After some time, the café door chimed again. Rudra's dark eyes flicked up automatically.
Ayaan appeared at the table with a small paper-wrapped sandwich in hand.
Rudra raised a brow. "But I didn't—"
Ayaan just smiled softly, his eyes warm, voice gentle as he leaned down slightly. "My treat."
Before Rudra could respond, Ayaan turned and walked back toward the counter, leaving the sandwich behind and the faintest hint of warmth lingering in the air.
Rudra stared at it for a long moment, silent, unreadable — then slowly, deliberately, unwrapped it. The corner of his lips twitched almost imperceptibly.
Even kings have small indulgences.
________________________________________
The café had finally emptied. Chairs stacked neatly, the soft hum of the espresso machine the only sound left. The world outside seemed distant, muted.
Ayaan approached Rudra's corner table and, with a calm confidence, slid into the seat across from him.
Rudra had already finished his sandwich. He leaned back slightly, hands resting on the table, eyes scanning the café with that familiar, unreadable calm.
"You finished fast," Ayaan observed softly.
"I was hungry," Rudra replied simply, voice low and precise.
Ayaan smiled faintly and tilted his head. "How was your day… at the office?"
For a moment, Rudra said nothing. Usually, this question was met with a curt nod or a dismissive grunt. But something about the quiet of the café, the warmth of Ayaan's presence, made him pause — made him consider.
"It… went as expected," he began, slow, deliberate. "Sam Carter came. Twice. Billionaires don't usually bend. They don't return once they've been refused. But this one did. Offered fifty-fifty. I… accepted."
He went on, speaking in a rhythm unusual for him, recounting numbers, meetings, and negotiations. The fierce pride, the strategic decisions, the unrelenting pressure — all of it. And yet, in that telling, there was no arrogance, no pretense. Just facts, laid bare.
Ayaan listened quietly, never interrupting. Just soft eyes, steady, warm, and grounding.
Rudra's voice faltered only once, a subtle hitch when he described the tension in the office, the way his staff looked at him — a mixture of fear and awe. Even then, he didn't speak of himself.
He didn't talk about his family. Not once. Not a hint. The distance between them — the barrier he always maintained — remained intact.
And yet, for the first time, Rudra Malhotra had shared everything else. Everything he had never spoken aloud, not even to colleagues, not even to the people he tolerated in his office.
Ayaan smiled faintly, not saying a word, but offering quiet acknowledgment. And in that silence, Rudra felt something he rarely allowed himself to feel — relief.
He had told everything, and yet no one else would ever know.