Five dates in.
That's what the girls had counted.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ6eHellelOq
Five actual dates — all initiated by Vanya, all accepted by Ira with the same nonchalant nod, like she was agreeing to a new assignment rather than another chance to be quietly, unknowingly adored.
And every time, Ira showed up.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡDH5W5RmsBE
Sharp. Present. Unflinching.
But she never really followed up.
No late-night calls. No "had fun today" texts. No "when can I see you again?" lines. Just a quiet drop-off after each date and a small nod, like a respectful closing of a door she wasn't sure she was allowed to reopen without knocking again.
So when Sana finally tossed her phone onto Ira's lap and said, "Just. Text. Her. Something," Ira blinked like someone had reminded her breathing wasn't automatic.
She typed slowly, as if afraid the keyboard might read too much into her intention.
IRA:43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡKHA7otmuiF
Hey. Last night was... decent. You didn't knock anything over. Impressive.
Send.
She didn't expect a reply.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡTONEdBQojE
She never did. But Vanya, of course, replied in under five minutes.
VANYA:43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ7vEGYPgj9R
From you, "decent" is practically a standing ovation.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡtYRwoSRBEu
I should frame it.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡZXxAa3ul0W
Ugh I'm craving something sweet and there's nothing here except bitter coffee and sad faces.
Ira read the message once. Then again.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡrtquNlmx5p
Craving. Sweet. Nothing in the office. Bitter. Sad faces.
She stared at it for another thirty seconds before getting up and heading to the kitchen, where Neelam and Sana were sharing leftover cheesecake in silence.
"She wants something sweet," Ira said simply.
Neelam raised a brow. "Okay? Send her a picture of your face."
Ira blinked. "She's at work. There's a place not far from her building. They make good tiramisu. Balanced. Not too sugary. She like it. Should I get it for her."
The girls exchanged a look — one of exasperation, affection, and that familiar "how is she like this?" wonder they'd long given up explaining.
"Yes, Ira," Sana muttered into her fork. "Yes, you should absolutely go deliver dessert to the woman you've been lowkey dating for over a month. We'd be worried if you didn't."
"I wasn't asking."
"You never are."
Scene: Vanya's Office, Later That Day
The office air was cold and dry, and Vanya was halfway through pretending to enjoy her fourth cup of stale coffee and Ira also didn't reply after the one text so when her desk phone pinged.
"Delivery at the reception. Your name."
Her eyebrows knitted. She hadn't ordered anything.
She made her way down casually, still tapping at her phone, expecting a misdelivery or a team lunch mistake.
Instead, she stopped short just past the security gate.
Ira.
Leaning against the counter like she wasn't the reason Vanya's entire stomach suddenly dropped to her knees. Black jeans, charcoal shirt, and a small paper bag in one hand.
She looked so completely, maddeningly unaffected — except for the slightest press of her lips when she saw Vanya approach.
"You said you were craving something sweet," Ira said simply.
Vanya blinked. "So you brought dessert?"
"That's what you wanted," Ira replied like it was obvious.
"You didn't have to—"
"But you wanted it, so I get it."
There was something dangerously quiet in that honesty.43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡpH6i6deRtS
Like Ira didn't know how else to explain it — or maybe didn't want to explain it at all.
Vanya peeked into the bag. Three small jars. Tiramisu, perfect layers. Neat. Elegant. Balanced — just like her.
"You walked here?"
"It wasn't far."
"You live thirty-five minutes away."
Ira just shrugged. "I didn't want to overthink it."
Vanya bit back a smile. "This still counts as flirting, you know."
"Is it?" Ira tilted her head. "I thought I was just... responding to a preference."
"A preference?"
"You wanted something. I could get it. So I did."
Vanya stared at her — at the casual stance, the firm voice, the way she always sounded like logic was her only compass when she was, in fact, completely lost in emotion and didn't even know it.
"Ira," Vanya said softly, holding the bag a little closer to her chest. "Thank you."
Ira nodded once, brief but almost tender. "Eat it before the cream separates."
"So, this is... a delivery service now?"
"No," she said calmly. "It's a kindness. Not a pattern."
"And if I crave something again next week?"
There was a pause. Then Ira tilted her head again and said:
"Then I'll just show up again."
Before Vanya could say anything else — before she could even decide if her heart had fully restarted — Ira glanced at her phone.
" I have free time, mind if I stay."
Vanya though "why should she mind."
Later that day.
The street stretched quiet before them, cobblestone beneath soft city lights, the kind that turned shadows into watercolor stains and made the night look gentler than it really was.
