Ashriti's POV
It had been one month.
Thirty days.
Since I gave him fifty thousand.
He never mentioned it again.
And neither did I.
Every time I thought of asking—
My throat closed.
What if he thinks I don't trust him? What if he gets angry again? What if he blocks me?
So I stayed silent.
Love shouldn't count money.
That's what I told myself.
But tonight—
I decided I would ask.
Just casually.
Just gently.
I was rehearsing the sentence in my head when my phone rang.
Shivrit.
"Hello, little Bunny."
His voice was warm again.
The old warmth.
"Hello, Raven," I said softly.
"Bunny," he continued, almost playful, "can you lend me five lakhs?"
My breath stopped.
"Five… lakhs?"
"Yeah. It's urgent. I'll return it soon, I promise."
Five lakh.
This wasn't shopping money.
This wasn't pocket change.
This was serious.
"Why?" I asked carefully.
"I'll tell you soon. It's just temporary. You trust me, right?"
There it was.
That question.
The trap wrapped in softness.
"I do," I said automatically.
"Then don't overthink."
He made it sound so simple.
Like I was the problem for hesitating.
"It's urgent, Bunny."
Urgent.
That word presses on guilt.
If I don't give it—
Am I unsupportive? Am I selfish? Am I not enough?
I thought for hours.
Walked around my room.
Opened and closed the locker twice.
This is the last time.
Just one last time.
After this, no more.
That's what I told myself.
I didn't know—
This wasn't the last time.
This was the beginning of a series.
I met him near his car.
He looked relaxed.
Like nothing was heavy.
Like five lakhs was a small favor.
"You brought it?" he asked softly.
I nodded.
He stepped closer.
Before I could say anything—
He kissed my cheek.
Then the other.
Then, slowly, my lips.
Not rushed.
Not wild.
Measured.
Rewarding.
My heart exploded.
He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against mine.
"You're the only one I can rely on," he murmured.
Those words felt intoxicating.
He took the envelope from my hand.
Counted it quickly.
Efficient.
Practiced.
And as he turned to leave—
He leaned back toward me and whispered,
"I love you, my little money."
I froze.
I love you.
He said it.
He loves me.
My heart began racing wildly.
He confessed.
He said it right after I gave him the money.
The words echoed in my head.
My little money.
Wait.
What did he just call me?
Did I hear it wrong?
He smiled casually, as if nothing strange had been said.
"You heard me," he added lightly.
My little money.
Was it a joke?
Was it teasing?
Or was it truth wrapped in humor?
But he said he loves me.
That's what matters.
If money is what it takes to make him fall in love with me—
Then I don't care how much it costs.
If five lakhs buys me three words—
I'll pay.
If ten lakhs buys me forever—
I'll pay.
Because losing money hurts less than losing him.
And I had already lost everyone else.