Alia POV:

The actual skiing was... a disaster. A beautiful, hilarious, and utterly humiliating disaster. I spent more time on my backside, skis splayed in the air, than upright. Sid, of course, was a natural. After a few wobbly starts, he found his balance, gliding down the beginner slopes with a frustrating amount of grace while I cartwheeled past him.

"You said you'd done this before!" he called out, skiing to a perfect stop beside my latest crash site.

"I said I'd watched videos!" I yelled back, spitting out snow. "It looked easy on the internet!"

He just shook his head, a small, amused smirk playing on his lips. "Unbelievable."

I wanted to argue, but my lungs burned from laughter and exertion. And then—my skis betrayed me again. I tumbled, arms flailing like a windmill. Sid, naturally, skated past me, looking calm and collected, and I... didn't.

I think I fell at least five times in the span of ten minutes. Each time, Sid would ski back effortlessly and offer a single, perfect hand to steady me, and each time, my heart did that stupid flutter. Why is this so normal with him?

After what felt like both an eternity and a single, glorious moment, our time was up. My body ached in places I didn't know existed, but I was still grinning. We hobbled back to the bench, laughing as we removed our skis. Sid immediately sat down and undid his boots with a few quick, practiced moves, freeing his feet with a sigh of relief.

I, however, was stuck. The double-knotted, yanked-with-all-my-might laces that had felt so secure were now my personal prison. I tugged at the frozen, stiff knots, my fingers growing numb and useless.

"Come on," I grumbled, pulling with all my might. The knot didn't budge.

Sid finished putting on his normal shoes and stood up, watching me struggle for a full minute. He didn't say a word. I could feel his gaze on me, and my frustration grew with every failed attempt. My cheeks were burning, and it wasn't from the cold.

But my hands refused to cooperate. I twisted, pulled, twisted again. The laces stayed firm, mocking me. I let out a frustrated sigh. "Ugh! Why are these so impossible?"

Sid stepped closer, finally.

Without a word, without me even having to ask, he crouched. He didn't tell me to move over or offer advice. He simply got down. He lowered himself onto one knee right there in the snow, in front of the bench.

My breath hitched.

The world seemed to slow down. The chatter of other tourists faded into a distant hum. All I could see was the top of his head, his dark hair dusted with a few stray snowflakes, his focused expression as he looked down at my boot. His warm fingers, so much more capable than mine, gently brushed mine aside and started working on the impossible knot.

I couldn't breathe properly. This was... wrong and right all at once. It was a simple, helpful act, and yet somehow it felt intimate. I could feel the warmth from his hands, the solidness of him kneeling there, and my heart was pounding like I'd sprinted down the slope ten times in a row.

"Almost... there," he murmured softly, tugging gently at the knot.

I tried to help, lifting my foot slightly, but he steadied it with a firm, gentle hand. "Let me do it. You'll just make it worse."

"Yes" I whispered, cheeks burning, trying not to squirm.

He worked carefully, every motion precise, like it was second nature, but I couldn't focus on that. All I could think about was how he was so close. His hair smelled faintly of the cold mountain air and his shampoo, and I... had no words for how my chest felt.

He's just helping me. It's not a date. It's not... anything. But why does this feel like everything?

Finally, the knot loosened. Sid's fingers released the last lace, and he pushed gently on my boot. "Done."

I blinked at him, dazed. "Wow. You... you're amazing."

"For boots?" he asked, arching an eyebrow, a teasing smirk on his lips.

I shook my head, unable to stop the grin creeping over my face. "No... not just that."

Sid stood a few steps away, looking at his phone like it was more important than the whole mountain behind him. Typical Sid.

"Alia, we should go," he said without looking up. "We need to catch the train if we don't want to miss our flight."

I groaned. "Sid, we still have time! The next train is in thirty minutes! At 2:30"

He finally looked at me, eyebrows slightly raised. "Which means we need to leave now if you want to make it in time."

Ugh. His sense of timing could make a Swiss clock jealous.

"But look around!" I said, spreading my arms. "It's so pretty! We can stay for ten more minutes. Just ten. Please."

"No." His voice was calm but firm. "You said that at breakfast. And during lunch. And before skiing."

