I was sleeping soundly, curled up in the soft blankets, when I heard a soft but persistent knock on the door.

Groaning, I stirred, barely cracking one eye open to check the time on my phone. 6:30 a.m.
What in the world?

Still half-asleep, I shuffled to the door and opened it, eyes barely open.
"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

My eyes finally fluttered open properly, and there he was—Lorenzo—standing with that smug smirk on his face. He was dressed in black sweatpants and a loose sleeveless top, his hair slightly messy, a medium-sized towel draped casually around his neck.

"What... what's going on?" I mumbled, my voice raspy and full of sleep, already irritated by this rude awakening.

"It's time for your new routine," he said brightly, far too energetic for this ungodly hour.

"Routine?" I frowned, rubbing my eyes. "Whose idea was this?"

"Mine," he said without missing a beat. "You've been cooped up, emotionally overwhelmed, and avoiding physical movement. Starting today, we're fixing that."

I stared at him blankly. "You want me to work out?"

"Not just that," he said, brushing past me into the room. "Mornings are for light stretches, tea on the balcony, breathing exercises. You're healing—physically and mentally. That needs a little structure."

"I hate mornings," I said, flopping onto the bed dramatically.

He grinned. "You'll survive. I've even bribed Elena Aunty to make your favorite ginger-cardamom tea."

That made my ears perk up slightly.

"And if I refuse?" I asked, peeking up at him through messy strands of hair.

He bent slightly, his face dangerously close to mine. "Then I'll carry you. Don't tempt me."

I let out a soft groan and finally sat up, dragging the blanket with me like a cape. "Fine. But only for the tea. Not for your sadistic bootcamp plan."

He laughed. "That's the spirit."

As I dragged myself to the washroom to splash cold water on my face, I caught my reflection. Puffy eyes. Messy bun. Cranky face. Ugh. This was not a good look.

Still... something about him standing there, waiting patiently, made my heart do that annoying flutter again. What was he doing to me?

New routine or not, I had a feeling my days were about to change in ways I wasn't ready for.

By the time I freshened up and changed into a loose tee and leggings, Lorenzo was already waiting for me in the living room, sipping water like some overachieving gym instructor.

I dragged my feet across the floor, yawning dramatically. "Are you sure you're not secretly punishing me?"

"Absolutely not," he said with a grin. "I'm very gentle with first-timers."

"Sounds... questionable."

He chuckled. "Come on, sleepyhead. Just follow my lead."

He rolled out two yoga mats in the open area near the glass doors that led to the balcony. Morning sunlight filtered in softly, and the city outside was just beginning to stir.

"Okay, we start with simple stretches," he said, positioning himself beside me. "Neck rolls, shoulder rotations... don't worry, I won't make you do a headstand."

"Good," I muttered. "Because if I fall, you'll be paying my hospital bill."

We began the slow stretches. I wasn't bad at it, but I groaned every few seconds just to make a point.

"You're very dramatic in the morning," he teased, bending forward gracefully. "Did anyone ever tell you that?"

"Everyone," I muttered, arms raised as I tilted side to side. "It's a well-known fact."

After fifteen minutes of stretching, he handed me a small towel and some water. "Cardio time."

I blinked at him. "You're joking."

"Nope," he said, walking toward the mini home-gym section I hadn't even noticed before. A treadmill, stationary bike, a few weights... and of course, he had a Peloton bike. Of course.

"You want me to cycle now?" I asked suspiciously, eyeing the seat.

"Just ten minutes," he said. "Low resistance. You'll feel more awake. And no—you can't just pedal once and call it cardio."

I rolled my eyes but climbed on. He adjusted the height and settings like a pro. And so, under his watchful eye, I cycled—slowly at first, then a little more confidently.

He stood beside me, arms crossed, offering occasional encouragement. "You're doing better than I thought," he said after a while.

"You expected me to collapse?"

"Honestly? Yes."

I huffed. "Rude."

After what felt like forever, he finally said, "Okay. You survived. Tea time."

We made our way to the balcony, where Elena Aunty had already placed a tray with two steaming mugs and a bowl of roasted almonds.

