Chapter 6
Ranbir
The last two weeks had passed far more peacefully than I had expected.
Nothing about our relationship had changed overnight, and I was grateful for that. I had never wanted to rush Surbhi into becoming comfortable with me. Instead, we had settled into a rhythm that neither of us had planned, yet both of us seemed to appreciate.
Every morning, we had breakfast together before leaving for work.
She would head to Yasha's café with a notebook full of new recipes and ideas, while I left for the office. During the day, we hardly exchanged more than a few messages, usually something simple like asking whether the other had eaten lunch or if they would be home on time.
The evenings, however, had slowly become my favorite part of the day.
Whenever I returned home, there was always something new waiting for me on the dining table.
Sometimes it was a different kind of bread she had been experimenting with.
Sometimes it was cookies.
Sometimes an entire cake because, according to her, "Yasha wanted me to practice the recipe."
I wasn't entirely convinced that every dessert was actually for practice.
I had a feeling she simply enjoyed feeding people.
Not that I was complaining.
I had never admitted it to her, but I had started looking forward to those evenings more than I looked forward to closing business deals.
Dinner had become our time.
We would sit across from one another, talk about our day, laugh over small incidents, and occasionally tease each other.
She told me about difficult customers who couldn't decide what coffee they wanted.
I told her about meetings that should have been emails.
Neither of us spoke about the past.
Neither of us spoke about the future.
We simply enjoyed the present.
And somehow, that was enough.
As the car stopped outside a familiar bookstore on my way home that evening, I asked the driver to wait.
"I'll only be a few minutes."
"Of course, sir."
I stepped inside the store, immediately greeted by the familiar scent of paper and freshly printed books.
I wasn't someone who read novels very often, but over the last two weeks, I had noticed something interesting about Surbhi.
Almost every night before going to sleep, she would sit by the window of our library with a cup of tea and a book in her hands.
The first evening, I hadn't paid much attention.
The second evening, I noticed the author's name.
By the fifth evening, I realized every novel she owned belonged to the same writer.
A few days ago, while she had been busy answering a call from Yasha, I had absentmindedly glanced at the bookshelf in her room.
The entire series was neatly arranged.
Every book was there.
Except the last one.
At first, I thought she simply hadn't reached it yet, but when I looked a little closer, I realized it wasn't missing because she hadn't started reading it.
She didn't own it.
The final installment of the series was the only book absent from the shelf.
I smiled to myself.
It wasn't a grand gift.
It wasn't expensive.
But for some reason, it felt right.
I walked toward the fiction section and found the novel within a few minutes.
The cover matched the rest of the series perfectly.
Without giving it another thought, I bought it before heading back to the car.
The entire drive home, I found myself wondering whether she would like it.
It was strange.
I had signed contracts worth crores without feeling nervous.
Yet somehow, I was overthinking a single book.
When I finally reached the penthouse, I immediately noticed how unusually quiet it was.
There were no sounds coming from the kitchen.
No staff moving around the house.
Just silence.
I stepped inside.
"Surbhi?"
A moment later, she appeared from the dining area, wearing a simple blue kurta with an apron still tied around her waist.
A few loose strands of hair had escaped from her ponytail, and there was a faint streak of flour on one cheek.
For some reason, the sight made me smile.
"You're home."
"I am," I replied, placing my laptop bag on the console. "Where is everyone?"
"I gave everyone the evening off."
I looked at her in surprise.
"You did?"
She nodded.
"They work every single day, so I thought they deserved a break. I told them I would manage dinner."
"You cooked?"
"I hope you don't mind."
"Mind?" I laughed softly. "I think that's the best news I've heard all day."
A smile spread across her face.
"Come on. Dinner is ready."
The dining table was already set by the time I walked in.
The meal wasn't elaborate, but it looked inviting.
There was freshly baked garlic bread, creamy pasta, grilled vegetables, and a bowl of tomato soup.
"You made all this yourself?"
She looked almost embarrassed.
"I wanted to try a few new recipes."
I took my first bite.
Then another.
By the time I looked up again, she was watching me expectantly.
"Well?"
I shook my head.
"I genuinely don't understand how everything you make tastes this good."
She laughed.
"You're just being nice."
"I'm not."
"You say that every time."
"Because every time it's true."
She looked down shyly, trying to hide the smile that had appeared on her face.
"You know," I continued, "I don't think Yasha's café is going to be enough for you."
She frowned slightly.
"What do you mean?"
"I think we should open a bakery for you."
She stared at me.
Then she laughed.
"You're joking."
"I'm not."
She looked at me as though I had lost my mind.
"Ranbir..."
"I'm serious."
"You can't be."
"I've never been more serious."
She stopped laughing.
"You really mean that?"
I nodded.
"If baking is what makes you happiest, then why shouldn't you have your own place someday?"
She looked completely speechless.
"I... I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything right now."
I reached into my office bag and took out the small paper bag I had hidden inside.
"I actually got you something."
Her eyes widened.
"For me?"
I handed it to her.
She carefully opened the bag before pulling out the book.
For a second, she simply stared at the cover.
Then she looked at me in complete disbelief.
"This is..."
"The last book in the series."
She looked back at the novel, running her fingers gently over the cover as though she couldn't believe it was real.
"How did you know?"
I smiled.
"I noticed."
She looked confused.
"You've been reading books by the same author every night. A few days ago, I happened to see the collection in the library, and I realized every book was there except this one."
She continued looking at me without saying anything.
"I thought you might have been planning to buy it."
"I was," she admitted quietly. "I just kept postponing it."
"I'm glad I didn't."
For a long moment, she simply held the book against her chest.
No one spoke.
Finally, she smiled, and this time it wasn't hesitant or polite.
It was genuine.
Just happiness.
"Thank you," she whispered.
I smiled back.
"It was only a book."
She slowly shook her head.
"No."
Her eyes met mine.
"It wasn't."
And somehow, I understood exactly what she meant.
The book wasn't what had made her happy.
It was the fact that someone had noticed the little things about her.
Perhaps, without either of us realizing it, we were no longer just two strangers living under the same roof.
We were slowly becoming part of each other's everyday lives.