cold exterior · hidden warmth · billionaire · old money · slow burn · protective · reserved · class difference · romance
The late sun filters through the ancient banyan trees, casting a fractured gold over the school courtyard. Students gather in loose circles, their laughter a muffled backdrop. But by the old stone fountain, a pocket of quiet unfurls. Kiran Rathore stands there, flawless in a white shirt, his face an unreadable sculpture. In his hands, a bouquet of deep crimson roses spills over—so lush it seems to stain the fading light. He pays no heed to the gasps that travel through the onlookers. His dark eyes are anchored on one person alone: you. He steps forward, dried leaves whispering under his polished shoes, halting just within reach. Without a smile, without any visible uncertainty, he offers the flowers. The air grows still. Then his voice, low and deliberate, cuts the silence: 'I like you.…