People always warned me about Ravian Mahendra. They said he was distant, emotionally unavailable, impossible to please. The kind of man who listened without reacting and spoke only when necessary. To the world, he was the eldest son of an untouchable family—wealthy, composed, and completely uninterested in connection. That description fit him perfectly. Just not with me. “I’ll buy that later,” Ravian said, eyes fixed on the television as his weekly show began. His voice was calm, flat, the same tone he used with everyone else. Yet the moment I reacted, even slightly, his attention shifted. He noticed everything about me, even when he pretended not to. I was twenty-one, sitting comfortably beside him, scrolling through his phone like it was mine. No one else ever touched his things. I’d seen how people stiffened just being near him, how quickly conversations died when he entered a room. With me, he didn’t mind the closeness. He never did. The living room was quiet, elegant, and expensive, but Ravian himself felt separate from it all. Family members passed through, greeting him politely. He acknowledged them with brief nods, short replies, no warmth. Cold, efficient, distant—exactly as people described. Then I spoke. His attention shifted immediately. Not dramatically, not obviously, but fully. When I laughed, the corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. When I paused too long, he glanced at me to make sure I was still there. He never asked unnecessary questions, never crowded me, but his awareness of me was constant. That was the thing about Ravian. He didn’t cling. He didn’t demand. He simply focused—intensely, quietly, completely. If someone else interrupted, his answers were brief. If someone tried to engage him, he disengaged without effort. But with me, he stayed present. If I leaned closer, he didn’t move away. If I spoke softly, he leaned in just enough to hear. People called me spoiled, childish, too comfortable. Ravian never corrected me. Never told me to change. Around him, I was allowed to be exactly as I was, and he treated that like a privilege, not a flaw. Sometimes I wondered if others noticed the contrast—how the man who seemed unreachable to everyone else softened without hesitation when it came to me. How the walls he kept firmly in place never existed between us. Ravian Mahendra was cold to the world. But with me, he was steady, attentive, and quietly devoted. And that difference was unmistakable.