It was evening, around six, when I finally started getting ready for the dinner.

We usually sat for dinner around 7:30 or 8, but tonight felt... heavier.

I slipped into the dress — obsidian silk cascading around me like a whispered secret, every smooth inch cool against my skin. It clung softly, like it knew the story I carried beneath.
The black shimmered in the dim light of my room, making my skin appear almost luminous in contrast.
A delicate ivory trim traced along the sweetheart neckline and the hem, like a fading memory of innocence... the very thing I lost long ago.

I kept my makeup light — a thin winged eyeliner, a little concealer to blur the stubborn pimple scars on my cheeks, and a soft tint on my lips and cheeks to make me look alive.
Alive.
I wasn't sure I even knew what that meant anymore.

Before heading out, I clicked a few pictures of myself on my iPhone.
A stupid little habit.
But once upon a time, I dreamed of becoming a model — walking runways, seeing my face on glossy magazine covers.

That dream died the night my parents did.
And whatever happened to me a week after my 18th birthday... well, that became the ghost that haunted everything else.

So instead of chasing dreams, I chose the safer path: business studies, family duty, numbers, hotel meetings.
Clean. Safe. Predictable.
Except after my 20th birthday, even that started slipping away.
I could barely function most days, stuck somewhere between memory and survival.

I exhaled, fixed a loose strand of hair, and forced my legs to move.

At 7:30, I made my way downstairs.
The house was alive in the way only big Indian families can be.

My niece and nephews were sprawled on the floor, shrieking and laughing over some game on the iPad.
In the far corner, my brothers — Ahaan Bhai and Atharva — were in a heated debate about the Indian cricket match, voices rising and falling like waves.

"...I'm telling you, Kohli is still the king! Don't start with that new-gen nonsense!" Ahaan Bhai thundered, pointing a finger at Atharva, who rolled his eyes.

In the middle of it all, the women — my bhabhi and ahaan bhai's girlfriend  — sat huddled on the couch, their heads bent together, scrolling through Zara's new collection and gossiping in hushed, excited tones.
Every now and then, they'd squeal, hold up the phone, and then burst into laughter.

For a second, I just stood there at the edge of the hall, watching them.
So normal.
So loud, chaotic... alive.
And yet, I felt like a shadow floating on the outskirts.

I swallowed hard and squared my shoulders.
Because tonight, Lorenzo was coming.
And I couldn't afford to be the broken girl anymore.

Just as I stepped fully into the hall, I heard the long, drawn-out honk of the gate buzzer.

Silence fell like someone had hit pause.

"Guest aa gaye!" my elder bhabhi clapped her hands, rising from the couch like it was the arrival of royalty.
The kids scrambled up, their game forgotten.

Ahaan Bhai wiped his hands on his jeans and called out,
"Adhira, bacha, jaa, help get the guest settled na. Lorenzo's here. Atharva, you too — don't disappear into your painting dungeon."

Lorenzo.
My stomach twisted.

I smoothed the front of my dress and forced my feet to move.
One step. Two steps.
Just another dinner guest. Just another face.

The main door opened, and in stepped Lorenzo Giovanni Fransesco.
Evening light streamed in behind him, giving him an unfair golden glow like he had walked straight out of some Italian mafia movie.

Tall. Sharp. That too-clean white shirt hugging his frame, sleeves rolled up to reveal ink on his forearms that peeked out like a whispered secret.
His hair was messy in that I didn't try, but I still look like sin kind of way.

His eyes found mine instantly.
Dark. Heavy-lidded.
And for a terrifying, breathless second — everything else in the room blurred out.

No cricket debates.
No Zara collection.
No screaming kids.

Just him. And me.
And the ghost of my 18-year-old self screaming in the back of my mind: Run.

But my body?
It stayed rooted.

Lorenzo's lips quirked into the faintest smirk, as if he knew exactly what chaos he'd just caused inside me.
"Bella," he murmured — soft, but I caught it.
Pretty.
I almost flinched.

Behind me, Atharva groaned.
"Ugh, here we go. Italian charm switched on."
His voice broke whatever fragile thread had wrapped around me.

Ahaan Bhai marched forward, all business, clapping Lorenzo on the back.
"Welcome, bro! Finally made it to our madhouse."

Lorenzo grinned now, wide and practiced. "Wouldn't miss it, Ahaan. Heard there's cricket debates and Zara fashion wars — sounds like a war zone I'd enjoy."

Everyone laughed.
I couldn't.
My palms were clammy.

Atharva, ever the annoying observer, leaned in and muttered near my ear,
"Why do you look like you've seen a ghost, Adi? Chill. He's just Lorenzo, not Dracula."

I shot him a glare and smoothed my dress again.
"No reason," I lied.
Because how do you explain to your family that every cell in your body just screamed danger... but your heart whispered look again?

We sat on the sofas as the maids brought out drinks for everyone. The men were handed glasses of whiskey and scotch, while we ladies got wine. The kids were given fruit juice, though they didn't seem too thrilled about it.

The room buzzed with an easy flow of conversation, laughter echoing softly as everyone relaxed. For about twenty minutes, the evening went on like this—lighthearted and loud in the way only my family could manage.

