He came back with two containers of dal fry, rotis wrapped in foil and two cups of chai.

Aria looked up from the east elevation draft.

She told herself the thing she felt in her heart was hunger.

Just hunger, nothing else.

"You got chai," she said.

"It was cold outside." He set everything down and pulled his chair back to his side of the table. "Don't read into it."

"I wasn't going to."

They ate without talking.

The dal was good. The food tasted better at midnight when you were tired and your energy was low. Aria ate more than she meant to. Zayan ate quickly, then wrapped his hands around his chai cup and looked out at the city below.

"You're from Jaipur," he said.

Not a question, it was a statement.

"How do you know that?"

"Your application file." He glanced at her. "We were shortlisted together for the Rathore Scholarship interview last year. I read the files."

Aria put down her chai.

"You read my file."

"I read everyone's files. I like to know who I'm up against."

"That's either very strategic or very weird."

"Probably both."

A quite smile on his face. He almost forgot for a second to stay unbothered.

It was the first time she'd seen that.

She looked back at her chai.

"Why architecture?" he asked.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Because you're good at it," he said simply as a fact. "And you're angry about something. I want to know if they're connected."

Aria opened her mouth to say something sharp.

Closed it.

The question was too honest for sarcasm. She hated that.

"My father's a civil engineer," she said finally. "He builds roads. Small towns, government contracts, places nobody photographs for magazines. Thirty years of building things that hold up under weight." She turned her chai cup in her hands. "I wanted to build things that were also beautiful. He thought that was impractical."

She paused.

"He still does."

Silence.

She hadn't meant to open up that much. She looked up expecting pity or polite boredom response from him.

Instead Zayan was watching her with something that looked almost like a recognition.

"My family builds hotels," he said quietly. "Glass towers and Lobbies that photograph well. My father measures everything in square footage and occupancy rates." He looked down at their project draft. "I keep designing buildings that breathe. He keeps asking me what that means."

Aria stared at him.

One whole year of watching Zayan Rathore collect top scores and professor praise. She'd built a complete picture of who he was. Effortless and untouchable, born into the right name

The picture had a crack in it now.

She didn't like how much she wanted to look through it.

"We should get back to work," she said.

"Yes," he agreed. Picked up his pencil.

They worked until past one in the morning. The city outside went quiet. Only sounds of pencil on paper and occasional rustling of pages.

Once their hands reached for the same reference book at the same time.

Stopped a centimetre apart.

Neither of them said anything about it.

When Aria finally packed up her bag, Zayan walked out at the same time. No discussion, just together.

Outside the air smelled like rain that hadn't arrived yet.

"Same time tomorrow?" he asked.

She adjusted her bag strap. "Don't be late."

He wasn't quite smiling.

But it was closer than before.

"I never am," he said and walked away into the dark.

Aria stood on the pavement for a moment longer than she needed to.

Then she gestured for an auto to stop.

Told herself firmly that tomorrow she would remember to dislike him.

She probably would.

Mostly.