Sagarika

By the time I made my way to the dining hall, I had already decided that I deserved a quiet meal, preferably somewhere far from unsolicited advice, unnecessary supervision, and one very particular orthopedic surgeon.

Unfortunately, the universe seemed to have other plans.

The restaurant was full, completely and undeniably so, and I paused near the entrance, scanning the space in mild disbelief because there had to be at least one empty table somewhere. Before I could consider turning back, a voice called out to me with unmistakable enthusiasm.

“Hey, girl! Over here!”

I turned, already recognizing the cheerful woman we had met at the airport and then again at the hotel earlier, and before I could politely decline, she was waving me over with such determination that refusing would have bordered on outright rudeness.

So I made my way toward their table and slipped into the empty chair.

She introduced herself and her husband as Mr. and Mrs. Chawla, proudly informing me that they were celebrating their twenty-fifth anniversary with what she called their “second honeymoon.”

They were warm, welcoming, and effortlessly easy to talk to, and despite myself, I felt the tension in my shoulders ease just a little.

“Try the salad and the avocado sandwich,” she insisted.

I did, and annoyingly enough, it was actually good.

“You are here alone?” she asked.

“Yes,” I replied, keeping my tone neutral, even though that answer was, at best, selectively true.

She leaned forward, her expression brightening in a way that immediately made me suspicious. “Oh! I thought that the very tall, strong, handsome young man was with you. The way you were sleeping on his shoulder, holding his arm so lovingly…”

I nearly choked.

Lovingly?

That was a very creative interpretation of a situation I did not even remember consenting to.

I reached for water, taking a slow sip while mentally searching for an explanation that would not make this worse.

“No, he is just—”

“Look!” she interrupted, turning toward the entrance. “He is here!”

And despite every instinct telling me not to—I turned.

Of course he was.

Because clearly, peace was not something I was allowed to experience uninterrupted.

He stood near the entrance for a brief moment, scanning the room with quiet precision, and then his gaze found mine and held it just long enough to make it clear that he had already decided what he was going to do.

I gave him a look that clearly said no.

He ignored it.

Naturally.

“Extremely handsome, isn’t he?” Mrs. Chawla whispered, nudging me.

“I strongly disagree,” I murmured.

She smiled knowingly, which was deeply concerning.

A moment later, he walked toward us, unhurried, composed, and entirely too comfortable for someone who had not been invited.

“Good evening,” he said politely to them before looking at me.

“Good evening,” I replied, just sweet enough to be suspicious.

“Oh wonderful!” Mrs. Chawla beamed. “So you do know each other!”

“That depends on tolerance levels,” I said lightly.

“We work together,” he said at the same time, overriding me with quiet efficiency.

Mr. Chawla leaned forward, clearly entertained. “So you are friends?”

“That would be a very generous interpretation,” I said.

“May I sit?” he asked, already pulling the chair.

“No,” I said.

“Yes, of course!” Mrs. Chawla said at the same time.

He sat.

Of course he did.

I turned toward him slowly. “Do you always ignore people, or is this a special arrangement reserved for me?”

“I ignore objections that do not change the outcome,” he replied calmly.

“And you decided mine did not matter?”

“I decided it was impractical.”

Mrs. Chawla laughed softly. “You two argue like a couple.”

“We are not—”

“We are not,” I said at the same time, glaring at him.

She waved her hand dismissively. “Exactly my point.”

I exhaled slowly. “You could have found another table.”

“I could have,” he agreed.

“And yet you chose this one.”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

This time he paused, his gaze settling on mine with a quiet steadiness that I did not particularly appreciate.

“Because leaving you alone here did not seem like a good idea.”

“I was managing perfectly well.”

“Of course,” he said lightly, and that faint sarcasm was new, “which is why your parents asked me not to leave you unsupervised.”

That—

That was unnecessary.

But I smiled slowly... Dangerously.

“Well then,” I said, picking up my fork, “I hope you are prepared.”

“For what?”

“For regretting this decision,” I replied sweetly. “Because I am going to annoy you so much that you will start questioning every life choice that brought you here.”

Mrs. Chawla actually clapped once. “Oh, I like her.”

Something flickered in his expression, brief but real.

Good.

That was a start.

Mrs. Chawla sighed happily. “You two are perfect.”

“We are not,” we both said again.

She ignored us completely like we were both lying. “That is exactly what people say before they fall in love.”

I closed my eyes briefly. If only she knew...

---

The food was served and we started eating it. He was eating with gusto as if he had been starving for a month.

Oh God!!

Maybe that's why he was so huge. Hulk!!

My brothers and other friends call him Hulk.

If my sister gets married to her, she would have to replenish groceries everyday, she would need industrial-level groceries just to survive.

It was a relief that she was a good cook. But if he eats like hulk then she would have to spend half of her life in the kitchen.

A tragic future.

I need to tell her so that she can think before accepting his proposal.

Anyway, I need not worry about her at the moment, she will not say yes while he is here with me.

I must enjoy my stay to the fullest if I have to tolerate this irritating boring man as a punishment.