Kabir
He should have left. The logical part of his brain pushed him to. But the woman sitting across was successfully pressing that part into a more dangerous territory he rarely allowed himself to surface. A place where the heart gets broken like glass in an instant.
The men outside were probably still searching nearby and staying in one place too long was careless. And he knew carelessness got people caught.
Yet somehow he remained seated across from a stranger holding yarn like it had personally betrayed her.
Interesting.
“You’re staring at me like I appeared through witchcraft,” he observed lightly.
The woman blinked once before quickly straightening in her seat. “You sat down very silently.”
He chuckled under his breath.
Not because she sounded offended. Because she looked genuinely inconvenienced by being startled.
“That sounds like a skill issue on your part.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly and he smirked, amused by the reaction.
She didn’t react in hostility instead tilted her head as if observing him. Most people reacted to him immediately. Especially women. They either became overly aware of themselves or overly eager to impress him.
She did neither.
Instead she looked at him carefully like she was trying to solve a mildly irritating puzzle.
Kabir found himself strangely invested in the outcome.
“You’re failing miserably at crochet by the way,” he informed her.
A soft gasp escaped her. “Wow. That was unnecessarily honest.”
“You’re welcome.”
She stared at him for a second longer before unexpectedly laughing under her breath. He would be lying if he didn’t immediately think of ways to make her do that more.
Something warm shifted annoyingly in his chest.
Leaning back against the sofa, he studied her more openly now. She was beautiful in a way Milan rarely produced anymore. Not curated beauty. Not polished social media perfection.
She looked soft. Way too comfortable. Like warmth disguised as a person. Beautiful in an understated way. And yet there was something restrained beneath it too. Something observant hiding behind all that innocence.
He gulped as this new vocabulary started emerging in his head like suddenly the poetic part of his brain found its muse.
“I hope crocheting is not your primary source of income,” he teased, a grin appeared a second later when she rolled her eyes.
She gave him an unamused look, “I’m a graphic designer.”
His brows rose, that surprised him. He wasn’t sure why. Not because women like her could not be intelligent.
But because she carried herself without performance. Most intelligent people he met made sure others knew it within minutes.
She simply stated it and returned to untangling her yarn. Her hands looked soft and he definitely wanted to find out for himself for reasons unknown to him
“You?” She asked, distracted by the knot in the thread.
Kabir’s mouth curved slightly.
“A conman.”
The crochet hook slipped from her fingers and he waited for the usual reaction.
Disgust. Discomfort. Or perhaps judgment. None of them would be wrong in any case.
Instead her brows slowly pulled together in genuine confusion.
“So am I being conned at the moment?”
He stared at this beautiful stranger for a few frozen seconds. Then laughed loudly, unable to control his reaction.
God.
There was not an ounce of calculation in that question.
“No,” he replied honestly.
And somehow that honesty surprised him more than it should have. Her shoulders relaxed almost immediately like she had simply accepted the answer.
She didn’t show suspicion. No theatrics either. Just plain simple trust.
Kabir watched her silently, a foreign unfamiliar emotion settling uneasily beneath his ribs.
Because she was innocent, yes. No doubt.
But definitely not stupid.
There was intelligence in the way she observed before speaking. In the way she absorbed information quietly. In the subtle caution hidden beneath her softness.
A woman like her would not be easy to manipulate long term.
And for the first time in a very long time, Kabir found himself oddly relieved by that realization.
Anaya
She was not entirely sure why she was still talking to him.
Maybe because he did not feel pushy at the moment.
Or maybe because for the first time in months, it felt like a normal conversation. Regardless of the absurdity of his profession. Someone was speaking to her without sounding like they wanted something from her.
The café lights cast a warm glow against the sharpness of his features while soft rain continued tapping against the glass ceiling above them. Up close, he looked expensive in a careless sort of way. A brown shirt with sleeves rolled just enough to reveal strong forearms, black watch resting loosely around his wrist and eyes that looked far too observant for someone sitting this casually.
