, then at Anjali, who was sweating lightly from rushing around.
At this moment, a deep sense of gratitude rose in Rahul's chest.
Anjali had realized he might be uncomfortable eating with his bare hands after walking through the gritty slums all morning. She had actually gone out of her way to hunt down clean cutlery for him.
Finding proper forks and spoons in a small, traditional eatery near the slums wasn't easy; most places here expected everyone to eat with their hands. She must have visited several shops or stalls just to find them for him.
This was the first time Rahul had so directly felt such genuine consideration and care from a girl.
In his entire life, aside from his mother, no woman had ever been this deeply thoughtful about his small comforts. Ananya certainly wouldn't have bothered.
Although it was a tiny gesture—just a fork and a spoon—it was enough to show Rahul exactly how much Anjali valued him.
It was a completely different kind of care compared to the overwhelming, flashy, checkbook-waving energy Samina had shown him the day before.
Rahul stared at Anjali in a slight daze, letting out a soft sigh, his heart genuinely touched.
"Rahul, what's wrong?" Anjali asked, seeing him freeze. She held the cutlery out a bit further. "I washed them thoroughly just now with bottled water."
Rahul snapped back to reality. He solemnly took the fork and spoon from her hands and looked her right in the eyes.
"Thank you, Anjali. Really."
"You're welcome!" Anjali smiled brightly, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand.
Rahul immediately pulled two clean paper napkins from the dispenser on the table and gently wiped the sweat from Anjali's forehead and cheeks.
The sudden, intimate action made Anjali freeze. Her face flushed a brilliant shade of crimson.
Judging by her wide-eyed, rigid reaction, it was incredibly obvious that this was the very first time a guy had ever done something so personal and close to her.
Thoroughly flustered, Anjali quickly spun around, practically jogging over to the restaurant's washbasin to scrub her hands. When she returned and sat across from him, she looked as timid and happy as a little rabbit.
"Hurry up and eat! I don't know if you'll be used to the local spices," she said, trying to change the subject. "This is a spot my dad actually brings me to sometimes. I hope you like it."
Rahul scooped up a bite of the Mutton Kacchi Biryani and put it in his mouth.
Salty, incredibly fresh, and packing a serious spicy punch.
Honestly, the taste was absolutely phenomenal. Back in Mumbai, Rahul ordered biryani from Swiggy or Zomato all the time. But this authentic, street-level Dhaka biryani blew those overpriced, commercialized cloud-kitchen meals completely out of the water!
As he ate, Rahul suddenly placed the fork and spoon down. Flashing Anjali a grin, he dug right into the rice with his right hand, eating it the traditional way.
Seeing him abandon the cutlery she had worked so hard to find just to make her laugh, Anjali burst into a fit of bright, musical giggles.
After they finished the meal, Anjali guided Rahul over to the washbasin at the back of the restaurant.
"Rahul, give me your hand."
Anjali gently took his right hand, pulled it under the running tap, and carefully washed the grease and spices off his fingers with a bar of soap.
Rahul casually held his DJI camera up with his left hand, recording the entire quiet, domestic scene for his vlog.
Once his hand was clean, Anjali looked up at him, her face still holding a lingering blush.
"Anjali, be honest. How many guys' hands have you washed like this?" Rahul joked, keeping the camera rolling.
"Only yours," she answered softly, her blush deepening to the tips of her ears.
"Alright, let's go!" she declared suddenly, turning away. "I'm taking you to the police station right now to see if those officers have caught your thieves yet!"
She quickly paid the bill at the counter, grabbed Rahul's hand, and pulled him out of the restaurant.
They hailed a CNG auto-rickshaw on the main road and headed straight for the Banani Police Station.
Sitting in the back of the bumpy rickshaw, Anjali tentatively leaned her head against Rahul's broad shoulder.
She stealthily pulled out her smartphone, opened the front-facing camera, and snapped a quick picture of herself resting on his shoulder.
Right there, with Rahul watching from the corner of his eye, she set the selfie as her phone's lock screen wallpaper.
