The clock on the wall ticked softly.

5:00 PM.

Sunlight filtered through the jharokha window in warm, fading hues, casting a golden glow across Kiara's room. The air carried a quiet tension—anticipation mixed with nerves, wrapped in the stillness of an approaching moment.

Kiara stood in front of the mirror, draped in a deep maroon saree, the fabric rich and elegant, hugging her frame with understated grace. The color suited her—subtle, dignified, neither loud nor timid. Just... her.

Behind her, Riya bustled with excitement, adjusting the pleats with dramatic seriousness.

"Careful," Riya teased, grinning. "Yeh tumhari first official meeting hai apne hone wale husband ke saath."
("Careful. This is your first official meeting with your future husband.")

Kiara shot her a look through the mirror.
"Riya, please. He is not my husband."

Riya raised an eyebrow, utterly unconvinced.
"Not yet," she corrected. "Par destiny apna kaam kar rahi hai."
("But destiny is doing its job.")

Kiara groaned softly.
"Can you stop romanticizing everything? It's just a meeting."

Riya laughed, fixing the pallu over Kiara's shoulder.
"Just a meeting? At six in the evening. At a café. With Donato Romano." She wiggled her eyebrows. "Sounds very filmy to me."

Kiara felt her cheeks warm.
"Riya!" she warned.

Riya leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically.
"Sach batao, nervous ho?" ("Tell me the truth—are you nervous?")

Kiara hesitated for half a second too long. "Maybe... a little," she admitted quietly.

Riya's smile softened.
"Awww. Meri badi behen finally human lag rahi hai." ("My elder sister is finally looking human.")

She picked up a pair of light gold earrings, simple yet elegant, and held them up.
"These. Perfect."

As Kiara put them on, Riya continued mercilessly, "So what are you going to say when you see him?" She adopted a mock-serious tone. 'Hello Mr. Romano, nice to meet you. Please ignore the fact that our families are planning our wedding.'"

Kiara laughed despite herself. "I'm just going to talk normally."

"Normal?" Riya scoffed. "Tum aur normal? The girl who reads novels instead of gossiping?"
("You and normal?") She pointed at the ring Kiara wore—simple, delicate. "And look at you. Minimal makeup, no drama. Meanwhile, the poor man is looking like a Mafia king maybe he is?."

Kiara turned to face her. "Stop calling him that. He's just... Romano."

Riya froze, eyes widening. "Oho. First name basis already?"

Kiara threw a cushion at her. "Get out."

They both laughed.

Earlier that morning, at breakfast, the atmosphere had been unusually tense. The family had just settled in when Meera's phone rang. It was Mrs. Aaravi Romano. Her voice had been calm, warm, decisive.

 "Donato and Kiara will meet this evening  she had said. "Six o'clock. in near by café."

The place had already been decided—"Caffè Bellavista".

A quiet, elegant café known for its soft music, warm lighting, and large glass windows overlooking a small garden—perfect for conversations meant to be remembered.

That single call had changed Kiara's entire day. She had planned to go to the office.

But Meera had shaken her head firmly. "Aaj bilkul nahi," she had said. ("Absolutely not today.")
"Agar tum office jaogi, time ka dhyan nahi rahega. Ready hone mein late ho jaogi."
("If you go to office, you'll lose track of time and get late while getting ready.")

So Kiara Rajput stayed home.

And now, at five in the evening, she stood ready—maroon saree, light makeup, soft kajal, a hint of lip color, nothing excessive. Just enough to reflect confidence without trying too hard. She took a deep breath. This was not a date. This was not a promise. This was simply two people meeting—for the first time—to decide the direction of their lives. And yet, somewhere deep inside, Kiara felt it—This meeting would not be simple.

__

By the time Kiara stepped out of her room, Arav had already arrived home. He looked up from his phone and smiled when he saw her, ready and composed. "I'll drop you," he offered casually. "It's better—less hassle."

Before Kiara could respond, Elder Mrs. Rajput's firm voice cut in. "No. Let her go alone."

The room fell quiet for a moment.

Elder Mrs. Rajput stood up and walked toward Kiara, her presence commanding yet affectionate. She placed her hands on Kiara's shoulders and pulled her into a brief embrace—strong, protective.

"Go with dignity," she said. "And remember who we are." We are Rajput Kiara don't disapoint us."

Kiara nodded.

