"Do you really believe in that?" Zorvath asked suddenly.
Aria turned to him, confused. "Believe in what?"
He glanced at her with a faint smirk. "Don't believe things blindly, girl. Look deeper before you trust. You're too easy to fool. I honestly don't know how you've survived in that world of rich people."
Aria stopped walking, her brows furrowing. "What do you mean by that?" she demanded.
But Zorvath didn't answer. He just shoved his hands into his pockets and walked ahead.
His words lingered in her head, echoing sharply. She frowned, turned around—and froze.
Not far behind, two other women stood near the same flower seller. One of them had muddy splashes on her dress, just like Aria earlier. The old woman was gently wiping the mud from her clothes with a handkerchief, smiling kindly. Out of gratitude, the lady bought a few flowers before leaving.
Aria stared in disbelief. Then she spun back around, searching for Zorvath. He was already several meters ahead, walking without looking back.
Aria ran after him, breathless. "So… you mean that grandma tricked us?" she asked when she caught up.
Zorvath looked at her sideways. "That's called business tactics, fool."
Aria blinked, frowning. "How can cheating be called business tactics?"
Zorvath stopped and turned to face her. His tone was calm, almost like a teacher explaining a lesson.
"Listen. If she was the one splashing mud on people, then it would be cheating. But look at where she's set up her shop — right beside the goods transport lane. Trucks and carts keep moving through there, splashing water from those muddy puddles. She didn't cause it. She just used it. When people get dirty, she helps them, earns their gratitude, and sells a few flowers. It's not a festival season, so her flowers wouldn't sell otherwise."
He started walking again. "That's smart. Not cruel. She turned her situation into survival. And we should learn from that — especially for our café. Every business needs its own strategy."
He reached out and gently patted Aria's head. "Understand?"
Then, without waiting for her reply, he walked ahead, disappearing into the crowd.
Aria stood there, her thoughts tangled — half disbelief, half admiration. She looked back once more at the flower seller, realizing how differently Zorvath saw the world.
Just as Aria was still lost in thought, admiring Zorvath's words and the way he saw the world, reality struck her — he was gone.
She blinked and looked around. He wasn't beside her anymore.
"Zorvath?" she called out once.
No response.
"Zorvath!" she called again, louder this time — her voice almost trembling.
Even though she knew he was probably just somewhere nearby, the crowd pressing around her made her feel small and alone. Her voice came out like that of a lost child calling for her mother — soft, desperate, unsure where to turn.
She turned one way, then another, her heart thudding as the noise of the market swallowed her voice.
And then—she felt it.
A sudden warmth behind her. A breath, close.
She spun around.
Zorvath was there.
Her eyes widened in shock. Just seconds ago, she had looked that way — there had been no one.
"Are you a ghost or something?" she asked, half scared, half irritated. "You disappear in a blink and then show up like this?"
Zorvath leaned closer, their height almost the same now, his voice dropping low and calm.
"That's me," he said softly. "When you wish to see me… I'll come — from the air, or the water."
For a moment, the noise of the market faded away. Aria stood frozen, her breath caught, unable to tell whether he was teasing or saying something far deeper.
Aria playfully punched Zorvath in the stomach, trying to act casual though her face still felt warm.
"When we arrived, we were just walking here and there," she said, half laughing. "Why did we even come to the market in the first place?"
Zorvath only smiled — that calm, unreadable smile — and kept walking. This time, he turned into a narrow side street that wound deeper into the market.
It wasn't as crowded as the main road, but a few people still passed by, their voices echoing softly off the walls.
With no other choice — and a strange curiosity tugging at her — Aria followed him.
As they walked through the narrow street, Zorvath said quietly, "This isn't just some random lane. It's a shortcut—to the other side of the market."
Aria tilted her head. "The other side of the market?" she repeated.
Zorvath turned back toward her with a small smile, then reached out and took her hand. "Yeah. Come on."
They continued walking, side by side now. As people passed by, a few men glanced at Aria, their eyes lingering a little too long. Zorvath's jaw tightened, a flicker of discomfort passing over his face. Without a word, he adjusted his grip, holding her hand more firmly as he guided her through the street.
Aria felt her cheeks warm. The whole time before, he had walked ahead, and she'd followed like an assistant. But now… now they were walking together. His hand was steady and warm against hers, and she couldn't help but feel a little shy.
After a few minutes, the narrow street opened up into another section of the market — wider, brighter, and filled with different kinds of shops.
Aria blinked. "Wait… is this a different market?" she asked, looking around in confusion.
Zorvath glanced back at her. "No," he said. "The Mumbai Market is huge. It's divided into sectors. The one we came from was for fruits, vegetables, and food stalls. This one's for furniture and decor."
He looked ahead again, scanning the line of shops. "We can buy the furniture for our café here."
As they stepped onto the main street of the furniture market, Zorvath finally let go of her hand — though his warmth still lingered against her fingers.
This time, Zorvath didn't walk ahead — he walked beside Aria, a little protective, as if unconsciously keeping her close.
Aria's eyes wandered around curiously, taking in every shop they passed. Bright lights, glittering displays, loud music — everything in the street seemed to fight for attention. But then, one quiet shop caught her eye.
It wasn't decorated like the others. No fancy lights, no music, no colorful banners. Maybe that's why it wasn't crowded. Still, something about it felt… different.
When they stepped inside, an old man who had been dozing off in a chair suddenly woke up. He grabbed a small towel and started dusting the clay pots lined up beside him.
Aria walked slowly around the shop, her fingers brushing over wooden boards, chairs, and metal locks.
Zorvath raised an eyebrow. "You really want to buy something from here?"
Aria glanced at him, then back at the shop. "These things are unique," she said softly. "Unlike the others — all glitter and trend. This one feels… real."
Zorvath smiled faintly. "You're right. Our café's going to have a different theme anyway. These might fit perfectly."
Their eyes met for a moment — a small, knowing smile passing between them.
Aria went back to exploring, touching each mug and table with quiet fascination. It felt like stepping into another world — every piece had its own story, even if no one told it aloud.
The old man stayed silent, watching them with a calm, patient gaze. He didn't rush to explain the history of each object like other sellers usually did. He just sat there, letting them look.
Zorvath found a shady stool and sat down, watching Aria as she examined each item carefully. She tested the weight of mugs, ran her fingers over carvings, and checked the polish of the tables.
Just as she picked up one old mug — almost choosing it — the old man suddenly spoke.
"Miss, miss," he said quickly. "Don't take that one. I forgot to remove it. There's a small crack."
Aria blinked, looked closer, and noticed the thin scratch running along its side.
"Oh," she said, smiling awkwardly. "Thank you." She gently placed it back on the shelf.
Zorvath watched the exchange with quiet amusement — the way Aria's curiosity seemed to light up even the dustiest corners of the shop.