Rahul couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. Comparison really is a brutal thing. He and Ananya had dated for six whole years, and her phone wallpaper was always either a K-Pop idol or a heavily edited solo selfie. She had never once put a picture of him on her screen.
But Rahul didn't say a word to stop Anjali; that was entirely her choice.
Chatting and laughing the whole way, the rickshaw soon pulled up to the police station.
The moment they walked through the double doors, Rahul noticed the heavily bearded inspector from yesterday sitting at the front duty desk.
The second the inspector spotted Rahul, he jumped out of his chair and practically sprinted over to greet him.
"Mr. Rahul, sir! You are back! Please, rest assured, we have already narrowed down the search grid for the thieves and we are just about to apprehend them!"
The inspector was incredibly polite, entirely stripped of the arrogant, dismissive attitude he had displayed the morning before.
Just as Rahul was about to reply, Anjali stepped forward, her voice sharp.
"Your efficiency is completely unacceptable. Are you deliberately stalling just because he is a tourist?"
The inspector looked at Anjali, then glanced back at Rahul, and his mind started spinning.
This guy is unbelievable. Yesterday he walked in with a billionaire heiress on his arm, and today he shows up with a completely different high-class girl?
Does he just change elite women like he changes shirts?! The inspector couldn't help but feel a deep, reluctant sense of awe. You just had to respect the hustle!
"Ma'am, I swear on my life we are not stalling because he's a foreigner," the inspector pleaded, practically sweating. "It is genuinely very difficult to track individuals in the slums. There are thousands of unregistered people..."
The inspector was actually telling the truth. After being violently slapped by his SHO yesterday, he wouldn't dare play games with Rahul's case.
But Anjali wasn't buying excuses. She immediately pulled out her phone, turned around, and marched out the front doors of the station to make a call.
Seeing her dial a number, the inspector's stomach completely dropped.
Why is she making a phone call?!
Whose powerful daughter is this one?!
The inspector looked at Rahul with an expression of pure, unadulterated misery.
Sir, how many VIP daughters do you know?! We really are trying to find those two pickpockets!
Rahul just looked at the miserable inspector and gave a helpless shrug. His expression clearly said: Don't look at me, buddy. I can't control her!
A minute later, Anjali walked back into the station, her face dead serious.
Meanwhile, in the back office, the heavily overweight SHO was enjoying a mid-day nap. He was suddenly jolted awake by his private desk phone ringing off the hook.
Furious at having his sleep interrupted, he snatched the receiver up, ready to yell.
But the absolute second he saw the caller ID on the digital display, every ounce of sleep evaporated from his body.
He sprang up from his leather chair like he had been electrocuted, standing at perfect attention as he answered the phone.
"Yes, sir! Yes, Commissioner sir!"
"Understood completely, sir! I will deploy all available units immediately!"
"Thank you, sir!"
Slamming the phone down, the SHO wiped a layer of cold sweat from his forehead, his heart hammering against his ribs.
How on earth did this Indian tourist manage to get involved with the daughter of the Military Cantonment Chief?! This wasn't just a career-ending situation; this was life-threatening!
The SHO ripped his office door open and scrambled out into the main hall as fast as his legs could carry him.
The moment he spotted Rahul standing near the entrance, a massively exaggerated, fawning smile plastered itself across his chubby face.
He rushed over in a few frantic steps, and without even saying a word, he raised his hand and delivered a thunderous slap right across the bearded inspector's face. Again.
"SHO sir! Why are you hitting me?!"
The inspector clutched his stinging cheek, looking like he was about to cry.
But the SHO completely ignored him. He turned his entire body toward Anjali and Rahul, bowing so low he almost folded in half.
"Mr. Rahul! Welcome back, sir!"
"And... Miss Barua! An absolute honor to have you visit my station!"
The bearded inspector, who was still rubbing his face, felt his knees go weak the second he heard the surname 'Barua'.
Suddenly, he felt like getting slapped was actually getting off incredibly light!
"Please do not worry! My officers will absolutely have the thieves and your wallet recovered within the next two hours!" the SHO promised, his voice trembling slightly.
"Miss Barua, Mr. Rahul... would you do me the immense honor of waiting in my air-conditioned office?"