“My father. Towards the end of his life.”
Aditi watched him for a half a second before she inquired, “And your mother?”
“Not so much.”
Maybe she saw something in his face because she didn’t push for more answers.
“How did you learn to haggle like that?” She sipped on the cool drink he’d paired with their meal, no indication given that she'd diverted the conversation for his sake.
“Had to save money when I was starting the restaurant so I'd go haggle at the docks for cheap veggies.” His lips tilted up in the barest hint of a smile, memories of those early mornings still fresh in his mind. “Money was tight. Taught me things.”
“I wouldn’t have guessed that,” she said. “I thought you came from old money.”
“All that belonged to my father. And it's passed to my mother. But I’ll admit, I was able to get loans because of my name. And I had a trust fund to lean on in case something went awry. Thankfully, I haven’t had to touch it.”
“So, you are self-made.”
He tipped his chin, saying nothing else. He popped the last piece of his sandwich into his mouth, licking the sauce of his thumb. He knew that most people assumed he had generational wealth to fall back on if his business failed, or worse still, that his success had been purchased because he had connections.
Rian had worked independently—and very hard—to earn every bit of the life he enjoyed today. Somehow, letting Aditi think otherwise felt unacceptable to him, which was odd because he had long since stopped wanting people to acknowledge his efforts.
Aditi pushed her plate away, done with her meal. She wiped her hands on her napkin as Rian placed a few fresh bills out as a tip for the server.
“You know,” she said as they began the trek back towards their parked car, “I was pleasantly surprised by your apartment when I first came to this city.”
He raised a brow, saying nothing.
“It is beautiful. You must be very successful if you managed to purchase that without family money.”
“I still have debts to pay off, but yes,” Rian admitted, “I've done well.”
“I fully thought I'd be coming to one of those crazy rich mansions facing the sea,” she said, settling into the passenger seat. They pulled onto the road, the traffic ever-present.
“Disappointed?”
Aditi chuckled, shaking her head. “No. Your home feels comfortable. Like a pair of pyjamas that I've worn many times but still reach for instead of something new.”
Of all the compliments he had received, he couldn’t place a finger on why this felt so right.
“What’s next for Iron Chef Shetty, then?” she prodded.
“I’m not an Iron Chef.”
“Is that what you want to be?”
“I want to start a culinary school.” Rian surprised himself by admitting this. He hadn’t told anyone. Not Nanamma, not Kaya, not Arjun, nor Vihaan, whom he’d grown to have good friendships with.
But for some reason, he wanted to tell Aditi. It was easy to tell her things.
“A school?”
“Yeah. Maybe fund some of the underprivileged. Give them a path for a career, a stable future.”
“Sounds like a lot of work,” she commented, her eyes tracing Rian’s side profile.
“I’m not afraid of hard work,” he said. The look of approval on her facewarmed him.
“Well, if you need help. . .”