The familiar aroma of freshly squeezed fruit filled the small juice centre at Jayanagar. The place that had once been their carefree hangout now carried a new weight — husband and wife.

Poornima adjusted her saree and sat across from him, her smile soft but shy. Veeresh’s eyes immediately trailed down, sharp and mischievous.

“As usual,” he muttered with a smirk, leaning closer. “That hip of yours will be my death.”

Before she could scold him, his hand tugged at her pallu, making her gasp. But her smile betrayed her, lighting up her face.

Shaking her head, she placed the order — kiwi milkshake for him, mosambi for her.

While they waited, Veeresh’s gaze grew more intense. His voice dropped, rough but laced with truth. “If you hadn’t agreed to the marriage…” His lips curved darkly. “I would have forcefully married you anyway.”

Her eyes widened, and she smacked his arm. “Veeresh!”

He only chuckled, catching her hand before she could pull it back. Leaning in, he pressed a kiss against her cheek, his voice softer this time. “I’m happy, Poornima.”

Her heart fluttered. She squeezed his hand in return, her smile tender. “So am I.”

The juices arrived, but neither cared much for the taste. Their world existed only in stolen glances, teasing touches, and unspoken promises.

Later, as the sun dipped and the streets filled with city lights, Veeresh held her hand tightly and led her back to the car. Together, they returned to the Rathore mansion — not just as best friends anymore, but as something far more permanent.