Shayeli pov…

As I watched his car disappear into the distance, I felt the familiar silence wrap around me again. Pumpkin curled around my leg, but my mind was already spinning—as usual.

Suddenly, my phone rang. I glanced at the screen. Unknown number.

Who calls this late?

I picked it up, expecting maybe a wrong number, but the second I heard his voice, I froze.

"I'm heading home. You should too. Lock your windows and doors properly, and go to sleep," he said, casual yet firm.

I blinked, caught completely off guard. "How did you... get my number?" I asked, because I knew I never gave it to him.

He chuckled. Of course he did.

I sighed. "Do tell me from whom you learned hacking. I want to meet this great person."

"Soon," he said, still laughing.

I shook my head, trying not to smile. "Good night. And go home. You need sleep too."

"Don't forget to save my number," he added.

I mumbled a soft, "Hmm... good night."

And it felt strange. Not because it was him. But because I'd never said good night to a man before. Not like this.

And maybe, just maybe, I didn't hate the feeling.

I came back to my apartment, quietly shutting the door behind me. I didn't need to worry about giving food to Pumpkin tonight—my neighbour had already taken care of it, just like always. His senorita, that elegant little dog, makes sure Pumpkin's never bored or hungry.

After brushing my teeth and going through my usual skincare routine, I finally crawled into bed. The sheets were cool, the silence comforting—but my mind wasn't ready to shut down just yet.

My phone buzzed softly on the nightstand. I picked it up and stared at the new number, the one that had just called me. His voice was still echoing in my head, low and calm, like he wasn't asking—he was telling me to go to bed, to lock my windows, to stay safe.

I smirked to myself, scrolling to the "Save Contact" option. But then paused.

From which name should I save his number?

"Annoying?" Too harsh.
"Mystery man?" Too dramatic.
"Bossy stranger?" Maybe.

I let out a small laugh and sank deeper into my pillow, phone still in my hand.

Andrew pov…

As I glanced into the rear-view mirror, I saw her still standing there, arms folded loosely, staring at my car until it disappeared around the corner. I didn't want to leave her—not even for a second. That's why I called her. I knew she'd be alone.

I don't understand how she's survived like this for so long—with no one by her side. Sure, she has a family, but they're far. Distant. Meanwhile, I've always had my men, my gang. My world may be violent, but I'm never truly alone.

She is.

Not anymore though. Not while I'm here. The day she says yes to me—really says yes—I'm going to claim her space like I belong there. Like I have a right. I'll bark at her door, take her grocery bags, fix her bulb, everything. Whatever it takes so she never feels alone again... unless she wants it that way.

I sighed as I turned onto the road leading to my penthouse.

It's been a week since I started visiting her regularly. At first, I thought it was just attraction. Maybe even obsession. Seeing her again after six months could mess with any man's head. But now... it's something else.

I smile when she smiles. I laugh when she does something silly. And when she fell tonight—God—I panicked. Panicked.Me, the man who's taken lives without blinking. My heart jumped like I was about to lose something irreplaceable.

What the hell is happening to me?

And when I saw her laughing at that bastard earlier, something twisted inside me. It'd be a lie if I said I didn't feel like a blade went straight through my chest. She didn't know what he was. But I did.

The call I got in the car—it was from one of my guards. Turns out, the man she bumped into wasn't just a pickpocket. He's dirtier than that. Connected. I ordered my men to find him. And when they do, he's not walking away clean. Not after coming near her.

I reached my building and got out of the car. My eyes flicked back to it—the same car she's obsessed with. Sometimes I think she will love it more than me. And weirdly, that makes me jealous.

I pulled the stolen wallet from my pocket and handed it to my guard at the door. "Return it to the right person. No mess. No traces."

Because that's how I work. Clean. Controlled. Ruthless.

But with her... I'm a man unraveling.

As I reached my floor, I headed straight for a cold shower—hoping it would wash away the chaos in my head. But even under the water, her face refused to leave me. That smile. Those eyes. Her laugh echoing in my ears like a soft curse I couldn't escape.

When I stepped out, wearing nothing but joggers, I padded across the marble floor to my bed and sat down. My mind wandered, uninvited, back to her. Again.

Before Shayeli, I used to wonder why men did all those absurd things when they fell in love—buying flowers, doing chores, running errands with a smile. I remember when Olivia cried for chocolate, James filled the entire damn fridgewith her favorite brand. And don't even get me started on Jaxson—he once stood against his own father just to stay by Emma's side.

