Chapter Forty-Eight: A Taste of Us

The evening crowd at Saffron Ember in was steady, warm lights glowing against the rich interiors, the aroma of spices filling the air. It was alive—just like her.

Veeresh walked in without announcement.

No security.
No attention drawn.

Just him.

He took a seat in his usual corner, the one that had somehow become his without ever being reserved. A waiter approached, but before he could speak, Veeresh said calmly,

“Saffron Ember Laal Maas. And… bajra roti.”

His favorite.

Not because it was famous—

But because it was hers.

As the food arrived, steaming and rich, he didn’t begin immediately. His gaze moved around the place instead—taking in the details, the people, the rhythm.

And then—

He saw her.

Poornima stepped out from the kitchen, speaking to one of the staff, her hair tied neatly, her expression focused yet soft.

For a moment, she didn’t notice him.

And he didn’t call her.

He just watched.

Because this—

This was her world.

When her eyes finally landed on him, there was a brief pause.

A small shift.

Then she walked toward him.

Without hesitation, she pulled the chair beside him and sat down.

“How was your day?” he asked, his tone casual, but his eyes still on her.

She picked up the jug of water and poured it into his glass first before answering.

“First finish eating,” she said simply.

“Later you ask questions.”

No attitude.

No formality.

Just… natural.

She placed the glass near him.

Veeresh looked at her for a second.

Then, without another word, he moved the plate slightly between them.

“Eat with me.”

It wasn’t a request.

But it wasn’t a command either.

She looked at him briefly.

Then nodded.

“Okay.”

No hesitation.

She didn’t call for another plate.

Didn’t create distance.

She simply reached in.

Both of them eating from the same plate.

No conversation followed.

None was needed.

The rich taste of the laal maas, the warmth of the roti, the quiet clinking of spoons—it all blended into a moment that felt… oddly intimate.

At one point, their hands brushed lightly while reaching for the same piece.

Neither pulled away immediately.

Neither made a comment.

Just a small pause.

A fleeting awareness.

And then—

They continued.

Poornima adjusted the gravy slightly toward him without thinking.

He noticed.

He tore a piece of roti and placed it closer to her side without looking.

She noticed.

These weren’t grand gestures.

They were… small.

Unspoken.

But they meant something.

For two people who had started with distance and uncertainty—

Sharing a plate wasn’t just about food.

It was about comfort.

It was about not needing to ask.

And as they sat there, side by side, eating quietly in a space she had built and he had begun to belong to—

They didn’t realize it yet…

But this simple moment was becoming one of the most real things between them.