I curled up in the cushioned chair, the mug warm in my hands. The breeze was soft, and sunlight touched the plants gently. Lorenzo sat opposite me, relaxed for the first time all morning.

"That wasn't so bad," I admitted quietly.

"I told you," he said, sipping his tea. "New routine. Little steps."

I looked at him—his calm gaze, his quiet strength, the way he didn't push but didn't let me slip either.

And maybe, just maybe... a part of me was starting to feel safe again.

"How much do you know about self-defence?" Lorenzo asked casually, sipping his tea as we both sat out on the balcony.

I blinked, caught a little off guard. "More than enough, I guess," I said, taking a small sip of tea. "Ahaan and Aarav bhai taught me some stuff over the years."

He raised a brow. "Hmm. Let me guess—how to punch someone in the face and look elegant doing it?"

I grinned. "Obviously. Step one: knock them out. Step two: fix your hair and walk away like it's a runway."

He laughed, eyes crinkling. "Dangerous and dramatic. I approve."

Then he sobered slightly, the teasing fading. "Still, starting tomorrow, we'll add self-defence to your routine."

I tilted my head. "Why?"

His gaze met mine—steady and calm. "I know I said I'll always protect you—and I meant it. Your family will too. But it would be foolish of us to assume we'll always be around you. I just want you to be able to protect yourself. For your own good."

His words were sincere, not controlling or pushy—just thoughtful. My chest tightened, a quiet warmth blooming there. This wasn't about turning me into someone else. It was about helping me become more of who I already was.

We talked for a while—about what I knew, how I'd learned to twist out of holds, where to hit someone to escape. He nodded, adding comments like "we'll work on your stance," or "I'll teach you how to use their weight against them." His voice was calm, steady... oddly reassuring.

Then, almost as an afterthought, he said, "By the way, a friend of mine invited me for lunch today. I'm taking you with me."

I blinked. "Me? Why me?"

He gave me that signature smirk. "Because I want to. And I think you'll charm them with that not-so-scary death glare of yours."

"I don't glare!" I protested, narrowing my eyes at him.

He laughed. "There it is."

Back in my room, I picked out a pretty floral corset dress—pastel pinks and soft creams, the bodice snug and tied with little ribbons at the back, the skirt flowing down to my ankles like a breeze. I curled my hair just a little, let the waves fall around my shoulders, and finally opened my makeup pouch.

Maybe I got a bit carried away—but honestly, I'd missed this. The gentle rhythm of getting ready. I did my base makeup, soft blush, pink eyeshadow with a dash of shimmer, and a thin line of eyeliner. Added mascara, pink lipstick, and a touch of highlighter on my cheekbones. Then I sprayed a floral perfume.

God, I looked beautiful. And it felt nice to feel that again.

I slipped on the necklace Lorenzo gave me and adjusted my watch. As I debated between a baby pink clutch and a white one, Lorenzo strolled into my room—completely ignoring the concept of knocking.

"Ever heard of knocking?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

He shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Door was open. I took it as a welcome sign."

I held up both purses. "Help me out—pink or white?"

He tilted his head thoughtfully. "Why do you need a purse again?"

I deadpanned, "To keep my lipstick. Obviously."

He grinned. "That's a very important mission. Then definitely the pink one. Matches your blush."

"Which you caused," I muttered.

He just winked.

I grabbed the pink clutch and went to grab my light pink pencil heels from the wardrobe. As I sat on the bed to wear them, Lorenzo suddenly came over, knelt in front of me, and gently took one heel from my hand.

"Let me," he said softly.

My breath caught as he helped me into the right heel. Then the left.

"You look beautiful," he murmured, eyes briefly meeting mine, lingering there.

"Thank you," I whispered, suddenly very aware of how fast my heart was beating.

He stood up, offering me a hand as I grabbed the last of my things. "Ready, lipstick warrior?"

I gave him a look. "Don't make me use my dramatic punch."

He laughed. "Just make sure you don't break a nail doing it."