Ira walked with her hands in her pockets, shoulders relaxed, gaze scanning their path as if memorizing every angle. Vanya, next to her, still held the small dessert box, the second one she brought, the scent of raspberry and dark chocolate curling into the night air.
They hadn't said much since leaving her office. And yet, it wasn't silence.
It was something else.
Comfort.
Weightless space.
That soft hum that exists only between people who've accidentally started to mean something to each other.
"You always walk this slow?" Vanya teased lightly, her voice gentle, eyes tracing Ira's calm profile.
Ira blinked, thoughtful. "No. But... you don't seem in a hurry."
Vanya smiled faintly. "I'm not."
Another few steps. The city hummed around them, distant traffic like a lullaby. Ira glanced sideways, then spoke—quiet and curious.
"What's something you really want... but can't have?"
Vanya tilted her head at her. "That's a sudden question."
Ira didn't flinch. "I think about that sometimes. Everyone wants something. But not everyone can get it. Some things are... inaccessible. Not because of price. Just... boundaries."
Vanya was quiet for a moment, then exhaled softly. "Okay. One thing comes to mind."
Ira turned slightly toward her, attentive.
"There's a watch," Vanya said, smiling like the memory was a soft bruise. "Vintage. Only one piece exists. Originally commissioned by a Mughal horologist for a visiting European queen. You can't buy it. You can't even see it. It's under private possession now... Tomar royal family vault, I think."
Ira didn't react. She just nodded once, like she filed the information away somewhere private.
Vanya gave a small laugh, not bitter, just honest. "I can afford it. I'd outbid most collectors. But it's not about money. Some things are just... out of reach."
Ira hummed in acknowledgment. "That's rare. For someone like you."
Vanya raised an eyebrow. "Someone like me?"
"You're persuasive," Ira said plainly. "Resourceful. You get what you want."
Vanya shrugged. "Not always."
She slowed as they approached the familiar lane leading to her apartment. The walls here were lined with vine-covered fences and old trees, the kind of street that knew secrets and never told them.
"But I don't think it's about getting everything," she added, her voice gentler now. "Some things are supposed to stay just... desired. Beautiful because they're distant."
Ira considered that, brows slightly furrowed like she was trying to understand a puzzle made of feelings, not logic.
Vanya watched her with something unspoken in her chest—an ache, maybe. Or hope. Maybe both.
They stopped at her gate.
And for a moment, the world didn't move.
Just the wind.
Just the sound of leaves.
Just them.
Vanya turned to Ira, heartbeat steady but loud in her ears.
"Can I kiss you?" she asked softly.
Not flirtatious.
Not teasing.
Just... open.
Ira looked at her, eyes unreadable but not cold. Her head tilted just a little, like she was dissecting the question beneath the question.
Then she shook her head once. Not abrupt. Not sharp. Just deliberate.
"No," she said quietly.
Vanya didn't step back. She didn't flinch.
"Can I ask why?"
Ira's voice, when it came, was soft. Honest.
"Because I haven't figured out what it's supposed to feel like."
Vanya blinked, lips parting slightly.
"I don't want to give you a reaction I think you want," Ira continued, searching for the words with the precision of someone who rarely speaks from her chest. "I want to mean it. I want to know it. Not just... mimic what I've seen in movies. Or read in people's eyes."
Vanya stared at her.
This strange, brilliant woman who gave her raspberry tarts at 10 PM and admitted she didn't know how love—or even attraction—was supposed to feel.
And Vanya felt something in her chest loosen.
Not disappointment.
Not frustration.
Something warmer.
Something more respectful.
"Okay," she said gently.
Ira nodded once. "Thank you."
A beat.
"Can I walk you up?" Ira asked, eyes flickering to the building.
Vanya smiled.
"You already did."
Ira smiled faintly back. A small, rare curve of lips.
She turned to go, hands sliding back into her pockets. And just before she disappeared into the street again, Vanya called out:
"You know, Ira..."
Ira paused, glanced back.
"Not all unreachable things stay unreachable forever."
Ira just nodded again.
"Neither do the ones that tick," she said.
Then she walked away, quiet as the night.
And Vanya?
She stood by the gate, still holding the dessert box, smiling like she just got something rarer than any royal heirloom—
A moment.
A maybe.
A girl who meant it.
43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2aSHbFUZw0
3:07 AM
The moonlight slipped through the sheer curtains in Ira's room, casting pale silver shadows across her walls. The city was hushed. No sirens. No honks. Just the quiet whirring of the fan above and the muffled sound of her digital clock blinking 03:07 AM.