"Because everything here is worth saying that for!" I protested, stomping lightly on the snow. "Come on, Sid. You're so boring sometimes."

He gave me that deadpan look. "You're calling me boring while arguing to build a snowman."

"Exactly!" I said proudly. "That's the opposite of boring!"

He sighed — the kind of sigh that meant I was about to win. "Alia..."

I clasped my hands together dramatically. "Just one snowman. A tiny one. Like—" I showed him with my hands "—this small! Then we'll go. I swear on coffee."

He hesitated. I saw the exact moment he gave up ,his shoulders relaxed, his jaw unclenched, and his eyes rolled in defeat.

"10 minutes and not a second more," he said finally.

I beamed, my heart doing a happy little flip. "Yes! Okay, you have to help me!"

"I absolutely do not have to help you," he said, already pulling out his phone again, probably to recalculate our entire journey.

But I wasn't taking no for an answer. I started rolling the bottom ball of the snowman, packing the snow with my gloved hands. It was harder than it looked. After a few minutes of me struggling, I saw him slip his phone back into his pocket. Without a word, he knelt and started rolling a much larger, perfect sphere with an infuriating ease.

He's helping. He's actually helping. I tried to hide my smile. He acts all grumpy, but he's here, in the snow, building a snowman with me. My crush on him felt like a physical warmth spreading through my chest, fighting off the Alpine chill.

This truly feels like a pre-honeymoon.

We got the three spheres stacked. I found little twigs for arms and was looking for stones for the eyes when it happened.

"You have to roll it like this," I said, patting a small ball of snow and trying to make it round.

"Alia, that's not rolling. That's... smashing it."

"Well, it's art," I said seriously. "Snow art."

He shook his head, muttering something about regretting his life choices

He bent down beside me, hands moving expertly as he shaped the snowball. Of course, his was perfect. Smooth, round, not a single bump. Mine looked like... mashed potatoes.

"Not fair," I mumbled.

He just shrugged. "Some people have talent."

I glared. "Some people also deserve snowballs to the face."

He looked up. "Don't you—"

Too late. I threw the snowball right at his chest. It exploded in a perfect puff of white.

His eyes widened. "Did you just—?"

I burst out laughing. "Oops!"

The next second, a snowball hit me square in the shoulder. Cold snow slipped down my jacket collar.

Another snowball hit his arm before he finished.

"Oh, you're done for," he said, low and dangerous.

"Bring it on," I yelled, already ducking.

That's when it turned into full-on war. Snowballs flew everywhere. Sid's aim was unfairly good — he nailed me every single time while I was laughing too hard to aim straight. I squealed, half-laughing, half-screaming as he chased me through the snow.

"Sid! Stop—stop!"

"Not until you surrender!"

"Never!" I shouted back, grabbing a handful of snow and throwing it blindly.

It missed. Spectacularly.

He stepped closer, eyes narrowed playfully. "Terrible aim."

"Oh, you're so—" I grabbed a handful of snow, but before I could throw it, his watch beeped.

He froze. Then his expression changed.

"...What time is it?" I asked carefully trying to gauge his expression.

He glanced at his watch again, and his face went blank.

"Alia," he said in a tone that made me instantly nervous, "what time did you say the train leaves?"

I gulped. "Uh... two fifteen?"

He turned the watch toward me. It was 2:11.

My smile dropped. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," he said through gritted teeth. "I told you. I told you, Alia."

"Okay, okay, don't panic—"

"I'm not panicking," he said, definitely panicking. "I'm just saying, some people can't tell time when they're too busy making snowmen!"

"Hey!" I protested, running after him as he started gathering their things. "You agreed to the snowman!"

"Under emotional blackmail!"

I tried not to laugh but failed. "You like me too much to say no."

He gave me a sharp look, lips twitching like he wanted to smile but refused to. "Keep talking and you'll be walking to Geneva."He didn't finish, just grabbed both our bags and started sprinting down the path.

We sprinted down the snowy slope, slipping every few steps. Sid was muttering under his breath the whole time — something about missing flights and how "next time, we're leaving three hours early."

Next time? Does that mean we will do this again? I thought to myself with excitement.

"Sid, slow down!" I gasped. "I can't feel my legs!"

