She looked at him cautiously; just from the tone of his voice, she knew something serious was coming.
"He told me… that he's fallen in love with you."
"Impossible," she said immediately.
Chak nodded, but there was no warmth in his voice. "I don't believe him. I've known him too long. Vikran never does anything without a reason. And this… this is just part of his plan. He wants to use you."
I put my fork down, leaning in slightly. "Chak's right. I've seen the way Vikran moves people around like chess pieces. If he says something like that, he's playing a deeper game. Just… be careful."
Anamarija gave a faint smile, but doubt lingered in her eyes. "If it's part of his plan, he'll regret it. But if he really has fallen for me, he'll have to prove it."
Chak shook his head slowly. "Not with him. If he's talking about his feelings, it's because he wants something—from you, from me… or from someone else. Just don't believe him blindly."
The table fell into a short silence, heavier than before.
"Don't worry," she said after a moment. "I won't fall into his game."
Chak leaned back slightly, the corner of his mouth curling. "I'll do everything to make sure you're safe. If he tries to hurt you, he'll have to answer to me."
Anamarija smiled. "Let's stop talking about Vikran and all these worries. We still have to find my dress. And… I have a feeling you and Niran would like some time alone."
I lowered my gaze and smiled. I could feel Chak's eyes on me. Carefully, almost hesitantly, I touched his hand. When I looked up, I met his eyes directly and gave him a small nod.
Chak stood. "Let's find your dress."
We went to a boutique. A shop assistant came over and asked something in Thai.
"A dress for her," Chak told her. "Nothing too formal—something that suits her."
The assistant nodded and left.
"What did you tell her?" Anamarija asked.
"That we're looking for a dress for you."
A few minutes later, the assistant returned with several dresses—some fitted, others light and flowy, in different colors. Anamarija walked over, her fingers brushing each fabric. Her eyes lingered on a light blue lace dress.
"I'd like to try this one," she said, glancing at us.
The assistant took the dress and gestured for her to follow.
While she was gone, Chak and I wandered slowly around the store. Moments later, Anamarija returned, wearing the blue dress.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"You look beautiful in it," I told her, smiling.
"I agree with Niran," Chak said shortly, then added to the assistant, "Bring high heels—closed, in white or beige."
A few minutes later, the assistant came back with several pairs of shoes. Chak picked them up one by one, examining each carefully. Then he looked at us.
"Which ones do you like?"
"I like the ones Niran is holding," Anamarija said.
I looked down at them. "They are special." Pale white with a golden flower painted on the side.
She sat down next to me and slipped one on. The assistant brought the other, and once she had both shoes on, she stood and walked a few steps.
Chak watched her with a faint smile.
"What do you think?" she asked.
"I like them," I said.
"So do I," Chak agreed. "We'll take them," he told the assistant.
Chak and I walked slowly to the counter. A moment later, Anamarija joined us.
"Thanks for helping me choose," she said warmly.
"No problem," I replied.
The assistant soon came back with the dress and shoes. "Your girlfriend is beautiful, sir," she told Chak.
I looked at both of them, waiting for their reaction. They gave her the exact same look at the exact same time.
"She's not my girlfriend," Chak said.
I turned away quickly so they wouldn't see me trying not to laugh.
When we stepped out of the shop, Chak glanced at me. "What's so funny?"
I stopped, looking at both of them. "You two made the exact same face without even realizing it."
"Really?" Anamarija asked.
I just nodded.
We left the boutique and walked a short way down the mall. My eyes caught a familiar display in a shop window—an art store. Without thinking, I slowed down. Rows of brushes, tubes of paint, and stacks of sketchbooks filled the glass display, calling to me like an old friend.
"I'll just take a quick look," I said, already stepping inside.
The smell of paper and paint greeted me immediately. My gaze went straight to the canvas section, my fingers brushing over the clean, white surfaces. I was so focused that I didn't hear Chak until I saw his reflection in the glass shelf.
He stopped beside me, picked up one of the larger canvases, and looked at me. Without a word, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to my cheek—quick, almost casual, yet warm enough to make my pulse skip.
I swallowed, pretending to keep browsing. "You know, people can see us," I murmured.
"Let them," he replied simply.
I smiled faintly and reached for three canvases of different sizes, then grabbed a set of fine brushes, sketching pencils, and a box of acrylic paints in rich, vibrant colors.
Before I could carry everything, Chak stepped forward and took the canvases from my arms. "I'll hold these."