I used to laugh at that. Now?

Now, I'm the idiot who buys roses every morning. Who parks five minutes away from her café just so I can walk beside her. Who carries her bags, cooks her meals, washes her dishes, and cleans her apartment like some damn househusband.

And for what?

Because her smile makes my heart feel... lighter. Warm.

I froze.

Wait. Warm?

My throat tightened. My chest felt strange. Like realization was knocking, loud and unwanted.

Am I... in love?

No. That can't be.

Right?

I grabbed my phone and without a second thought, called James—the only one among us with half a brain and a full heart. It rang twice before he picked up.

"What happened?" he said, already sounding tired of my drama.

"What do people do when they fall in love?" I asked, too serious for my own liking.

There was a pause. Then he scoffed. I could picture him shaking his head with a grin. "Exactly what you've been doing for Shayeli."

I blinked. "Wait. Are you saying... I... I'm actually... in love?"

"Yes, Andrew," he said dryly. "You're in love. Congratulations. Welcome to the mess."

I didn't say anything. My brain was still trying to reboot.

He laughed at my silence.

I hung up.

I wasn't ready to be laughed at and in love in the same breath.

I scoffed, slamming the phone down on the bed.

"Bastard must be joking," I muttered, running a hand through my damp hair. "How the hell am I supposed to be in love?"

I shook my head. No. Not me. Not Andrew. Love was for fools with no blood on their hands. Not for someone like me—someone who's used to making people disappear without a trace. Someone who built a throne out of fear.

And yet... here I am. Remembering the exact shape of her smile.

I knew I wasn't going to get any sleep tonight. Not after that stupid conversation. Not after James put the damn word in my head.

So I pulled myself up, grabbed a hoodie, and walked into my study. Work was always the cure. That's what I told myself, anyway.

Since I'd spent most of my evening at her place again—watching her laugh, cooking her dinner, walking pumpkin—I had a lot to catch up on. My desk was a mess of files and encrypted tablets. I powered one up and scrolled through the security logs. Another screen played muted footage from our city street cams.

Then it hit me—the news.

The accident from two nights ago.

My jaw tightened.

I leaned back in my chair, eyes narrowing as I recalled the scene. It wasn't just a random hit. I know how clean hits look, and that wasn't it. That was a warning—or a message.

And with that bastard around Shayeli today... I wouldn't be surprised if something new made headlines.

I clicked through a few internal reports—unofficial ones, straight from my men. My instincts were right.

There was going to be a new story. Something bigger. Bloodier.

And all of it... somehow circling too close to her.

I leaned forward, rested my elbows on the table, and stared at the flickering screen.

If anyone dared put her in the same sentence as danger again, I'd bury them so deep, not even their name would survive.

Shayeli pov…

I tilted to the side, groaning as sunlight poked my eyes like it had a personal grudge.

Five minutes later, my alarm screamed in my ears. "Badtameez Subha Subha baj jaata hai," I muttered, hitting it like it insulted my ancestors.

Whatever. I had to get up. I had a meeting with an investor today—yep, I'm thinking of expanding my café. Big dreams, bigger cups of coffee.

After freshening up, I slipped into a simple floral dress and clasped my favorite heart pendant around my neck.

Grabbed Pumpkin—my dramatic little boy—and headed out. I had no time to drag him with me today, so I dropped him off to my neighbor.

Or, more precisely... to his senorita.

Honestly, Pumpkin's such a playboy. I swear he has more girlfriends than I have matching socks. Every time I walk him, there's at least one dog barking romantic howls from a balcony. I once tried to raise him into a well-mannered gentleman, but gave up. He's just like men—hopeless. Still, I love him. Because honestly? His lovers are no less. A whole club of doggy heartbreakers.

After dropping him, I made my way to the bus stop. The ride was bumpy, but routine. Once I got down, I walked to the little flower shop near the station. Picked a small bouquet—old habit. Even though Andrew gives me flowers every day now, I still buy them for myself sometimes. It's my way of saying: "Look at you, girl. Thriving."

As I walked towards the café, I noticed a construction ditch on the side of the road. Typical city chaos. But across the barricade was a big white warning banner.

I stopped.

Read it once.

Then again.

My eyes widened.

My heart skipped.

The banner read:

"Be careful... otherwise, you'll fall in love."

It was written in bold cursive across the banner

I blinked. Then laughed.

Of course, I thought, hiding my face behind the bouquet as I felt my cheeks warming. Andrew. Just his name made me feel like a teenage girl with a crush. Which is... insane. But true.

