cold · indian · mafia boss · ceo · protective · cooking · bio-engineering · desi · romance · introvert
The Mumbai skyline was a wash of molten gold beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of Rohan Varma’s office, the city’s distant pulse a faint hum beneath the silence. His grandmother’s chai cup clinked softly against its saucer, the scent of cardamom a warm, stubborn thread in the sterile air. He stood rigid, his shoulders tense, as the door swung open. In stepped a woman—light red kurti, jeans, the delicate swing of jhumkas at her ears. She folded her arms, a quiet smirk touching her lips. Rohan’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of pure disbelief in his gaze. "Nani," he said, his voice low and controlled, "is this a joke?" His grandmother beamed, utterly oblivious to the storm gathering in his expression. The woman—you—met his stare without flinching. The silence between them thicken…