As tradition demanded, she bent down and touched her grandmother's feet, then her Grandfather's. Both placed their hands on her head, blessing her silently—strength, wisdom, honor passing through generations.

She turned to her mother. Meera immediately shook her head and opened her arms instead. "You don't belong at my feet," Meera said softly. "You belong here." Kiara hugged her tightly, inhaling the familiar scent that had always meant safety. For a moment, her courage wavered—then steadied.

She greeted everyone once more, receiving blessings and quiet smiles, before finally walking toward her black Thar,  its her own dream car, strange but this who kiara rajput is. parked at the edge of the courtyard. The engine started. And Kiara Rajput drove away.

__

The city was alive—noisy, impatient, crowded.

As Kiara approached a busy intersection near the café, she noticed a small crowd gathering. Traffic had slowed to a near halt. Ahead, a woman in her mid-forties stood beside a scooter, clearly shaken. A car had clipped the scooter while trying to force its way through a narrow space.

The driver—a rough-looking man—was arguing loudly. "You parked it wrong!" he shouted. "It's not my fault!" The woman protested, her voice trembling but firm. "I parked it properly. You hit it because you were rushing!" People stood around watching. No one intervened. Horns blared. Tempers rose.

Kiara tightened her grip on the steering wheel. She tried to stay calm. She waited. Five minutes passed. Then ten. The argument only worsened. Finally, Kiara made a decision. She parked her car, stepped out, and walked toward the chaos. Her voice was calm when she spoke. Clear. Controlled.

"There's no need to shout," she said. "Let's talk properly."

The woman immediately explained what had happened. The damage on the scooter was visible—deep scratches, bent metal. The fault was obvious. Kiara turned to the man. "You were in a hurry and you hit her vehicle. You should compensate her for the damage."

The man scoffed.

"Who are you to tell me what to do?" he snapped. "Mind your own business."

Kiara didn't flinch. "This is everyone's business when someone is being wronged," she replied evenly. That was when the man lost his temper. He stepped forward, shoved the woman hard.

She fell. Gasps echoed through the crowd. The man turned to leave.

In the next second, Kiara grabbed him from behind by the collar and yanked him back hard. He stumbled, shocked. He raised his hand to strike her—Kiara caught his wrist mid-air, twisted it sharply, and slammed his face down against the scooter with controlled force.

Her voice dropped. Cold. Unyielding. "You will pay for the damage," she said. "Or I will take you straight to the police station." At the word police, his confidence shattered. "I—I'm sorry, madam," he stammered. "It was my mistake. I'll pay."

She released him. The man straightened his shirt with shaking hands, pulled out cash, and handed it to the woman. "Say sorry," Kiara said sharply. He did. Twice. "And remember," she added, her eyes hard, "touching a woman is a crime. Do it again, and I won't stop at a warning."

The man muttered under his breath as he walked away, fear replacing arrogance.
"What a day... ran straight into Durga  maa herself," he whispered before disappearing.

Kiara turned to the woman. "Are you alright?" The woman nodded, eyes filled with gratitude. "Thank you. Truly." Kiara smiled gently. Traffic began to move again. The crowd dispersed. The chaos dissolved as quickly as it had formed.

Kiara returned to her car, started the engine, and drove on to meet her soon-to-be-husband—Unaware.

A few cars behind, Donato Romano sat silently in his car. He had been stuck in the traffic too. At first, he had been about to step out—to see what the issue was. Then he saw her. He recognized her instantly.

Kiara.

This was the third time he had seen her. He watched from a distance as she tried to reason calmly. As she stood her ground. As she stepped forward when others stayed back. And then—He watched her fight. Not recklessly. Not emotionally. But decisively. Efficient. Fearless. A slow, amused smile curved Donato's lips.

"Mmm," he murmured to himself. "Maybe Mom is right." His green eyes followed her as she drove away. "She has potential," to become a Romano he said quietly. "Brave. Controlled. Interesting." He started his car. "Soon-to-be Mrs. Romano," he added under his breath, the smile lingering as he pulled into traffic.

And fate tightened its grip—because their meeting was no longer just arranged. It was inevitable.

__

The café breathed calm.

Caffè Bellavista stood tucked away from the main road, elegant yet warm, its large glass windows overlooking a small garden where fairy lights had just begun to glow as dusk settled in. Soft instrumental music played in the background—gentle enough to soothe, quiet enough to let conversations linger.

