'Are you sure you want to do this?' I ask, for what feels like the hundredth time today.

'I am, Romil,' she says, her tone as steady as it was the first ninety-nine times.

I sigh, gripping the steering wheel like it might fly out of my hands otherwise. She steps out of the car, shutting the door with a finality that makes my stomach twist. For a second, she pauses, glancing back at me with the faintest flicker of a smile before turning and walking toward her father's house.

I've done everything short of begging to talk her out of this. Every argument, every warning, every reminder of all the ways this could go wrong. But she's stubborn, and she believes she can do this. And the truth is, I don't have it in me to dim the light in her eyes, not when it's just starting to shine again.

The waiting gnaws at me, so I grab my phone and call Naveen, needing something—anything—to anchor me.

He picks up, his voice calm and unhurried, rattling off updates about final testing and optimization. I barely catch half of it—something about load speeds and server capacity—but the steady, easy tone in which he speaks eases a fraction of the tension in my chest. He's a genius. He knows it. And, for now, that's enough to make me let go of the worst-case scenarios I've been cycling through.

Outside, the last sliver of sunlight melts away, leaving the sky washed in a soft, saffron glow. I glance out the window and catch sight of a group of kids playing badminton. One boy accuses another of cheating, before tossing his racket onto the road with a petulant shake of his head. 'I'm not playing! Mein nahi khel raha!' he declares.

I can't help but smile, the tight grip I've had on the steering wheel easing without me even realizing. The knot in my chest loosens just enough for me to feel the air move easier in and out of my lungs.

Maithili steps out of the house with a pep in her stride that I haven't seen in weeks. One look at her, and I know things went well. Without a word, I lean over to pop the car door open, letting her slip in quickly.

As soon as she settles, I can't hold back. 'What happened?' I ask, my impatience thinly veiled.

She smiles, her lips pressed tight like she's guarding some great secret, the kind that will take more than one attempt to pry loose.

'Tell me na,' I prod again, trying to keep my voice light. 'What did you say? And how was he?'

Her grin spreads wider, and I realize I'm smiling too, involuntarily matching her mood.

'He was drunk out of his wits,' she starts, the words spilling out alongside a shy glow lighting up her face. 'At first, I thought he was asleep. He never sleeps that early, so I went closer to check if he was okay.'

'And?'

'And then I heard him mumbling my name, apologizing in his sleep—or whatever drunken stupor he was in.'

'What did you do then?' I ask, watching her closely now, sensing something mischievous brewing.

She shrugs, feigning innocence. 'I did what I do.'

I frown, not quite catching on, until her coy smile sharpens into something wickedly playful.

'I drained half the alcohol and replaced it with water,' she says, completely unbothered. 'Then I tucked him under the blankets and left your farmhouse address beneath the glass of water on the desk.'

I blink at her. 'Won't he be mad?'

She shakes her head confidently. 'I don't think so.'

'For the record, that's your house, not mine,' I mutter, starting the ignition.

'It's not,' she replies with a long-suffering sigh, like arguing this would physically exhaust her.

I let it drop, zipping my lips for the rest of the drive.