She stood in front of her cupboard for the third time.
"No. Too simple."
She tossed the first dress aside.
"Too obvious."
The second one followed.
Her fingers paused on the softest fabric she owned — a light pastel dress that fell just perfectly at the knees.
Cute. Soft. Her type.
She held it against herself in the mirror.
Her reflection stared back with slightly nervous eyes.
"It's just dinner," she muttered. "Calm down."
But her heart disagreed.
After thirty minutes of trying, adjusting, fixing her hair twice, redoing eyeliner once — she finally stepped back.
She looked… cute.
Not dramatic. Not overdone.
Just her.
On the other side of the city, he was getting ready too.
Except he wasn't overthinking it.
Casual shirt. Sleeves folded slightly. Watch. Clean sneakers.
College chill guy vibe.
He looked in the mirror for exactly three seconds.
Good enough.
The restaurant was warm, glowing with yellow lights. The team gathered around a long table, still high on their victory.
"Blue Team champions!" Rohan shouted dramatically as everyone sat down.
"Please sit down," Meera laughed. "You're embarrassing us."
Menus opened.
Orders began.
"Let's order everything," someone suggested.
"Everything?" she gasped.
"Yes. Celebration means no budget."
Within minutes, the table was overflowing.
Pasta. Pizza. Noodles. Fries. Mocktails. Cake. More cake.
Then someone announced, "Okay, new rule!"
Everyone looked up.
"Whoever leaves food on their plate pays the whole bill."
There was a collective gasp.
"That's evil," she said dramatically.
"That's motivation," he corrected calmly.
She looked at him. "You're confident?"
He smirked slightly. "Very."
The challenge was on.
Everyone started eating with serious dedication.
She ate like she always did — happily, unapologetically. She loved food. Especially sweets.
He ate steadily. Controlled. Efficient.
Halfway through, he leaned slightly toward her.
"Will you share your cake with me?" he asked casually.
She froze.
"My cake?" she repeated slowly.
"I'll give you some of my pasta."
She narrowed her eyes. "No."
"Half-half?"
"Absolutely not."
"One fourth?"
She shook her head dramatically. "Still no."
He leaned back. "Greedy."
She gasped. "It's cake. Cake is sacred."
He laughed softly.
The table was loud with teasing and clinking plates.
For once, there was no office tension. No politics. No competition.
Just laughter.
After a while, plates started looking dangerously full.
People slowed down.
But no one wanted to pay.
She had made a strategy.
Eat everything else first. Save the best for last.
Her cake sat there like a reward.
But now…
She was full.
Very full.
She kept slowly eating pasta, stretching time.
The girl sitting beside her noticed.
"Why are you eating so slowly?" she asked.
She made a cute complaining face.
"No one even cares about me," she said dramatically. "No one worries if I'm full or not."
The girl laughed. "Really?"
She looked at her plate — the untouched cake.
Then she did something unexpected.
She picked up the cake slice.
And extended it toward him.
"Please take it, sir," she said sweetly.
He looked up.
"Sure. Why not?"
Her eyes widened.
"What are you guys doing?!" she almost shouted.
"That's mine!"
The whole table burst into laughter.
He raised an eyebrow. "I thought you said no one cares."
"I didn't mean it like that!"
She quickly grabbed her cake back protectively.
"Traitors," she muttered dramatically.
He shook his head, amused.
She took a big bite of her cake.
And in her delusional mind?
We're sharing food. Wow. This is such a moment.
She tried to act normal.
He caught her expression.
And gave her the smallest smile.
Not teasing.
Not mocking.
Just soft.
Her heart skipped.
Eventually, every plate was empty.
No one had to pay the full bill.
"Victory dinner successful!" Rohan announced.
People began leaving in small groups.
One by one.
Until only two remained near the entrance.
He and her.
"You need a ride?" he asked casually.