Kiara parked her Thar across the street and stepped out. For a brief moment, she stood still. She adjusted the pallu of her maroon saree, took a slow breath, and reminded herself— this is just a meeting. Nothing more. She walked inside.

The aroma of freshly brewed coffee wrapped around her instantly. A few tables were occupied, couples speaking in low voices, a writer scribbling in a notebook, an elderly man reading the newspaper.

Then her eyes found him. Donato Romano sat near the window. One leg crossed over the other. Black shirt. Rolled sleeves. A watch that looked understated but screamed power. He wasn't scrolling through his phone. He wasn't restless.

He was simply... waiting. As if he already knew she would come. Kiara slowed unconsciously. Donato looked up. Their eyes met. Not like the chaos of the road. Not like the stolen glances at the puja. This time—there was no distraction.

No music.
No crowd.
No color in the air.

Just silence. His green eyes held hers steadily, sharp yet unreadable. There was no smile—only quiet awareness. Kiara felt something unfamiliar settle in her chest. Not fear. Not excitement.

Recognition.

She walked toward him, her steps measured. Donato stood the moment she reached the table—polite, controlled, old-world respectful.

"Kiara Rajput," he said, his voice deep, calm. "I'm Donato."

She nodded. "I know."

For the first time, a hint of something crossed his face—amusement, perhaps. "Please," he gestured to the chair. "Sit." They sat across from each other. For a few seconds, neither spoke.

The waiter arrived, breaking the stillness.

"Coffee?" Donato asked, looking at her.

"Yes," she replied. "Black."

His eyebrow lifted slightly. "Interesting choice."

She met his gaze. "So is yours." A pause.

Then—he smiled. Just a little.

When the waiter left, Donato leaned back slightly. "I'm glad you agreed to meet."

Kiara folded her hands on the table. "I agreed because I wanted clarity."

He nodded once. "So did I."

She studied him openly now—his calm authority, the way he occupied space without demanding it, the silence that followed him like a shadow. "You don't look nervous," she said.

"Neither do you," he replied. A beat. "Are you?" he asked.

She considered the question carefully. "No. Just... observant." That earned her another faint smile. Outside, the lights flickered on, the sky turning a deep shade of blue.

Kiara glanced around once more before looking back at him.

"why did you choose This café," she said thoughtfully, I mean, I'm not complaining—but it's small, tucked away at a corner. It feels like a place for people who want silence."
Her lips curved faintly. "And looking at you... it strangely matches your vibe."

Donato tilted his head slightly, curiosity flickering in his eyes. "And what kind of café do you think matches my vibe?" he asked.

He already knew the answer she was about to give. This place wasn't him. Not publicly, at least. He was used to marble floors, crystal glasses, places where his name opened doors before he even arrived. This café was modest, quiet—occupied by people working on laptops, reading files, flipping pages of books. No loud laughter. No flashing lights.

Exactly why he had chosen it. Here, no one expected Donato Romano. Here, no one would look twice. Here, his stalker—whoever they were—would never imagine him sitting in a place like this. And more importantly, Kiara would remain invisible.

Her safety mattered more than his comfort. That thought settled heavily in his chest—firm, non-negotiable. His mind was pulled back by her voice.

"Something like a bar," she said after a second's pause.

He blinked. "A bar?"

She nodded seriously. "Yes. You own a multi-billion-dollar company, you belong to an Italian family—it's obvious you'd prefer bars or clubs over a cozy corner café like this." She smiled faintly. "Maybe Mrs. Romano chose this place?"

"No," he said quietly. "I chose it."

Her eyebrows lifted. "Oh?"

He met her gaze. "I wanted to meet here."

She leaned back slightly, studying him. "Why" "To impress me?" she asked bluntly.

Donato froze. His espresso cup stopped midway to his lips. For a brief moment, he simply stared at her. Interesting, he thought. No one spoke to him like this. No hesitation. No fear. No calculated politeness. Just honesty—casual, unfiltered.

"Maybe," he said finally, lowering the cup slowly. "So—did it work, Ms. Kiara Rajput?"

His tone matched her bluntness now, a quiet challenge beneath the calm.

She tilted her head, considering. "No," she said teasingly. "It would've been better if you stayed true to yourself. If you had chosen what you actually prefer."

