The next morning, Arin woke up to the distant sound of temple bells and the soft murmurs of life awakening in Udaipur. The air was crisp, carrying the scent of fresh flowers and the faint aroma of masala chai brewing somewhere nearby.
For a brief moment, he allowed himself to simply be. No deadlines, no reports, no expectations—just the gentle morning light filtering through the carved windows of the heritage guesthouse.
Then a sharp knock interrupted his peace.
“Verma, wake up! We have work to do!” Astha’s voice rang through the wooden door.
Arin sighed, running a hand through his hair before opening the door. Astha stood there, already dressed in her usual jeans and t-shirt, her hair slightly damp from a shower. She held two cups of chai, thrusting one into his hands.
“Drink up. We have a long day ahead,” she said, taking a sip from her own cup.
Arin leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “I see you didn’t trust me to wake up on my own.”
Astha smiled. “I trust you. I just don’t trust your idea of ‘early.’ Now hurry up. We have an interview scheduled in an hour.”
As he closed the door, Arin exhaled slowly. Astha had no idea who he really was. No idea what he had given up to be here.
And for the first time, he wasn’t sure if he ever wanted her to find out.
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