We stepped into the elevator together, the air between us charged with something light... and something heavy. Something unspoken—but very much alive.

___________________________________________________________________

The restaurant was one of those classy rooftop places—glass walls, green vines climbing the corners, soft jazz playing somewhere in the background. Elegant, but not too pretentious. Lorenzo had clearly chosen it for comfort as much as taste.

We were early. Or maybe they were late. Either way, he pulled out a chair for me with that annoying gentlemanly charm of his.

"You're unusually quiet," he said, sitting across from me. "Nervous?"

I smirked. "Are you?"

He raised a brow, lips twitching. "Not at all. My friends are nice. I just hope they don't like you too much."

I tilted my head. "Why? Jealous?"

"Of course not," he said immediately—and very unconvincingly. "Why would I be?"

Before I could respond, a tall guy with a ridiculously warm smile approached the table, followed by a girl with a messy bun, chunky earrings, and killer confidence in her stride.

"Finally," Lorenzo muttered under his breath.

"Missed me already?" the guy said, grinning as he pulled Lorenzo into a one-armed hug.

"Adarsh," Lorenzo said with mock patience, "this is Adhira."

Adarsh turned to me with a grin. "Ah, the famous Adhira! I've heard a lot about you."

I raised an eyebrow, glancing at Lorenzo. "Good things, I hope?"

"Terrible things," Adarsh teased, then winked. "But I never believe him anyway."

The girl beside him rolled her eyes. "Ignore him. I'm Astha, and we are so happy to finally meet you. Lorenzo never shuts up about you."

Lorenzo looked like he wanted the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

"Oh really?" I said sweetly, leaning my chin on my hand. "Do tell."

"Let's just say," Astha said, dropping into the seat beside me, "he doesn't usually bring people to lunch. Or dinner. Or anywhere."

"I do leave the house sometimes," Lorenzo muttered.

"Yeah," Adarsh said. "But only when threatened. Or bribed."

Laughter broke out around the table, and just like that, the tension melted. I found myself genuinely enjoying their company.

The conversation shifted from travel to food to weird first-date stories—Astha's had involved a guy bringing his mother along, and Adarsh's included an accidental cat allergy that made him sneeze through an entire movie.

"I once accidentally locked myself in a changing room for twenty minutes," I offered.

"No," Lorenzo said, surprised. "When?"

"I was fourteen," I said with a dramatic sigh. "Aarav bhai had to bribe a staff member with ice cream to get me out."

Adarsh laughed. "You're kidding."

"Dead serious," I said. "It was a traumatic moment. I still get flashbacks every time I see sliding doors."

Astha snorted into her mocktail.

Lorenzo just stared at me, half amused, half... something else. I could tell. Even though he tried to look bored, his fingers tapped lightly on his glass, and the corners of his mouth fought to stay neutral.

"Someone's impressed," Astha whispered to me, loud enough for the boys to hear.

Lorenzo immediately replied, "Not at all. She's always like this."

"Exactly," I said innocently. "Charming?"

"Excessively," he muttered.

"You love it," I shot back.

"Unfortunately," he murmured, too softly for the others to catch—but I heard it.

By the end of lunch, I had learned that Adarsh was in finance, Astha was a freelance writer who did killer political satire pieces online, and both of them were incredibly good at teasing Lorenzo.

"So," Astha asked as we were getting ready to leave, "what's your verdict on Lorenzo?"

I looked at him dramatically. "He's tolerable. When he's not talking."

Lorenzo gave me a flat look. "You're hilarious."

"And you're blushing," Adarsh added.

"I don't blush," Lorenzo said, standing up a little too quickly.

We all exchanged glances—and burst out laughing.

As we walked back to the car, I nudged him. "You okay? Or did they roast you too hard?"

"I'm fine," he said with a dramatic sigh. "This is what I get for having friends."

"You're lucky to have them," I said softly.

He looked at me, his expression gentle for once. "Yeah. I'm lucky in a lot of ways."

____________________________________________________________

There goes Chapter 15.

Like and Comment.

Words Limit: 2100 words

Instagram ID: authornayana