Without thinking, he replied, "If you don't like it, we can go somewhere else." The words left his mouth before he could stop them.

Kiara burst into laughter. A real laugh—soft, unguarded.

Donato stilled. The sound caught him completely off guard.

"Relax, Mr. Romano," she said, still smiling. "I'm joking." She settled back into her chair comfortably, as if the tension had never existed.

He watched her for a moment longer than necessary. "Your smile," he said quietly, almost unconsciously, "is very beautiful."

She raised an eyebrow. "Are you flirting with me, Mr. Romano?"

A slow smirk appeared—rare, dangerous. "Is it working, Ms. Rajput?"

She shrugged lightly and took a sip of her coffee with red hue on cheekh.
"Whatever."

He chuckled under his breath—soft, brief, surprised even at himself.

"So," she asked after a pause, "do you always choose silence over noise?"

"Only when silence feels safer," he replied.

"For you?" she asked.

"For people around me," he corrected.

She studied him carefully now—not judging, just observing.

"You're very controlled," she said. "Like you're always holding something back."

He met her gaze steadily. "And you're very brave."

She smiled faintly. "I just don't like injustice."

"I noticed," he said.

Their eyes held for a moment longer than necessary. Outside, the evening deepened. Inside, coffee cooled, words lingered, and two people—meant to be cautious—found themselves strangely at ease.

__

The silence between them didn't feel awkward anymore. It felt... settled. Like the café itself had accepted them.

Donato traced the rim of his espresso cup slowly, eyes lowered for a moment before he spoke again—his voice calm, almost casual, yet carrying weight.

"Tell me something, Kiara," he said. "What do you think about marriage?"

The question landed softly—but not lightly.

She blinked once, clearly not expecting it so soon. Her fingers tightened around her coffee mug as she thought, not rushing, not deflecting.

"Marriage," she repeated slowly. "I think... it's not a destination. It's a responsibility."

He looked up, interest sharpening.

"For me," she continued, "marriage shouldn't be about pressure, age, family expectations, or society's timelines. It should be a choice—made when two people want to walk the same road, not when they're pushed onto it." She paused, eyes steady on him.

Donato leaned back slightly, studying her with undisguised focus. "You don't sound like someone who romanticizes it," he said.

She smiled faintly. "I don't hate marriage. I just don't worship it either."

That earned a quiet smile from him.

"And if it does happen?" he asked. "What would you want it to look like?"

She exhaled softly. "I'd want it to be calm. Not perfect—just peaceful. A place where I don't have to fight to be heard. Where I'm allowed to grow, to make mistakes, to exist without fear."

He nodded slowly. "That's... logical."

She tilted her head. "You sound surprised."

"I am," he admitted. "Most people answer with dreams. You answered with survival."

Something unreadable flickered in her eyes—but she didn't deny it.

A moment passed. Then, carefully, deliberately, Donato asked, "Is there someone in your life?"

She didn't misunderstand.

"A lover?" he clarified, voice steady but watchful.

She shook her head immediately. "No." No hesitation. No embarrassment. "I've never had the space for it," she added quietly. "And I don't believe in half-love. If I can't give someone my full self, I won't give anything at all."

He nodded once.

"And you?" she asked in return. "Is there someone waiting somewhere?" A pause. "No," he said. "Not anymore."

She didn't press. Instead, she asked softly, "Then why agree to meet me?"

He met her eyes fully now. "Because marriage, for me, is also responsibility," he said.

"And if it has to happen, I want to know the person I'm tying my life to."

She studied him for a long moment. "You're very honest," she said.

"So are you," he replied.

Another silence settled—but this one felt heavier, deeper. Not uncomfortable. Serious.

The café had grown quieter as evening deepened. Outside, the sky was slipping into dusk, the soft amber lights inside reflecting gently on the glass. They sat facing each other, no longer strangers, yet not entirely familiar either—balanced delicately between curiosity and caution.

Donato looked at her for a long moment before asking, his voice low but direct,
"What do you think about me?"

Kiara didn't answer immediately. She tilted her head slightly, considering him—not just his face, but the way he spoke, the pauses he took, the honesty that surfaced even when it was uncomfortable.

"I don't know you completely," she said truthfully. "We just met. But in this short time, I've understood one thing—you're a very honest person."

She smiled faintly. "We can't truly know someone in a single day. To understand a person fully, you need time... you need to walk beside them."