"That's because they're frozen!" he snapped, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

The knot in my stomach turned to a block of ice. "I'm so sorry, Sid, I—"

"Save it," he cut me off, his eyes blazing. "We have one hour to get to the station for the last possible train. If we miss our flight because of this, Alia, I swear..." 

Panic seized me. We ran, my lungs screaming in the thin air. We skidded into the bus stop, gasping. The digital display showed the next bus was in 15 minutes.

Sid slammed his hand against the post. "Damn it!" he shouted, the sound echoing in the quiet. He turned on me, his face a mask of fury and stress. "This is what I was trying to avoid! This exact situation! Do you get it now? Or is the fun snowman worth missing our flight and jeopardizing everything?"

Sid's head dropped back in disbelief. "Unbelievable."

I wheezed, half laughing, half dying. "It's fine! The next one's—"

"—in fifteen minutes," he finished, reading the schedule board. "We don't have fifteen minutes!"

He looked around, eyes scanning the street like a detective in crisis. Then his gaze stopped at the electric scooters parked for use.

"No," I said immediately, knowing what he was thinking. "Sid, no. I don't know how to ride that."

"You can learn fast."

"I'll die fast!"

 "Well, We don't have a choice. Get on."" he said, already scanning the code with his phone. A beep sounded.He looked at me, his face serious.

"I can't! I'll fall!"

"Okay, fine. Get on mine. I will take you," he said.

 I was so scared to ride the scooter by myself. But then he told me to get on his.This meant I would have to hold him very close. I would have to put my arms around him.

The idea made me very nervous but also excited. I did not know how to feel.We had no other way to go. So I decided I would just have to trust him.

"Alia, we are going to miss our flight because you wanted to build a snowman. I am not explaining that to Kabir. Get. On. The. Scooter."

The guilt was heavy. Swallowing my fear, I nodded. He got on and steadied the scooter. "Stand in front of me and hold on."

My heart, already pounding from running, went crazy for a new reason. I carefully stepped onto the scooter, standing in the small space between him and the handlebars. I was standing right in front of him. My back was so close to his chest.

The scooter jerked forward. I yelped and grabbed his forearms, holding on for dear life. We weaved down the path at a scary speed. My mind was a whirl of fear and guilt. This is all my fault. He hates me. He absolutely hates me.

"Ready?" His voice was close to my ear.

I just nodded.

He leaned more forward, his arms coming around me to hold the handles. He was caging me in. I was surrounded by him. I could smell his laundry detergent and the cold, clean scent of his skin. My breath caught. If I leaned back just a little, I would be touching him.

Oh my god. Oh my god. This is too much. I can't think. Don't think about how close he is. Don't think about his arms around you. Just breathe.

The scooter whirred to life and we moved forward. I let out a small scream and grabbed onto his arms. They were solid and strong. The wind rushed past us as we zipped down the path. It was scary, but also the most exciting moment of my life. I was this close to Sid, sharing a scooter, racing through the Swiss Alps. My mind was screaming. Don't focus on how warm he feels. Don't focus on how safe his arms make you feel. Just focus on not falling. But wow, he feels so strong.

Sid was focused, steering perfectly. "Which way at the turn?" he called over the wind.

I tried to get my phone with shaking hands. Just then, a buzzing sound started.

The scooter weaved dangerously, and my grip on Sid's arms tightened. The wind whipped tears from my eyes, a mix of fear and the sting of his anger.

Suddenly, a loud, insistent buzzing cut through the roar of the wind.

"That's my phone," Sid snapped, his body rigid with tension. "Get it. It's Kabir I guess. Tell him I'll call him back in ten."

My heart hammered. "Where is it?"

"Jeans back pocket. Right side. Just get it!"

His jeans back pocket. My face flushed hot. This was so much more intimate than the jacket pocket. Swallowing my panic, I released one hand from his arm, twisting awkwardly. I had to slide my gloved hand into the tight space between his back and the waistband of his jeans. I could feel the solid muscle of his hip through the denim. My fingers brushed against the hard outline of his phone.

"Hurry up!" he barked, making me jump.

I fumbled, finally yanking the phone free. The screen was wet with melted snow, the caller ID a blurry mess.I swiped to answer and pressed it to my ear.

