8. A Gentle Dinner
"Hello Sir, Hello Ma'am," the manager greeted politely as they stepped inside.
Rakshit simply nodded, while Shivika mumbled a shy, "Hello."
"Come, Sir, your table is ready," the manager said, leading the way.
Rakshit gestured for Shivika to walk ahead.
The table looked different from the rest—set by the window, with a sense of quiet privacy.
What caught Shivika's attention, though, were the red roses placed neatly in a simple glass pot at the center.
Real roses.
Not the fake ones she saw on every other table.
Her eyes softened, surprise flickering across her face.
But for Rakshit, it wasn't surprising at all. He was the one who had asked for them, real red roses, just for her.
The others could have plastic ones, but not her table. He wanted her to feel special. After all, this was his restaurant, something Shivika still didn't know.
Rakshit pulled out the chair for her, and she sat down, her heartbeat unsteady.
She noticed everything, how only their table had real flowers, and that too, red roses.
The way he cared, so quietly, so attentively, wasn't something she'd seen before.
She had seen love around her, couples in her family, always together but no one like him.
His gestures were simple yet full of depth, and she couldn't stop herself from thinking—
If this is how he behaves when we're not even that close yet, then how will it feel when he truly loves me?
"Shivika?"
His voice brought her back.
"You're fine, right?" Rakshit asked softly, concern lacing his tone.
She'd been too quiet, too lost in thoughts and he already wasn't sure about dining out, even if it was in his own restaurant.
"I'm fine," she smiled lightly.
"Just got lost in the view. It's been so long since I've had dinner like this."
Rakshit's expression melted. Without thinking, he reached across the table and gently patted her hand. He was about to pull away when she held his hand firmly.
Her eyes spoke more than her words. There was longing in them, a hint of ache, maybe missing her family.
Her hold tightened, and a soft smile curved her lips.
"Why isn't anyone taking our order?" she asked after a moment, trying to lighten the air.
"I'm really hungry."
"They already did," he said calmly.
Shivika's eyes widened.
"Wait, you gave the order already? When?"
"In the car," he replied simply, "when you were looking outside."
She let out a sigh and shook her head, half amused, half amazed.
Every time, he proved how attentively he noticed things—how effortlessly he cared.
Just then, the waiter arrived with their food. The aroma instantly made her eyes sparkle, it was exactly what she had been craving.
Rakshit watched her expression, his own lips curling into a faint smile.
"I'll do it. You can go," he told the waiter firmly, dismissing him.
Then he began serving the food himself, with the same care he always showed.
When he finished serving, he noticed Shivika hadn't started eating yet.
"Why aren't you eating?" he asked.
"I… me… uh… you…" she stammered, fumbling with her words.
"No, nothing." She was about to eat when Rakshit suddenly took her plate.
Her brows furrowed in confusion. "What are you—"
"Should I feed you?" he asked gently.
Her heart skipped.
That was exactly what she had wanted but hadn't dared to say. So without hesitation, she nodded softly.
Rakshit began feeding her, taking bites himself in between.
Her eyes widened in shock, he had just answered the thought she hadn't spoken.
Because yes, she had wanted him to feed her.
The food always tasted better when it came from his hands.
And once again, like always, Rakshit understood her without her saying a single word.
As they finished dinner, the waiter quietly cleared the table, leaving behind only the faint scent of roses and candlelight.
They waited for the bill—yes, the bill.
Because it was Rakshit's rule.
He always paid whenever he visited one of his restaurants, even though the place technically belonged to him.
Every payment here went directly into a fund that supported orphanages and old-age homes.
It wasn't about money—it was his silent promise to give back to the world.
"Shivika," Rakshit said suddenly, his tone gentle but steady.
"I just remembered we'll be needing some of your documents to officially register our marriage in court."
"Oh," Shivika blinked in surprise.
"I can get them from my email. I'll send everything once we reach home."
Rakshit nodded. "Alright."
Just then, the waiter returned with a sleek black leather folder, the bill enclosed neatly inside.
Rakshit took a quick glance, then slid one of his platinum cards from his wallet and handed it over with quiet authority.
"Please process this," he said.
The waiter bowed respectfully and walked away toward the billing counter.
Shivika's gaze, however, wasn't on the waiter. It had fallen on Rakshit's wallet, left slightly open on the table.
Her heart froze for a moment.
Inside, tucked carefully behind his ID cards, was a small, grainy photograph, the sonography report.
The same one they had gotten the last time at the hospital.
Her breath caught.
It wasn't just a photo.
It was their baby's first image.
A memory she thought he might've kept somewhere safe at home.
But no—he carried it with him.
Tears welled up in her eyes before she could even stop them.
This wasn't normal affection. This was madness.
For someone who wasn't even his blood, Rakshit's love was almost unreal.
The way he cared, the way he remembered every little thing—it wasn't something everyone could do.
When the waiter returned with the card machine, Rakshit entered the PIN calmly, unaware of the storm brewing in her chest.
He thanked the waiter, signed the receipt, and closed his wallet again.
But Shivika's world had already shifted in that single glimpse.