Then, Ahaan Bhai suddenly clapped his hands, breaking the chatter.
"Let's get moving! If we wait any longer, the traffic will be a nightmare."

I turned to Sid Bhai, confused.
"Go where? I thought we were having dinner at home."

Sid Bhai grinned.
"Nahi, Adi. Change of plans. We're dining at Lorenzo's mom's restaurant tonight—Francesca's. One of the finest in the city."

Before I could respond, Bhabhi leaned over and smiled.
"Don't you want to come with us, Adira? It'll be fun."

Just then, Atharva Bhai groaned dramatically from across the room.
"Adi, don't ditch me with these devils! Please, come along. Save me."

I couldn't help but laugh.
"Okay, okay. Give me a minute. I'll just grab my jacket."

Ahaan Bhai's girlfriend chuckled.
"Oh, it's not even chilly tonight."

I shrugged, already heading toward the stairs.
"Just in case," I said over my shoulder.

Upstairs, I pulled out my white woolen cardigan, the one with little red cherries embroidered along the edges. As I slipped it on, I adjusted it carefully to hide the faint scar that peeked through my dress. My fingers lingered over it for a second longer than necessary, before I grabbed my small shoulder bag, stuffed it with tissues and my lipstick, and headed back down.

As I descended the stairs, my eyes unintentionally met Lorenzo's.

He was standing near the door, hands tucked into the pockets of his tailored pants, watching me with an intensity that made my pulse trip over itself.

His gaze didn't waver.
Didn't soften.
Just burned quietly, like he could see straight through the carefully wrapped layers I tried to hide behind.

A blush crept up my cheeks before I could stop it. I wanted to look away, to break the strange hold, but it felt like I was caught in a trance—locked in place by the sheer force of those dark, unreadable eyes.

Atharva Bhai's voice saved me.
"Adi! Hurry up, woman! Or I swear, I'll leave without you!"

That snapped me out of it. I cleared my throat and walked ahead, past Lorenzo, trying to act normal even though my heart was beating wildly.
"Let's go," I said, my voice a little too brisk.

Outside, the limo was already waiting for us, sleek and shining under the porch lights.

Lorenzo's lips twitched, like he knew exactly what effect he had on me. But he said nothing, stepping aside to let me pass first.

"After you, bella," he murmured softly.

I stiffened but didn't reply, my face heating even more.

The family piled into the limo in their usual chaotic way, with kids fighting over seats and Bhai loudly instructing the driver. I slipped inside quietly, settling into a corner seat and pulling my cardigan tighter around myself.

As Lorenzo got in last and the door clicked shut, I couldn't help but feel like something had shifted—like this wasn't just another family dinner anymore.

The limo pulled up in front of Francesca, its golden lights glowing softly against the evening sky. Elegant valet staff rushed forward, opening the doors one by one.

"Finally! My stomach is eating itself," Atharva Bhai groaned dramatically as he stepped out.

Sid Bhai clapped him on the back.
"You say that every time. You'll still order the same butter garlic prawns."

"I might try the truffle pasta this time, Sid!" Bhai shot back, already marching toward the entrance like a man on a mission.

I stepped out carefully, tugging my cardigan forward again, trying to smooth down invisible creases on my dress. My heels clicked against the polished marble as I followed behind the family.

And then, like clockwork, Lorenzo appeared beside me.
"Careful, Adira. It's a little slippery here."

I glanced down at the smooth floor, then back up at him.
"I'm fine," I said softly, but my voice came out a little breathless.

He just smiled. That infuriating, unreadable smile.
"I know."

Inside, the restaurant smelled like heaven—garlic, fresh herbs, and something sweet lingering in the air. The maître d' recognized Ahaan Bhai at once and started leading us toward the private dining section.

As we walked, my niece tugged on my hand.
"Masi, can I sit next to you? Mama will make me eat broccoli if I sit with her."

I laughed, grateful for the distraction.
"Of course, sit with me. No broccoli tonight."

From behind, I heard Lorenzo chuckle again.
"Breaking rules already, Adira?"

I ignored him this time, focusing on helping my niece climb onto one of the plush velvet chairs around the long dining table.

The family settled in quickly—Sid Bhai and Atharva Bhai arguing over the menu, Ahaan Bhai's girlfriend taking selfies with the kids, and Bhabhi calling dibs on the tiramisu even before ordering.

Lorenzo, however, slid into the chair directly opposite mine. His eyes found me immediately, dark and intense, and for a moment it felt like the rest of the restaurant blurred out.

"Order whatever you like," Ahaan Bhai told everyone. "Tonight's on me."

"Of course, it's on you. You're the one who dragged us here!" Atharva Bhai shot back, making everyone laugh again.

As the waiter came around with the menus, I felt Lorenzo's gaze lingering. When I finally looked up, he tilted his head, a slow smirk playing on his lips.

"You still blush too easily, Adira," he said under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

My cheeks burned again.
"I'm not blushing."

His smile deepened.
"If you say so."

I quickly buried my face in the menu, pretending to study the pasta options like my life depended on it.

Meanwhile, the family banter rolled on, but that subtle, charged thread between me and Lorenzo refused to fade.

____________________________________________________________

Here goes chapter 5.

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