"Hello!" I shouted, my voice strained over the wind. "Kabir, hi! Sid can't talk right now, we're in a bit of a... situation! He's a little... occupied and grumpy!"

I heard a soft, polite gasp on the other end. Then, a warm, feminine voice, laced with amusement, replied, "Oh! I'm so sorry to hear he's grumpy. May I ask who this is?"

My stomach dropped. That was not Kabir's voice. It was a woman's voice. She sounded kind and a little surprised.

In a panic, I pulled the phone away from my ear and finally looked at the screen. The caller ID, now clear, made my heart stop dead in my chest.

MOM.

"Oh, no," I whispered, the sound lost to the wind.

"What did he say?" Sid demanded, his tone impatient.

The scooter, the wind, the panic—it all faded into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. My blood ran cold. It was Sid's mother—the woman I'd secretly dreamed of impressing and told her he was "grumpy."

"Oh, my goodness! I am Alia, I'm so sorry, I thought you were Kabir! We're just... running for a train."I said to her

I mouthed, your mom, my eyes wide with sheer terror.

He froze for a second, the scooter swerving slightly before he corrected it. He let out a low groan that sounded like it came from the depths of his soul.

"Please, don't worry, Alia. It's lovely to 'meet' you, even under such... energetic circumstances. Should I call back later when my son is less... grumpy?"

"No! No, it's okay, he's right here," I said, my cheeks burning. "It's truly wonderful to talk to you. Here, I'll pass you to him."

I practically shoved the phone against his ear, wanting to disappear into the snowy streets. I had just made the most embarrassing mistake of my life, and we were still hurtling towards a train we might miss. This day could not get any worse.

The scooter raced on. I held Sid's phone tightly, my face still burning from talking to his mom. I felt so embarrassed.

Sid was clearly still angry, but he kept both hands firmly on the handlebars, driving safely. He couldn't take his phone back yet. So I just held it for him, feeling the weight of my mistake in my palm. The silence between us felt heavy and loud.

When the train station came into view, he finally stopped the scooter.

SAMAIRA POV:

Sometimes, I think about Salvatore Moretti more than I should. The man had power, money, and people who feared him and still, he ended up dead. Nobody knew who really did it or why. The official story was full of holes. Every time I dig deeper, I find one more lie.
And I'm not stopping until I find the truth.

That morning, though, the universe had other plans for me.

We got off the bus from university with  Hriday, Diya, and Aayush started walking home. It was the same road as always, quiet, filled with the smell of coffee and rain. I was halfway lost in my thoughts about the Moretti case when Hriday suddenly said, "So... café trip?"

Diya gasped dramatically beside him. "Yes! The café!"

I stopped in my tracks. "No."

Aayush looked at me with that annoying smirk of his. "So the café does exist."

I groaned. "You people have no life."

Diya looped her arm through mine. "Correction—we have a life. You're the one keeping secrets in it."

Hriday clapped his hands. "So what's the name of the café, Samaira?"

"None of your business," I muttered, picking up my pace.

But obviously, they followed. "Oh come on," Diya sang. "Just tell us!"

"Nope."

Aayush crossed his arms. "Then I'll guess."

I gave him a look. "You won't guess it."

He grinned. "Challenge accepted."

For the next five minutes, they threw random café names at me—"The Brew Spot," "Caffeine Dreams," "Mocha Magic," even "Espresso Yourself." I didn't react to any of them.

I did not reply

"We'll just get a coffee!Tell us" Diya added, not loosening her grip.

Aayush followed, looking both amused and apologetic. I was hopelessly outnumbered. The little bell above the door chimed as they practically dragged me inside.

I sighed, facepalming. "You guys are the worst."

Then Hriday squinted ahead. "Wait... isn't that the new one near the corner? The one with the brown sign and hanging lights?"

And there it was.

MORE.

The name gleamed in neat white letters across a wooden board, soft jazz leaking out through the glass windows. Warm lights glowed inside, and little plants hung from the ceiling like tiny green chandeliers.

Diya gasped. "Oh my god, it's beautiful!"

"No," I said immediately. "Nope. Don't even think—"

Too late.

