Vihaan's POV:
There was something in that interaction between Amara and the Salvatores that she suddenly was restless, literally not happy in their presence...wait, isn't Amara, Amara Salvatore? And Jia is her sister, but she is Jia Morgan, if I am not wrong, then. I just got some bricks connected, and I needed to confirm them.
I pulled out my phone.
"Hello, Noah? Vihaan here. I need a favor."I kept my voice low as I stepped away from the soft buzz of the party."There's something about our new business partner I need to confirm. Can you run a quick background search on Liam Salvatore? Family connections, anything unusual."
"Got it. Give me a few hours," Noah replied without hesitation.
Hours. I wasn't sure I could wait that long.
Because I couldn't get Amara's face out of my mind—the way she tried to mask the storm under her skin and almost managed it…almost.And then she simply vanished from the room, leaving me mid-sentence, her absence like a sudden silence in a crowded hall.
My phone buzzed.A message lit the screen.
I am sorry for today. Can we meet tomorrow?
Relief hit first, warm and sudden, followed by a smile I couldn't stop, the kind you try to hide but can't.Amara.
I typed fast, erased faster.
You don't need to be sorry. We can meet whenever you like—after college?
Too eager. Too much.
I breathed, started again.
Okay. Let's meet at the café at 5 p.m.
Simple. Steady. Send.
And still I caught myself grinning like a boy who'd just been handed a secret he'd wanted all day.
Amara's POV
I'd sent the apology before I could talk myself out of it, fingers trembling just a little.
I'm sorry for today. Can we meet tomorrow?
His reply came soon after, but it was only about the meeting.
Okay. Let's meet at the café at 5 p.m.
No mention of my sorry.
Is he that upset?The thought settled like a small stone in my chest.Maybe I deserved it.I had left without a word, without even a glance back.
Tomorrow, I'd make it right.Tomorrow, I'd explain—at least enough to show him he hadn't done anything wrong.
I just hoped he'd believe me.
In the morning, I was getting ready for college while images of last night were still in my mind. "Ahhh," I just wanted to rest after a long, tiring week, but God has some other plans; he gave me another shock stronger than anything else.
"Come on, babe, we don't have all day to go," Jia said while desperately waiting for me.
"Yes, ma'am," I saluted her and quickly left the room. After having our breakfast, we left for college. It's the rainy season, which I hate the most. Yes, I hate it because this rain has taken a lot from me, and nothing can compensate.
The day was completed, and we left for home while Jia was listening to the car music. I told her about my upcoming meeting with Mr. Mickelson, and I sensed that something was not usual in her reaction. I couldn't feel it, but that was different. Her reaction was kind of mixed with confusion and sadness.
"Great, make most of it and apologise for your mistake," she said while masking her emotions.
The rest of the drive home passed in a kind of soft silence.Only the windshield wipers spoke, swiping back and forth like they were keeping a secret.
I wanted to ask Jia what was behind that flicker in her voice, but the question tangled on my tongue.Somehow I knew she'd dodge it anyway.
By the time we reached the apartment, the clouds had sunk lower, the air thick with the smell of more rain.I changed, touched up a bit of makeup, and stared at the clock far longer than necessary.Five o'clock felt both impossibly close and unbearably far.
When I finally grabbed my bag, Jia glanced up from the couch."You sure you're okay to drive?" she asked, her tone light but her eyes still searching.
"I'm fine," I said, forcing a small smile."I just…need to clear things up."
She gave a slow nod, like she wanted to say more but decided to let me go.
The café sat at the corner of a quiet street, all warm amber lights and the comforting hiss of an espresso machine.Through the rain-blurred window, I spotted Vihaan already at a small table, sleeves rolled to his forearms, a faint half-smile softening his usual lawyer-sharp expression.
My stomach tightened.This was just an apology—simple words, nothing more.So why did it feel like every step toward that door carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things?
"Hi, did you have to wait long?" I sat in the chair across from him.
"No, not really. I just got here a few minutes ago," he replied with his always-enchanting smile.
"So, how was the day?" he asked in a firm yet comforting voice.
"It was okay, but not so good—it's raining," I said as the server placed the ice cream he'd already ordered in front of me. To my surprise, it was my favorite flavor. How did he know? Wait—did he remember from our last meeting at this café? Thank you, God. Now I was even more nervous.
"Why don't you like rain?" he asked, looking straight into my eyes. I don't know why, but whenever I meet his gaze, I always feel at ease.
"Umm, it just…doesn't hold any good memories," I replied, hoping he wouldn't ask more about the rain or my hatred toward it.
Without wasting more time, I gathered my courage and said, "I shouldn't have walked out like that. It wasn't you—it was me, and a lot I'm not ready to explain. But I'm sorry for making you worry."
His answer was simple yet full of assurance and comfort: "It's alright. I don't mind anything you did yesterday. You don't owe me explanations. I just wanted to know you were safe and happy." His words were always so perfectly framed, almost musical.
"Thank you," I said from the heart. With that, our meeting turned quiet—and somehow even more meaningful.
I apologized, and he forgave me. Ahhh…a thousand tons of weight lifted off my heart.
"You know, I also don't like winters," he said, suddenly serious. I didn't want to pry, but I still asked, "Why?"
"It was something that never came with good news in winter," he said without a hint of hesitation.
"You know, when I was ten, I got asthma for some reason. And then, to make it worse, the next year I lost my mother."
My world paused for a moment after hearing back-to-back shocks about his life. He looks so fit and confident, yet he hides so much pain behind that pretty face and those kind gestures.
"I'm sorry, I really am," I said, words failing me.
"It's okay—it's not your fault at all. I just shared it with you because I wanted to," he said, catching my lack of words.
Just like that, the conversation that was supposed to end with an apology and forgiveness turned into a true heart-to-heart. He was ready to share everything about himself with me. I wanted to ask a lot of questions, but since I hadn't shared even a bit about myself, I knew this wasn't the right time.
When our conversation finally ended, he offered to give me a lift, but I declined. Still, with his characteristic sweetness, he waited until I got safely into my cab—making sure I was okay before he left.