“So,” she murmured after another failed crochet attempt, “how does one become a conman and comfortable enough to share the information?”
His mouth twitched slightly.
“Curious or skeptical that I’m lying to you?”
Anaya shrugged softly. “You already admitted it so confidently. It would be awkward to act scandalized now either way.”
A chuckle escaped him and warmth spread unexpectedly in her chest. The sound was dulcet and inviting.
“Honestly?” he leaned back slightly in his chair. “It started because I am good at reading people and eventually realized people with money are usually easier to fool than people without it.”
Her eyes narrowed, “hm, you sound almost philosophical.”
“It’s true.” He shrugged. Anaya observed him skeptically.
The strange thing was, he didn’t sound proud while saying it. Nor defensive. He simply stated it like a fact about himself the same way someone admitted they worked in finance or marketing.
“What category would I fall under then? Not rich enough for your interest?” she challenged but deep down the logical part of her conscience warned her to not push it far. She was still in a foreign country with a potential tag of being an easy target.
His eyes held hers for a moment, as if trying to convey he was not performing here. “You’re asking the wrong question,” he murmured pointedly.
Her brows lifted in question silently queuing him to explain further. His gaze drifted toward her tangled yarn resting near the table before returning to her face again.
“I only know you for,” he looked at his watch, “twenty-seven minutes and you keep questioning things even while pretending not to.”
The statement caught her off guard. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” he spoke calmly, “people who are easy to fool usually want to believe something badly enough to ignore obvious details.”
His eyes held hers steadily now. And she frowned at his explanation, should she be relieved that a conman was not interested in her or was he playing reverse psychology to gain her trust?
Something about the way he said it sent a strange awareness through her chest.
Kabir leaned back again, expression relaxing slightly but there was a challenging tease in his dark eyes. “So no, you wouldn’t be worth the effort.”
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously. “That sounded offensive somehow.”
“It was meant to be reassuring,” he explained calmly.
Anaya didn’t hide the glare that splashed on her face. She straightened her back before speaking, “for someone whose job description is being charming, your compliment skills are awful.”
His face went through a myriad of emotions before settling on laughter. His head was thrown back as his Adam's apple stretched. The faint stubble glimmering under the warm lights. He was attractive and even she could not deny that.
As their banter continued, she found herself enjoying their conversation. For now, it seemed normal and harmless. She didn’t reveal more than necessary but also tried to be engaging.
“How did you end up in Italy if you had a good career in India?” he asked.
The question settled between them gently. Anaya looked down at the tangled yarn in her lap before answering carefully.
“I needed somewhere quiet.”
He didn’t probe further and she was grateful for that. He simply nodded once like he understood boundaries without needing them explained.
It made her relax despite herself.
“And now you spend your evenings fighting yarn?”
A reluctant smile tugged at her lips. “I’m trying to recreate a memory.”
“That must be tough, maybe that’s why this yarn is giving you a hard time,” he tried to joke but the understanding hidden inside touched her heart.
Anaya looked at him carefully then.
There was something contradictory about him. He carried himself like someone dangerous enough to walk away from without a second thought and yet there was an ease in his presence she could not explain.
Like he was not pretending to impress her. As though whatever he was, he had already accepted it. She found that oddly comforting.
Kabir glanced toward her once before sighing softly.
“Before you accuse me of poor manners again,” he drawled, “I should probably introduce myself properly.”
She pursed her lips cautiously. He extended his hand toward her despite the tension lingering around them.
“Kabir,” he said calmly. For one silent second, she simply stared at his hand.
Then, unexpectedly, the corner of her mouth twitched.
“Anaya,” she replied quietly, placing her hand in his.
He held it for a minute longer, his palm felt like an assurance, a rough contrast to her hesitation. Then he smirked, “beautiful name for someone aggressively adorable.”
A laugh escaped her before she could stop it. She was about to respond when a voice interrupted them.
“I thought you’d be a tough man to track but here you are already fishing for your new target, huh.”
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