Manhattan at five in the morning was a world of ghosts and silver fog. Arya stood on the curb outside her Flatiron apartment, her breath hitching in the cold air. She was dressed in a sharp beige trench coat, her hair tied in a professional ponytail, clutching a briefcase that held her keynote speech for the Atlantic AI Conference in Washington D.C.

She checked her phone app. Your driver is one minute away.

A sleek, pitch-black SUV with tinted windows pulled up to the curb. It wasn't the dented yellow sedan she was expecting. The door didn’t just open; it was pushed open by a man who looked like he belonged on the cover of a magazine, not behind the wheel of a taxi.

Laksh stepped out. He was wearing a dark hoodie under a leather jacket, looking relaxed and devastatingly handsome.

"You're late, Director," Laksh said, leaning against the hood of the car. His voice was a low, melodic rumble in the quiet morning.

Arya blinked, her "Director" mask slipping for a split second. "Malhotra? What are you doing here? I booked a ride through the corporate account."

"I know. I made Leo cancel it," Laksh said smoothly, reaching out to take her suitcase.

"You what?" Arya snapped, though her heart had already started its frantic Oxford-era thumping. "You can't just cancel my travel plans! I have a six-hour drive to Atlantic AI Confrence. I need to work, not engage in whatever 'hero' games you’re playing."

Laksh tossed her bag into the trunk with effortless strength. He walked around to her, stopping so close she could smell the peppermint on his breath. "Leo was supposed to keep you company, but him being generous, he asked me because he was busy."

"Ahh, I am going to fire him" Arya goaned

"It's fine, I can drive myself" Arya said, her eyebrows arched.

"Don't you need to work on your presentation," Laksh whispered, leaning down. A daring, playful spark entered his dark eyes—a flash of the 'Lucky' he used to be. "Hop in, baby. The pilot is ready."

Arya’s face went crimson. The word 'baby' hit her like a physical jolt. "Who is 'baby' to you, Malhotra? My name is Director Rathore. Use it or I’m calling a different cab."

"Directors shouldn't blush that hard" Laksh teased, opening the passenger door for her. "Come on. Six hours of silence if you want it. Or six hours of me telling you how much I like your new earrings."

Arya hesitated, then huffed in annoyance and climbed into the car. "I hate you."

"Liar," Laksh murmured as he shut the door.

The first two hours of the drive were a battlefield of silence. The SUV glided through the Jersey turnpike as the sun began to peek through the trees.

Arya tried to look at her laptop, but the proximity was exhausting. She could feel his height, the way his long legs were cramped in the driver's seat, and the steady, focused way he gripped the steering wheel. He wasn't wearing his glasses, and his sharp jawline was all she could see from the corner of her eye.

Laksh reached over and turned the radio down to a low hum. "You’ve been staring at the same line of code for forty minutes, Arya. I think the logic is fine. Your focus is just... elsewhere."

"My focus is on my career, which you are currently disrupting," Arya said, her sarcasm sharp as a razor.

"I'm not disrupting anything. I'm providing a stable environment," Laksh countered, his voice sounding deeper in the confined space. He glanced at her, his eyes dark and intense. "Do you ever stop being the boss? Just for a mile?"

"I stopped being anything else three years ago," Arya whispered, her gaze drifting back to the window.

Laksh’s grip on the wheel tightened. "Well, today I'm the boss of the car. And I say we're stopping for breakfast."

They stopped at a quiet, wood-paneled diner on the side of the highway. It smelled of fried eggs and coffee. Laksh led her to a corner booth, his hand resting on the small of her back as they walked. Even through her coat, the touch felt like a brand.

Arya ordered pancakes with extra syrup, her one weakness. Laksh ordered black coffee, his eyes never leaving her face.

"What?" Arya asked, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "Is there something on my forehead?"

"No," Laksh murmured, leaning forward on his elbows. "I was just thinking about last night. You were drunk and telling me about a galaxy-print octopus."

"I told you to delete that memory," Arya hissed, her cheeks burning again.

"Impossible," Laksh said, a soft, dangerous smirk touching his lips. "It’s my favorite piece of information since I got back."

Arya started eating her pancakes with a forced focus, trying to ignore the way he was watching her mouth. She was nervous, her fingers shaking just a tiny bit as she drizzled the maple syrup.

"Arya, wait," Laksh said.

Before she could react, he reached across the table. His thumb moved toward her face—not roughly, but with a terrifying, soul-shaking tenderness. He pressed his thumb against the corner of her lip, wiping away a stray drop of syrup.

His skin was searingly hot. He didn't pull away immediately. He let his thumb linger on the curve of her mouth, his eyes dropping to her lips with a hunger that made the air in the diner feel unbreathable.

"Baby, you are being messy" he whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, husky register that belonged only to her.

Arya felt her breath hitch in a strangled gasp. She looked at him—at the man who had seen the end of the world and come back just to wipe syrup off her face. The iron walls around her heart didn't just flicker; they groaned under the weight of her longing.

"I told you not to call me that," she managed to say, her voice small and broken.

Laksh pulled his hand back, but his gaze remained locked on hers. "And I told you in your kitchen, Arya. I'm not going anywhere, I won't let you be alone."

"So what, you keep following me everywhere"

"Yes, thats the plan" he said, his face returning to that unreadable stone mask. "Let's go. We shouldn't be late for the only woman who matters in that city."

The remaining three hours were the loudest silence Arya had ever experienced. Every time their shoulders brushed when he took a turn, or his hand accidentally grazed hers while reaching for a water bottle, it felt like the earth was shaking all over again.

By the time they reached the hotel in D.C., the sun was high and the world was busy. Laksh parked the car and killed the engine.

Arya grabbed the door handle, her heart hammering against her ribs. She wanted to run, but she also wanted to stay in the car forever.

"I'll be in the front row for your speech tomorrow," Laksh said, his voice a low vibration in the quiet car.

"I didn't invite you."

"I invited myself," Laksh smiled, reaching out and brushing his fingers against her knuckles on the door handle. "I have a lot to learn about AI, I have been three years behind and I have a lot to say to the person who designed it."

Arya didn't look at him. She jumped out of the car, her heels clicking rapidly as she disappeared into the hotel lobby.

Laksh leaned back against his seat, breathing out a long, ragged breath. He looked at his thumb—the one that had touched her lips—and felt a fire that no cold space station could ever extinguish.

He was home. And for the first time in three years, the only "Important Mission" he had was to make sure Arya Rathore didn't spend another night in the dark.