The aroma of the creamy tomato sauce filled the small kitchen, mingling with the faint scent of basil and freshly cut vegetables. Aarya couldn’t help but notice how naturally Hiten moved, his gestures precise yet effortless, as though he had done this countless times. Every flick of his wrist, every careful stir, seemed to carry a quiet confidence that drew her attention.

“Dinner’s ready,” he announced softly, sliding two plates across the counter. The table was small but cozy, and the warm glow from the overhead lamp made everything feel intimate, almost secretive.

Aarya hesitated for a moment, caught between curiosity and shyness. She slowly took a seat, feeling the heat from the plate beneath her palms. She glanced at Hiten, who was already settling across from her, a faint smile playing on his lips. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable; it was expectant, charged with a quiet tension neither of them had yet named.

“So… you really like art?” he asked, breaking the moment.

“Yes,” she admitted, cheeks slightly flushed. “It’s the only thing that feels… mine. Something I can create without worrying about anyone else.”

Hiten nodded thoughtfully. “I understand. For me, it’s poetry. I write when I can’t express something with words otherwise. Sometimes, it’s easier to let the words find me.”

Her curiosity was piqued. “Poetry? Really? Can… can you tell me one?”

He looked at her for a long moment, a flicker of amusement in his eyes, then nodded. He spoke slowly, letting each word sink into the quiet of the room:

“Raindrops on the window,

Softly sing a song,

A lonely heart wandering,

Till the night feels long.

But in the hush of evening,

A spark begins to gleam,

Two souls collide in silence,

And merge into a dream.”

Aarya’s cheeks flushed crimson, and she bit her lip to hide a small smile. “That… was beautiful. I didn’t know you could do that.”

“I’m not a poet,” he said with a quiet laugh, “but sometimes poetry just comes to me.”

The words lingered between them, heavy with unspoken meaning. Aarya felt something stir inside her—a flutter of curiosity, a spark of connection, and a pull she hadn’t felt before. She wanted to ask more, to understand him, but a wave of hesitation held her tongue.

They ate slowly, talking in fragments, the conversation weaving between small laughs, teasing comments, and shared interests. Each smile, each glance, carried weight, each silence a conversation of its own.

As the meal came to a close, Hiten poured her a glass of juice. “Sorry,” he said suddenly, looking at her.

“Why?” she asked.

“I… didn’t ask you anything before, just… brought you here,” he admitted, his voice soft and sincere.

Aarya shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “No… it’s okay. Actually… I was feeling a bit sad earlier.”

Hiten’s eyes softened. “Why?”

“I… I’m not getting good marks,” she confessed quietly. “I just… don’t enjoy all of it. My real passion is art.”

“I get it,” he said gently. “I manage school and poetry the same way—by finding what really matters to me. Would you like to hear more sometime?”

Her heart skipped. “Yes,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, yet full of an unspoken longing.

For a moment, silence fell. Outside, the rain tapped softly on the windows. Inside, however, the room felt warmer, charged with something neither of them had yet defined. Aarya’s thoughts swirled—curiosity, attraction, hesitation. She wanted to speak, to ask something important, but uncertainty kept her quiet.

Her heart races as emotions stir inside her. Will she dare to open up fully, or will caution pull her back into the shadows?

A conversation over dinner left them both a little breathless… but the evening wasn’t over yet. Click Next to see what happens next?

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