Diya was already halfway across the street, her ponytail bouncing like excitement personified. Aayush followed, hands shoved in his pockets, trying not to smile. Hriday gave me a helpless shrug and jogged after them.

I stood there on the sidewalk, muttering, "Unbelievable," before stomping after them.

The bell above the café door gave a soft ding as we walked in.

But no one was in the cafe, no wokrers, no customers. Not a soul.

Music played softly from somewhere—something lazy and jazzy that almost made you forget time existed.

Diya turned in a slow circle, phone already out. "This place is so pretty! Look at this art!" She snapped photos like she was being paid for it.

Hriday walked up to one of the paintings. "These are good. Like, actually good. Who did them?"

Aayush leaned on the counter, frowning. "Where's the staff? Is this self-service or what?"

Diya giggled. "Stop! Oh my god, look at this one." She pointed at a framed sketch of a couple holding takeaway coffee cups under an umbrella. "So cute."

I rolled my eyes, but my gaze lingered. 

Hriday shouted toward the back, grinning like an idiot. "Hello? Is the famous Lucas here?"

"See? He's not even here. Can we go now?"

Silence. Then Diya, cupped her hands and yelled, "LUCAS!"

My whole body went stiff. I wanted the floor to open up and swallow me. This was a nightmare.

"I will kill you," I hissed at Diya, but it came out weirdly high-pitched and completely lacking menace. It sounded more like a threat from a cartoon villain than anything terrifying.

Diya laughed so hard she had to sit down on a nearby chair. "You say that every time, Sam. I know you don't mean it." She snapped another photo, because of course she did.

Just then, a door at the back of the café, one I hadn't even noticed, swung open.

And there he was.

Lucas.

He didn't look like he'd just been yelled for. He looked calm, like he'd just finished a thought. He was wiping his hands on a dark cloth, and there were a few smudges of paint on his forearm. His eyes found me first, of course, and that annoying, knowing little smile appeared on his face.

Then he looked at my friends.

"Well," he said, his voice smooth and easy. "I heard my fan club arrived. I didn't know it would be so... loud."

He walked behind the counter, tossing the cloth aside. His gaze swept over our group before landing back on me.

LUCAS POV:

I was in the back kitchen of my café, but it was not a normal day. The air felt heavy with the smell of coffee and our secret plans. My men were all around me. Marco was cleaning a gun behind the counter. 

"Franco will be at the warehouse on Friday night," Antonio said, his voice low and serious. "He thinks he is meeting a new business partner. He will have six men with him."

I nodded, looking at the map on the table. "Good. We will be waiting in the—"

Lorenzo interrupted me. He was not looking up from his pastries. "Do you think the chocolate swirl is too much?" he asked.

I stared at him. We were planning a man's murder, and he was worried about how the desserts looked.

"Sorry, boss," Lorenzo mumbled quietly.

"LUCAS!" the voice echoed.

Marco's hand moved to his gun. Antonio looked at the security screen on the wall. He tapped the screen.

"Boss," he said, his voice dry. "It is the same girl. The journalist, Samaira. She is back, and she has brought her friends with her now."

My second thought was different. She came back. She yelled for me.

Antonio looked at me. "Do you want us to make them leave? We can scare them away," he said.

I thought about it. 

"No," I said, my decision made. "I will handle this myself."

My men looked confused.

"But, boss—" Marco started to say.

"I will handle it," I repeated, my voice leaving no room for argument. "Everyone, act normal. Look normal."

I quickly took off my black jacket. I was wearing a simple grey t-shirt underneath. I needed to look harmless, like a normal barista.

I looked at Lorenzo, who was still covered in flour. "Lorenzo, your apron," I said.

He blinked, sending a little cloud of flour into the air. "My... apron, boss?" he asked.

"Yes. Give it to me. Now," I told him.

He quickly untied his white apron and handed it to me. I put it on over my t-shirt. I ran a hand through my hair to mess it up a little. I was trying to look like I had just been working in the kitchen, not planning a killing.

My men watched me, their faces a mix of amusement and disbelief. Marco had a small smile on his face. He knew what I was doing.

"What?" I snapped at him.

"Nothing, boss," he said, but his smile did not go away. "You look... very friendly."

