The soft hum of the espresso machine filled the kitchen as Faris leaned against the counter, staring out of the window. The morning light streamed in, highlighting the quiet corners of the house they now shared. His phone buzzed on the counter beside him, but he ignored it.

Instead, his thoughts drifted back to the night before. The way Mahak had looked at him after reading his notes-the shock, the vulnerability, the warmth that followed-had been a moment he couldn't shake.

He picked up his cup of chai, but before taking a sip, his mind flashed to her preferences: less sugar, just a touch of cardamom. Without thinking, he set his own cup down and grabbed a second mug.

"Tumhara chai bana raha hoon," he called out as Mahak entered the kitchen. "Kam cheeni, jaise tumhe pasand hai." (I'm making your tea. Less sugar, just the way you like it.)

She paused in the doorway, her makeup flawless and her emerald-green pantsuit tailored to perfection. "Tumne notice kiya?" she asked, crossing her arms and raising an eyebrow. (You noticed?)

Faris chuckled. "Tumhe lagta hai ke main tumhare baray mein kuch bhi miss kar sakta hoon?" (You think I could miss anything about you?)

Mahak smirked, but her cheeks flushed slightly. "Tumhari notes ke baad mujhe surprise nahi hona chahiye, but still." (After your notes, I shouldn't be surprised, but still.)

He handed her the mug, their fingers brushing briefly. "Ab tumhe samajh aa gaya hoga ke mujhe tumhare pasand aur na-pasand ka kitna khayal hai," he said lightly. (You must understand by now how much I care about your likes and dislikes.)

Mahak took a sip of the tea, the warmth spreading through her as she held his gaze.

The day passed in a whirlwind of meetings for both of them. Faris spent most of his time at his workshop, overseeing a custom motorcycle project for a high-profile client. But even as he adjusted gears and tested engines, his thoughts wandered back to Mahak.

She was unlike anyone he'd ever met. Strong, confident, and unrelenting in her pursuit of perfection-yet beneath it all, there was a fragility she rarely let anyone see. He had seen it in the basement, in her fear of tight spaces. And he had felt it in the way her voice trembled when she talked about Crescent Bay.

That night, as Faris returned home, he found Mahak sitting in the garden, her laptop balanced on her knees and her face illuminated by the soft glow of the screen. She didn't look up as he approached, so he quietly sat beside her, careful not to interrupt her focus.

After a few minutes, she sighed and closed the laptop. "Tum kab aaye?" she asked, finally noticing him. (When did you get here?)

"Kuch der pehle," he replied, leaning back in his chair. "Tum itni focus thi ke disturb karne ka mann nahi kiya." (A while ago. You were so focused that I didn't want to disturb you.)

Mahak smiled faintly. "Pata hai, kabhi kabhi mujhe lagta hai tum mujhe mere aap se bhi zyada samajhte ho." (You know, sometimes I feel like you understand me better than I understand myself.)

"Ho sakta hai," Faris said with a grin. "Tum jitni complex ho, utni hi predictable bhi ho." (Maybe. You're as complex as you are predictable.)

She laughed, the sound light and genuine. "Aur tum? Tumhe kya chhupana pasand hai, Faris?" (And you? What do you like to hide, Faris?)

Faris hesitated, his smile fading slightly. "Main zyada kuch chhupata nahi hoon," he said finally. "Lekin main apni zindagi ke struggles ka mazaak banane mein expert hoon." (I don't hide much. But I'm an expert at making a joke out of my struggles.)

Mahak tilted her head, studying him. "Jaise?" she prompted. (Like?)

He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Jaise mere ghar ka haal. Jab main chhota tha, ek dinner table bhi nahi tha. Hum zameen par baith kar khate the. Mere liye, yeh sab jo tumhare liye normal hai, woh ek dream tha." (Like the state of my home. When I was a kid, we didn't even have a dining table. We sat on the floor to eat. For me, all of this that's normal for you was a dream.)

Mahak's chest tightened as she listened. She had always known Faris had worked hard to build his life, but hearing him talk about it so openly brought a new depth to her understanding of him.

"Faris," she said softly, reaching out to place her hand over his. "Tumne jo kuch achieve kiya hai, woh sirf impressive nahi hai. Woh... inspiring hai." (What you've achieved isn't just impressive. It's inspiring.)

He glanced at her, his eyes softening. "Aur tum," he said, his voice low. "Tum mujhe har din motivate karti ho. Tumhare strength, tumhare passion se." (And you... you motivate me every day. With your strength, with your passion.)

Mahak's breath caught, the intensity of his gaze making her pulse quicken. For a moment, she forgot the rivalry, the Crescent Bay deal, and everything else that had once defined their relationship. All she could see was the man sitting before her-the man who had quietly made her the center of his world.

"Faris," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "Mujhe lagta hai-" (I feel-)

But before she could finish, Faris stood abruptly, breaking the spell. "Tumhari chai aur garam karoon?" he asked, his tone lighter now. (Should I heat up your tea?)

Mahak blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift. "Nahi, it's fine," she replied, watching him retreat into the house.

As she sat alone in the garden, Mahak couldn't help but wonder what had stopped him from letting the moment unfold.