The ceiling fan spun above, but Ira wasn't even paying attention to the soft whirring. She sat up in bed, restless. Her room was dim, washed in shadows, and the faint city lights bled through the sheer curtains. Her phone glowed beside her—silent, untouched for hours.
Ira lay flat on her bed, eyes wide open, hoodie still on, tangled in a blanket she hadn't even bothered to unfold properly. Her phone lay beside her, screen black, and yet she kept glancing at it like it owed her something.
That watch.
Not just a watch.
The watch.
She kept replaying Vanya's words from earlier.
"There's a watch... but it's under Tomar royal possession."43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPIpHqFCyxL
"It's not about money. I just... can't have it."
She had looked it up. 40 seconds on a secure private database had told her everything: handcrafted, vintage, encased in sapphire glass, only two ever made, and one tucked away deep within the Tomar royal family's sealed archives.
Unreachable.
Not because of cost.
But because of lineage.
And yet Vanya had said it softly, with a kind of longing that lingered in Ira's mind like smoke.
"It's not for sale. Not even visible to the public."
She didn't understand why it was bothering her.
She had seen people desire things—expensive cars, rare sneakers, luxury homes. But they had looked hungry. Greedy. Wanting to prove something.
Vanya hadn't.
She had spoken with the softness of someone remembering a ghost.
Ira stared at the ceiling.
Then reached for her phone.
Before her brain could question her fingers, she was pressing the call button.
Vanya's apartment – 3:09 AM
The shrill tone of her ringtone jolted Vanya out of sleep. For a brief second, she thought it might be a fire drill or a storm warning. But when her vision adjusted, she saw "IRA" glowing on the screen.
Her heart leapt. She swiped instantly.
"Ira?" her voice was a mix of groggy and concerned.
"Were you asleep?" Ira asked blankly.
"It's three o'clock."
"Technically 3:09," Ira said. "I checked."
Vanya sat up, flicked on her bedside lamp, and tried to shake the sleep from her eyes.
"Is everything okay?"
Ira was quiet for a beat.
Then she said:
"That watch. Why that one?"
Vanya blinked.
"You called me at 3 AM to ask about the watch?"
"I couldn't sleep."
"Ira..."
"I'm not kidding. It's not leaving my head."
A beat.
And Vanya—despite being half-asleep—felt her heart do something strange. No one ever followed up on things like that. People let passing comments pass.
But Ira didn't.
She meant it when she listened.
"You really want to know?" Vanya asked, quieter now.
"Yes," Ira said simply. Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Vanya shifted in bed, leaning her head against the headboard, fingers tracing her blanket.
"When I was ten, my dad told me about that watch. He was a watchmaker before he gave it all up. Said that one—was the most perfect creation he'd ever seen. Not for the jewels or the history... but because of the way it moved."
Ira didn't respond, letting the silence breathe.
Vanya went on, voice quieter, almost like she was confessing something private to the night.
"He said the gears inside were so precisely built, it didn't make a sound. Just a faint hum—like the heartbeat of time itself. I remember he looked... proud. Like even just talking about it made him younger."
She swallowed.
"When he died, I—I used to imagine he left a part of himself in that watch. That if I ever saw it, held it even for a second, maybe something would... click. Something he couldn't tell me while he was here."
On the other side of the line, Ira leaned back slowly against her pillow. She didn't expect the ache she felt in her chest.
"You miss him," she said quietly.
Vanya gave a tired, bitter smile. "Every day."
Another pause. Ira's eyes had softened, the usual coolness in her voice replaced with something warmer. Something real.
"Okay," Ira murmured finally. "Good night."
Vanya blinked. "Wait, that's it?"
"Yes."
"You call me at 3 a.m., make me cry about my dad, then just say good night?"
"Yes," Ira repeated, but this time her voice held the tiniest, teasing edge.
Vanya chuckled through her nose. There was something oddly comforting about Ira's simplicity. Her... consistency. She didn't rush in with fake comfort or awkward sympathy. She just listened. Really listened.
"Weirdo," Vanya muttered softly.
"Sleep well, Vanya."
And then—click.
Call ended.
Scene: Ira's Apartment – Right After
Ira stared at her phone for a second longer. Then placed it on the nightstand.
She didn't quite understand why it mattered so much to her.
But she knew this much:
Vanya had told her a truth she hadn't told many people. And Ira—still oblivious to the deeper things inside herself—just wanted to do something about it.
She sighed.
Then turned off the lamp.
But now, finally, she could sleep.
43Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡxjPINKxbG8
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