I ignored him. I took a deep breath and pushed my shoulders down, trying to relax my body. I had to become the flirty, harmless barista again. Just for her.

I put on a big, easy smile. I leaned against the counter, making my voice sound light and playful.

"Well, hello," I said, letting my eyes find Samaira. She looked so annoyed, and I had to stop myself from smiling for real. "Did you miss me that much? You had to yell my name?"

Diya smiled sweetly. "Hi! We are Samaira's friends."

I leaned against the counter, grinning as Diya looked up at me. "So you're the one who yelled my name," I said, my tone light and teasing. "I heard you all the way from the kitchen. For a second, I thought something was on fire. But I guess you just wanted to see me, huh?"

Her cheeks turned pink, and she laughed softly. "I just wanted to see if you're as charming as Samaira says you are."

I raised an eyebrow and shot a quick look at Samaira. She looked like she regretted every word Diya just said. That only made me smirk wider. "Oh? So she talks about me?" I turned back to Diya. "Well, if I've got a reputation to live up to, I better not disappoint. I make great coffee... amazing art and apparently, I've got a smile worth staying for."

I flashed her my best one, the kind that usually worked like magic.

Diya giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "We'll see if that's true."

 Then I glanced toward Samaira, my tone dipping lower, more casual. "So,what can I get for you and your friends?"

"Four lattes," Diya said quickly.

"Good choice," I said, reaching for the milk jug. "You have good taste."

Hriday broke the quiet that followed. "Are you always this dramatic, or is it just when Samaira is around?" he asked.

I gave a little smirk. "I like keeping things interesting," I replied.

Diya giggled. "He is kind of charming," she said.

Aayush muttered under his breath, "He is kind of annoying."

I smiled at Diya's excitement. "Of course," I said. "I will make lattes for everyone. I will put a little design on top."

Diya clapped her hands. "Oh! Can we try to make the design? I would love to learn how!" she asked.

I hesitated for a second. My men were all still in the kitchen. Marco, Antonio, Lorenzo covered in flour... it looked like a gangster's baking show back there. But I could not say no without looking suspicious.

"Sure," I said, hoping my men would play along. "Come on back to the kitchen."

I led them all behind the counter and pushed the kitchen door open. My men were all there, trying to look normal. Lorenzo was scrubbing the flour off his face. Marco was pretending to be very interested in a bag of coffee beans. Antonio just stared, his arms crossed.

"Everyone, these are my... friends," I said to my men. I was choosing my words carefully. "They want to learn how to make latte art."

My men nodded, not saying a word. They looked very serious for people giving a cooking lesson.

"We are not your friends," Samaira said.

Her words hung in the air, a direct challenge to me. I saw Antonio's eyes get a little narrower. Marco's hand, which was still on the coffee bag, twitched. She has no idea how dangerous it is to talk to me like that in front of my men.

Hriday, who did not understand the situation, jumped in to make things better. He laughed, a nervous, high-pitched sound. "Do not mind her, man! She is just in a bad mood. She skipped her afternoon coffee." He nudged Samaira, but she did not even move, her cold stare fixed on me.

I forced myself to chuckle, but the sound felt empty even to me. "No problem. A good latte will fix that," I said. I turned my back to her, focusing on the coffee machine. I needed to finish this before one of my men decided to "handle" the situation themselves.

I showed Diya how to steam the milk, guiding her hand. She was giggly and excited, completely missing the dangerous feeling in the room. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aayush watching me closely, his face guarded. He was not believing my friendly act either.

Diya managed to pour a wobbly heart shape. "I did it!" she squealed, turning to Aayush. "Here, Aayush! Try it! I made it for you!"

He frowned. "You know I do not drink coffee," he said.

"It is not about the coffee," she said, pushing the cup gently toward him. "It is about trying something I made for you."

I had politely busied myself behind the counter, pretending not to notice, while Hriday mouthed to Samaira, "Should we step out?" She shook her head. Diya looked very determined.

Aayush sighed, finally taking the cup from her. He looked down at it, his eyes landing on the crooked heart floating on top. His lips twitched.

Aayush looked startled, then a faint blush crept up his neck. He took the cup from her, his fingers brushing against hers. "It is good," he mumbled, avoiding everyone's eyes