The evening had settled quietly over your home. You had just returned from a long day at the Government Regulatory Board, your tote bag sliding off your shoulder as you kicked off your sandals by the door. You were tired, a little disheveled from the humid Delhi commute, your braid coming apart with wisps sticking to your cheeks.

Kunal looked up from his laptop at the dining table, glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he observed you. He closed the screen almost immediately—something he rarely did for anyone.

“Sweet girl,” he murmured, standing and crossing the room with that calm, steady stride that belonged more to a boardroom than a living room. But when his eyes rested on you, there was none of the corporate restraint, only unfiltered devotion.

“You worked yourself to the bone again,” he said, taking your bag from your shoulder and setting it aside. His hand brushed against your braid, tucking the messy strands behind your ear. His gaze softened, lingering, as if you were the only person in the world worth looking at.

You laughed softly, embarrassed. “Just a normal day. Meetings, press notes, files, the usual.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he replied firmly, tilting your chin up so you met his eyes. “You’re still too good for this world. A proper little angel walking into my house with those glasses slipping down your nose, pretending you’re not irresistible.”