She looked at him with eyes full of wonder, disbelief, and love—a kind of love that felt almost sacred.
Her heartbeat echoed louder than the soft music playing in the background.
She realized the real love.
If this is not love, then what is?
Before she could stop herself, tears rolled down her cheeks.
Rakshit looked at her—and froze.
"Shivika… what happened? Why are you crying?" he asked, his calm voice trembling slightly.
He immediately stood up, moving around the table and kneeling before her. His hands gently found hers where they rested in her lap, his eyes searching her face.
"Nothing," she whispered, trying to steady her breath.
"Just… feeling overwhelmed."
Rakshit's gaze softened.
Without another word, he lifted his hand and wiped away her tears with his thumb, his touch careful like he was afraid she might break.
"It's fine to feel like that, okay?" he murmured, his voice low and full of warmth.
He stood up, still holding her hand firmly.
"Let's go."
Shivika nodded quietly and stood beside him.
They walked out of the restaurant hand in hand, the night air cool against their skin.
The car ride home was silent, yet the silence felt warm.
Rakshit never imagined a simple dinner could leave him feeling this content.
He had gone out thinking it was just to make her eat properly and fulfill her wish.… but tonight felt like a memory he would hold close forever.
Once they stepped inside, Shivika lowered herself onto the sofa with a tired exhale, as though her body finally decided to relax now that they were home.
Rakshit disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a glass of water and her vitamin tablets.
"Shivika, take your tablets," he said softly, placing them in her hand.
"You should sleep now," he said gently. "You didn't take proper rest today."
"I was resting the whole day," Shivika murmured with a small smile.
"We just went out for two hours… and I'm already tired."
Rakshit's brows knitted immediately, worry flashing across his face.
"Is it normal to feel this tired?" he asked, voice tight.
"We can go to the doctor tomorrow, okay? We don't have to wait."
Shivika looked up at him — the concern in his voice, the sincerity in his eyes.
It still felt new, unbelievable, precious.
"It happens in pregnancy, Rakshit," she said softly.
"I read about it… but yes, we'll confirm with the doctor."
Only then did Rakshit let out a breath, relief loosening his shoulders.
"Okay," he whispered.
There was a small pause.
"Did you… like tonight?" he asked quietly, unsure why he suddenly needed her answer so much.
Shivika looked away for a second, her cheeks warming.
"It was… beautiful," she whispered.
"Thank you."
His eyes softened.
Her heart fluttered, but safely, like it knew where it belonged.
"Good night, Shivika," he said gently.
"Good night, Rakshit," she replied, standing slowly.
They walked toward their rooms, side by side yet close enough to feel each other's presence.
And just before she disappeared inside her door, Shivika paused and turned back slightly.
"Rakshit?"
He stopped. "Hmm?"
Rakshit didn't smile big — he never did. Instead, that tiny warm curve appeared near his lips, the one only she seemed to bring out of him.
"You never will be," he said quietly.
"Not as long as I breathe."
Shivika's eyes softened, her heart swelling, and she whispered,
"Good night."
And they both closed their doors, carrying that warmth with them into the night.
Not knowing sleep would take time, because hearts full of new emotions rarely rest quickly.
Shivika closed the door behind her and leaned against it, letting out a sigh she didn't realise she had been holding.
She walked to the bed slowly and sat down, fingers brushing over her stomach on instinct.
That tiny life inside her… so small, yet changing everything.
And her heart knew she wasn't thinking only about herself.
Swallowing the lump in her throat, she picked up her phone and opened her gallery.
The first picture was the sonography report, the little shape that meant the world to her now. She stared at it, eyes softening, chest tightening.
But this time, along with her baby… she saw him.
No one had ever given her this kind of safety before.
This gentle consistency.
This silent, steady love.
Her tears flow blurring her vision.
She wiped her eyes slowly, as if she didn't want to disturb the moment.
Then she lay down, one hand over her belly, protective, hopeful, fragile and strong at the same time.
Rakshit's eyes fluttered open as the alarm rang softly. He switched it off, exhaling a slow breath.
For a moment he just sat there, blinking away sleep, then reached out and picked up his phone from the bedside table.
5:47 AM.
He was about to put it back when his gaze froze—
on the date glowing at the top of the screen.
His fingers stilled.
His heartbeat slowed.
And suddenly, morning didn't feel like morning anymore.
This date.
The date that changed everything for him.
But for her…
this same day had shattered everything she ever had.
His throat tightened.
He didn't know if she remembered.
And if she did—
would she remember it as the day her life collapsed?
Or the day they met?
Suddenly, something clicked in his mind.
She had told him to sign their marriage papers today.
At first, he thought she just needed time…
But now, looking at the date, the doubt rose —
Was it really just for time, or because today was the day they met?
He didn't know.
But one thing he knew with absolute certainty.
No matter what this date meant to her,
he would stand beside her in every meaning, every memory, every decision.
He whispered to himself, voice thick with emotions only the walls could hear,
He looked at the calendar again.
His eyes softened, a silent promise settling in his heart.
Whatever today meant for her, loss or love.
He would walk through it with her, step by step, without ever letting her stand alone again.