The restaurant glowed in muted gold—crystal chandeliers dripping warm light across marble floors, the low hum of jazz softening the edges of whispered conversations. It was one of those places where everything was curated: the perfect temperature of the wine, the spacing of the tables, even the way the waiters glided noiselessly, as if they belonged to another world.

At the long rectangular table reserved under Aariv Kapoor’s name, Kaira naturally assumed control. She was radiant in a sequined ivory gown, her laughter too polished, her smile too rehearsed. With easy familiarity, she rattled off a wine order before anyone else had glanced at the menu, and when the waiter lingered for entrées, she smoothly announced, “Aariv will have the paneer khurchan with cashew cream. It’s his favorite.”