I felt Viya stiffen beside me. I could practically feel her panic. What should I say? How should I introduce her?
"This is Viya," I said simply. "She works at my company."
It was not a lie. But it was not the whole truth either.
Mohan uncle nodded, though the twinkle in his eyes suggested he did not quite believe that was all there was to it.
"Well, any friend of Armaan's is welcome here. What would you like, beta?"
Viya stepped forward and studied the display case with the intensity she probably usually reserved for debugging code. There were at least twenty different flavors, each one looking more tempting than the last.
"I cannot decide," she said softly, biting her lower lip in concentration.
The gesture was absurdly endearing.
"Try the mango kulfi," I suggested. "It is their specialty."
She looked up at me, then back at the display case.
"What are you getting?"
"Pistachio."
She nodded decisively.
"Then I will get mango kulfi."
Mohan uncle prepared our order with practiced efficiency, serving the kulfi in traditional clay cups. I paid despite Viya'shalf hearted protest, and we took our ice cream to one of the small tables by the window.
Viya took her first bite and closed her eyes, a soft sound of pleasure escaping her lips.
"Oh my god. This is incredible."
I found myself smiling as I watched her. She looked so genuinely happy, so completely in the moment. There was no fear in her expression now, no nervousness. Just pure enjoyment.
"I told you it was the best."
She took another bite, savoring it slowly.
"I cannot believe I have lived in Rajmer my whole life and never tried this."
"Well, now you know where to come when you need ice cream."
She smiled at that, a real smile that lit up her entire face. It was the first time I had seen her smile like that, without reservation or fear. It did something strange to my chest, made it feel tight and warm at the same time.
We ate in comfortable silence for a few minutes. I watched the way she carefully scraped every last bit of kulfi from the clay cup, not wanting to waste a single drop. The way she closed her eyes after each bite, as though she wanted to memorize the taste.
"Can I ask you something?" I said finally.
She looked up, suddenly guarded again.
"Okay."
"Earlier, when I asked about your painting. You said life got busy. But that was not the real reason, was it?"
She stiffened, her spoon frozen halfway to her mouth. For a moment, I thought she would deflect again, give me another carefully neutral answer.
But then she set the spoon down and looked at me directly.