"I can manage," I protested softly.
"I know," he replied steadily, "but I want to."
With him carrying the canvases and me holding the brushes, pencils, and paints, we walked together to the counter.
"You're buying a lot," Chak remarked, his tone somewhere between amused and curious.
"It's called being prepared," I replied.
"Prepared for what? An art exhibition in our living room?"
I gave him a mock glare. "Maybe. You'd better clear some wall space."
"Your house needs a little color," I added.
"Our house," he said. Warmth spread through me instantly, and I couldn't help smiling.
He smirked but didn't argue, paying for everything without asking.
When we stepped outside, the warm air hit us. Anamarija was already walking toward us with a small shopping bag. "There you two are," she said, eyeing the canvases in Chak's arms. "Planning to open a gallery?"
"Something like that," I said quickly, not wanting her to notice the faint smile still on my lips from earlier.
"Well, before you start painting, we still need groceries," Chak reminded us.
The three of us walked together to a nearby grocery store. Inside, Anamarija pushed the cart while Chak and I followed. She moved with quick efficiency, tossing in vegetables, rice, and spices. Chak occasionally added something without comment, while I sneaked in a bag of snacks when they weren't looking.
"I saw that," Chak said over his shoulder without even turning.
"Maybe I'm stocking up for my art sessions," I replied.
"Snacks aren't art supplies," he said flatly, though the corner of his mouth betrayed a small smile.
At the spice section, Anamarija picked up a jar of curry paste and tossed it into the cart. "You like spicy, right?" she asked me.
"I can handle it," I said, glancing at Chak. "Unlike some people."
Chak raised an eyebrow. "Careful, Niran."
I grinned, then slipped a bar of chocolate into the cart.
He caught it instantly. "That's not on the list."
"It's for creative energy… and for melting some people too," I replied.
"Chocolate is not creative energy," he said, but there was a faint twitch at the corner of his mouth.
A moment later, we passed the fruit section. I reached for a box of strawberries, but Chak was faster, taking it from my hand and placing it in the cart himself.
"Why do you get to choose what goes in?" I asked, half-smiling.
"Because I'm the one carrying the canvases. That gives me authority. And I pay for this," he added in that maddeningly calm voice.
Anamarija chuckled. "You two sound like an old married couple."
Chak didn't flinch, but his eyes met mine for the briefest second. My heart skipped.
By the time we reached checkout, the cart was an odd mix of essentials, spices, healthy vegetables, and a suspicious number of snacks that had somehow survived Chak's inspection.
---
Back at the house, we carried the groceries inside. The canvases went by the wall near the living room, while Anamarija headed straight for the kitchen, unpacking quickly. I helped her for a few minutes, while Chak silently carried the heavier bags.
When everything was finally put away, Anamarija wiped her hands. "I'll be in my room for a while. She smile to me before disappearing upstairs.
The house fell quiet.
I gathered my new art supplies, but before I could lift the canvases, Chak stepped in and took them from me. He carried everything toward the art room, his steps steady.
I followed him inside. The familiar scent of paper and paint greeted me as he set everything down near the easel.
I was about to thank him when he turned toward me, closing the space between us in two unhurried steps.
Before I could react, he leaned down and kissed me.
It was brief but certain, his lips warm against mine.
I froze, completely unprepared. My fingers curled slightly at my sides, my mind going blank except for the thudding in my chest.
When he pulled back, his gaze held mine—calm, unreadable, but with something in it I couldn't name.
I opened my mouth to speak, but nothing came out.
Chak stepped back slowly, giving me space, yet his presence still filled the room.
Later, I found him in our bedroom. He was standing in front of the mirror, adjusting the sleeves of a fitted black T-shirt. His movements were slow but deliberate, like he was preparing for something.
"Where are you…?" I began, but he turned toward me.
"I'll be back tomorrow," he said softly, but with certainty.
I froze in the doorway. "Where are you going?"
He gave me the faintest smile—more secret than answer. "I can't tell you. But I will someday."
He stepped closer, brushed his hand against my face, and pressed a gentle kiss to my cheek. Looking straight into my eyes, he added, "Take care of her."
Then he turned toward the door.
"Chak," I said quietly, almost pleading. "Tell me where you're going, please. You know I can't sleep without knowing if you're okay."
"I'll be okay. Don't worry about me."
He reached for his black jacket, slipped on his sneakers, and headed for the door without another word.
I stood frozen in the hallway, my heart pounding with a thousand unspoken questions.