"You're right," Donato said quietly. "We can't judge someone just by looking at them. We never know what's going on in their mind—what they show, and what they hide."

There was a heaviness in his words. A guilt he didn't voice. He was hiding an entire world from her—his darker life, the violence, the danger—but he told himself it was for her safety. Some truths, he believed, were better buried.

She caught the seriousness in his tone and smirked lightly, easing the moment.
"Yes, you're right," she said. "Anyway, in this little time, I've learned at least this much about you." "What do you think about me?" she asked.

"You're very straightforward," he said with a chuckle.

She laughed—and something in his chest loosened at the sound. Then his expression shifted, turning serious again.

"Tell me honestly," he asked, eyes fixed on her. "Is your family forcing you into this marriage? Did they send you here against your will to meet me?"

Her laughter faded, replaced by honesty.

"No," she said gently. "It's not like that. They told me about Mrs. Aravi coming to our house with the proposal. Of course, I was shocked—it was very sudden."

She paused, then continued, "But when my mother told me that you wanted to meet first, before taking any other step... I agreed."

Her voice softened. " because I know —if not you, then someday someone else. My grandmother will get me married sooner or later. And maybe next time, I wouldn't even get the option to meet the person beforehand."

She met his gaze. "So I thought... at least this way, I'll get to know you a little."

Donato nodded slowly. "That's exactly why I wanted to meet you too. I want to know you. I don't want to force you into anything." Then, firmly, he added, "This is your decision. Only if you are ready will this go forward. And if you say no—no one will force you. I promise."

Her breath hitched. She froze.

A choice.

Something she had never truly been given—not in her education, not in her career, not in her life. Decisions were always made for her. Her grandmother believed obedience was loyalty, especially after Kiara's father had chosen his own path and disappointed the family.

And now—this man, a stranger—was placing her choice above everything else. A genuine smile bloomed on her face, unguarded and warm. "Thank you, Mr. Romano," she said softly. "You're... a very good person."

Donato smiled in return, a little amused. "So does this smile mean I should take it as a yes?"

She laughed. "No," she said playfully. "You'll get your answer tomorrow."

He chuckled at that.

Then she asked, curiosity shining in her eyes, "But what about you? Are you being forced into this?" She studied him carefully. "You're a powerful businessman, living in Italy. You could have anyone—someone very beautiful. So why agree to meet me?"

He didn't dodge the question.

"You're right," he said calmly. "But in marriage, beauty alone doesn't matter to me." He hesitated briefly, then added honestly, "And it's not like I've never been in a relationship before. I was... but it didn't work. Eventually, I stopped dating."

"My mother has been trying to convince me to get married," he continued.
"She saw you at the puja. She liked you. From there, she started talking about you. I told her I'd think about marriage—but only after meeting you first."

He looked at her steadily. "So... here I am."

She raised an eyebrow teasingly. "So what am I supposed to understand from this? Is that a yes?"

He smiled. "You'll get your answer tomorrow."

They both laughed, the tension dissolving again.

They spoke a little more—about work, about responsibilities, about how different yet similar their lives were.

When kiara glanced at her watch, she said, "It's already 7:30. i should head home."

They stood up together. He extended his hand. Kiara hesitated for a fraction of a second—then placed her hand in his. The moment their hands met, something unexpected passed through her—a sharp awareness, a strange warmth. She didn't understand it, but she felt it.

The handshake broke.

"It was really nice meeting you, Ms. Rajput," Donato said sincerely.

"Thank you, Mr. Romano," she replied with a polite smile. "I'm glad you decided to meet me. It was nice meeting you too."

He walked her outside, stopping beside her black Thar. She got in, started the engine, and waved at him before driving away.

Donato stood there for a moment, watching—amused, thoughtful. It was the first time he'd seen a girl drive a Thar, and somehow, it suited her perfectly.

He got into his own car. Another vehicle—his bodyguards—followed behind. He connected a call. "Anything suspicious?" he asked. "No, sir," came the reply. "Everything was clear."

He released a quiet breath of relief.

"You're very interesting, Ms. Rajput," he murmured to himself. "I think... we might actually make a good pair." A faint smirk curved his lips as he drove away, unaware that this meeting—meant to be simple—had already begun to change everything.

Thank you for reading
Please vote and comment
Bye bye take care 🫀 ✨ 🫂