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The sun had long set over Mumbai, and the streets outside Poornima Chowdary’s college buzzed with life, but inside her mind, there was only one focus: her education.

Her classes were rigorous, her books stacked high, her notes immaculate. Veeresh’s guards followed discreetly, silent shadows at the edge of her world, but she didn’t mind. She couldn’t. Her heart and mind were determined — for the first time in weeks, she felt happy.

After college, she returned home, carrying her groceries with a quiet sense of purpose. The kitchen smelled of cumin, turmeric, and the faint aroma of fresh vegetables as she began preparing dinner. Chopping, stirring, tasting — the rhythmic movements calmed her, grounding her in the simple joys of her life.

She set the table, neatly arranged, and waited, glancing occasionally at the clock.

Midnight approached, and the familiar roar of a sleek black car announced his arrival. Veeresh Deewan stepped into the house — tall, imposing, the shadow of danger clinging to him like a second skin.

His eyes immediately fell on her, seated at the table, awake and waiting.

“Why are you waiting?” he asked, voice low, the surprise in his tone barely hidden.

Poornima smiled softly, almost shyly.

“To have dinner with you.”

Veeresh blinked. “Dinner… with me?”

“Yes,” she continued, her voice firm, her eyes bright. “In our house, we don’t eat alone. We sit together and have our food. Your house is like a palace, but eating alone… it’s impossible. So I thought we would eat together. Every day.”

He stared at her, stunned. A part of him wanted to scoff, another part wanted to ignore her entirely. But something in her voice — gentle, caring, unyielding — forced him to move.

“Wash your hands. Let’s have dinner,” she said, almost cheerfully, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.

Veeresh hesitated, then obeyed. For the first time, he followed her direction without question, silently washing his hands as she had instructed.

She served him first, then herself, the aroma of home-cooked food filling the air. He watched her eat, her eyes sparkling with happiness, cheeks flushed from the warmth of the food and the satisfaction of her effort.

He had never seen this before — someone so small, so unassuming, taking joy in the simplest of tasks. And yet, there was power in her contentment, a quiet strength that stirred something unfamiliar inside him.

As she ate happily, Veeresh realized: he had never experienced this. Not food this simple. Not someone waiting for him. Not someone caring enough to include him in their world.

For the first time, the devil of Mumbai felt… domestic. Vulnerable. Human.

And though he didn’t show it, a small, dark corner of his heart shifted — an obsession beginning to mix with something unrecognizable: curiosity, admiration… maybe even longing.

Poornima glanced at him mid-bite, smiling softly.

“Eat properly,” she said, nudging the plate toward him.

Veeresh simply sat, observing, tasting — and for the first time, he realized that home could be a dangerous kind of comfort.