He has this annoying habit of sneaking into my thoughts—even in the most random moments. And now this? A warning sign from the universe? Or just a coincidence written by someone who didn't know they just described my current life?

I smiled, still hiding in my flowers. I didn't know what the future holds for us... and maybe that's okay.

Someone once told me—probably a drunk aunt at a wedding—"Live in the present, beta. Because the future is always busy changing its mind."

And I guess that's what I'm doing.

Living in the now.

And honestly? The now is beautiful.

As I reached my café—Marigold Café—I slipped into routine mode. First floor for guests, cozy and golden. Second floor? My little den of chaos, dreams, and a tiny desk that has too many sticky notes with half-baked recipes.

Yeah, it's a big one. Two floors. Not bad for a café in a quiet part of the city. The kind of place where you don't expect anything magical to happen—and then it does.

Festivals? Don't even ask. You're lucky if you find a seat. We've had people waiting outside just to get our rose cappuccino and tiramisu tart. No lie.

I walked in and nodded at my staff as they greeted me, still feeling that stupid smile tugging at my lips. I wasn't sure if it was the banner, the flowers, or just him.

But one thing I did know—I was falling.

And despite the warning, I wasn't planning to stop.

I made my way up to the cabin, the familiar creak of the stairs making me feel oddly at home. Just as I unlocked the door and stepped in, Ava—my ever-efficient secretary—followed behind, tablet in hand and her usual composed smile on her face.

"Good morning, ma'am," she greeted politely.

"Good morning, Ava," I smiled back as I placed the small bouquet gently into the vase on my table. They looked so beautiful there. Bright. Fresh. Like my mood today.

I sank into my chair, smoothing my dress and tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. "What's on the schedule for today?"

She tapped on her screen and replied, "Your meeting with the investor is at 9:00 AM, so you still have time to eat breakfast. I already placed your order downstairs."

I smiled again, more fondly this time. "You really know me well."

She chuckled softly. "You forget breakfast half the time. And knowing you probably rushed out again today... I thought I'd make sure it's handled."

She wasn't wrong. And honestly, having someone like Ava who handled things so smoothly made me breathe easier.

And about Pumpkin—my little drama king—he was safely dropped off with his "lover" next door. No complaints there. My neighbor basically adored him, and I secretly think Pumpkin liked staying there more than he liked being with me sometimes. Flirt.

Anyway, I was settled now. Flowers in the vase. Coffee brewing somewhere downstairs. A few peaceful minutes before the day officially started.

And still, at the back of my mind... him.

Andrew.

Ugh. Why is he always there—quietly sitting in the corner of my thoughts like a smug little bookmark in a favorite chapter?

I sighed and glanced out the window.

Let the day begin.

The breakfast Ava had arranged was perfect—warm croissants, a cup of black coffee, and a few quiet moments to breathe before the meeting. But as the clock struck nine, I put my game face on.

The investor walked in precisely on time—Mr. Ishan Malhotra. Well-dressed, sharp eyes, a polite smile, and the kind of presence that tells you he's used to being heard.

"Miss Shayeli, it's a pleasure," he said, extending his hand.

"Same here, Mr. Malhotra. Please, have a seat."

Ava served tea and left us alone. I had my notepad, my research, and my proposal laid out neatly. We exchanged small talk, and for a while, it all seemed promising.

Until... he started talking about his vision for my café.

"I like your café. It's warm, local, cozy," he began. "But if we bring in a little more... flair—rebrand it with a trendy name, digitalize it, maybe shift to a franchise model—we can take it across cities. More profits. Less chaos. We'll replace your old-school menu with a dynamic food app, introduce a uniform for your staff, and maybe cut down on non-essentials like the free reading corner. It's business, after all."

My smile faded. "So you're saying... take out the soul of Marigold Café?"

He leaned forward. "I'm saying let's evolve it. Sentiment doesn't build empires."

I looked down at my notebook for a moment, then closed it gently. "Maybe. But it builds trust. And that's what Marigold is to me—and to the people who come here. It's a place, not just a product. I'm not looking to turn it into a money machine at the cost of its warmth."

He blinked, clearly not expecting resistance. "That's short-sighted."

I stood up slowly, maintaining my calm. "Then maybe I'm not the right partner for you, Mr. Malhotra. Thank you for your time, but I won't be taking the deal."

The room went quiet for a beat. His expression tightened, but he stood up too. "Suit yourself. You'll regret not scaling when you had the chance."

