Chapter: Tiramisu and Red Roses

The meeting room was alive with focused silence as Veeresh stood near the screen, his voice steady, confident. Slide after slide flowed exactly the way it should—clear, precise, intentional.
And for the first time since morning, his mind felt light.

Because the proposal made sense now.

Not just on paper—but to the people sitting across the table.

He noticed it instantly: the nods, the exchanged looks, the quiet murmurs of approval. The same point Poornima had corrected—the logistics flow, the timeline, the clarity—was what finally clicked for them.

When the final document was signed, the client smiled and extended his hand.
“This was well thought out,” he said. “We’re ready to move forward.”

Veeresh shook his hand, relief and pride settling in his chest.

But his first thought wasn’t business.

It was her.

On the way back, he stopped briefly, picked up a small bouquet of red roses—nothing extravagant, just honest. A token. A thank-you he wanted to say without words.

Mannat Inn smelled of warmth—coffee, cocoa, something sweet in the air.

Poornima was in the kitchen, focused, calm, sleeves rolled slightly as she worked on the final layer of tiramisu. She didn’t hear him enter.

Veeresh didn’t call out.

He just walked in.

She turned, surprised for half a second—and then her face softened.

He went straight to her, sat beside her like he always did, as if this place belonged to him too. He held out the roses.

“For you.”

She took them, eyes lingering on the deep red petals.
“They’re beautiful,” she said simply.

He leaned in and pecked her lips—quick, familiar, affectionate.

Lunch was served the same way it always was. He ate quietly, comfortably, like a man who didn’t need ceremony when he had peace.

Then Poornima placed a small plate in front of him.

“Tiramisu.”

His eyes lit up.

He took a bite—and paused.

“That’s… amazing.”

She watched him closely, waiting, almost nervous.
“When I was in England,” he said, taking another spoonful, “I tasted tiramisu for the first time. It became my favourite.”

He looked at her then—really looked at her.

“And now,” he said softly, leaning in to kiss her again, slower this time, “the taste is even better.”

She laughed, cheeks warming.
“You’re making me blush.”

He smiled, that rare, unguarded smile, and pulled her closer—his arm around her, secure, natural—like this was exactly where he belonged.

Between red roses, shared desserts, and quiet victories, Veeresh knew one thing with certainty:

Success felt different when she was part of it.