I opened the door with a soft smile. "Or I'll build it my way—with people who understand what Marigold stands for."

He left without another word.

As the door clicked shut behind him, I leaned back against it and took a long breath.

No regrets. I'd chosen my café's heart over a bigger bank balance.

Just as I straightened and turned around, Ava entered with cautious eyes. "So... how did it go?"

I smiled, a little tired, but firm. "We're not taking the deal."

She looked at me for a second, then smiled too. "Good. I didn't like his shoes anyway."

I laughed.

Sometimes saying no is the hardest thing. But today—it felt like freedom.

"Maybe I'll find a better investor," I muttered under my breath, brushing off the meeting's disappointment as I stepped outside. "Bada aaya—acting like he's doing me a favor."

I sighed, tugging my cardigan tighter around me. The cool breeze carried the smell of coffee and fresh bread, grounding me again. It was just the first pitch meeting—there would be others. Better ones. I knew that.

As I reached the front of the café, my steps paused. There, right outside the glass wall, stood a small boy—probably no older than eight. His nose was practically pressed to the glass, eyes wide as he stared at the pastries on display.

I froze. A memory hit me hard—me, around the same age, staring at a glass shelf just like that, debating between a single cupcake or a cream roll because we could only afford one. The toughest decision of the day—like solving a math problem with only one solution.

A smile tugged at my lips. I took a step forward.

"Hello," I said gently.

He turned, startled. His eyes landed on me with suspicion, like I'd interrupted his secret mission.

"Hello," he replied, voice flat and wary.

"Do you want some?" I nodded toward the pastries.

He turned to look at them again, then back at me. "Do you have money to buy them?"

I patted my pockets, then exaggerated a shrug. "Nope. Empty."

He frowned. "Then the café owner will throw you out."

I couldn't help it—I burst out laughing. "Hello, Mister Miser. I am the café owner."

He blinked. Slowly, his eyes widened. "You are?"

"Yup. This whole place is mine."

That did it. A grin spread across his face like I'd just told him he'd won a lottery. And I knew exactly why he was smiling.

I knelt down to his level. "So, what's it gonna be, young man? Chocolate truffle, blueberry cheesecake, or strawberry delight?"

He put a finger to his chin, suddenly serious—like a businessman closing a deal. "All three?"

I laughed again and ruffled his hair. "You drive a hard bargain."

I stood and opened the café door. "Come on in. The owner says it's on the house."

He followed me inside, bouncing slightly with each step.

And just like that, the heaviness from the meeting disappeared.

"Okay, little mister," I said, crouching down to his level, "what's your name?"

He hesitated, then muttered, "JACK"

"Jack" I repeated with a smile. "Nice name"We walked in, and Ava raised an eyebrow as I walked straight to the counter with a new friend.

"One chocolate tart, one blueberry puff, and..." I turned to him. "Final choice?"

"Strawberry mousse!" he said quickly, like he'd been eyeing it for weeks.

A few customers watched with interest. One whispered, "That's why we love this place." I pretended not to hear it, but inside, it warmed something in me.

We settled at a corner table, jack devouring the mousse like it was his last meal. Crumbs on his cheek, eyes wide with joy—it felt like a reward after the morning's disappointment.

"You come here often?" I asked, sipping my tea.

He nodded. "Just to look. Sometimes people give me something." He shrugged. "Mostly I go back."

"Well, you can stop by anytime. Just ask for cafe owner."

He looked up, a little serious now. "You're different."

I blinked. "Different how?"

"People with nice clothes and phones don't talk like you. Or give me strawberry mousse."

I smiled at that—touched, humbled. "Well, I guess I'm not like most people then."

He nodded, then out of nowhere said, "Your boyfriend must be nice too."

I choked on my breath. "Excuse me?"

"You look like someone who gets flowers every day," he said, licking his spoon.

I bit my lip to hide my smile. "Let's just say... I know someone who makes good choices."

Just then, Ava came by and whispered, "Your 11 AM call with the supplier."

"Got it," I said, standing up. "Come on, jack, let me pack the rest for you to take."

As I handed him the paper bag, he grinned so wide I knew I'd see that face in my memory all day.

"Bye, cafe owner," he said, waving.

"Bye, little critic."

He ran off, bag swinging, and I stood there at the entrance, watching him go. The meeting might've been a failure, but this... this moment was a quiet success.

Maybe I didn't need a big investor just yet.

Maybe all I needed was this reminder—why I started Marigold Café in the first place.

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Thanks for reading.....

See you soon.