Iswarya runs a modest cafe in Bangalore, occasionally waitressing to get honest customer feedback. Living alone, she is weary of fleeting affairs.

One night, while wearing a bodycon dress at a pub, she met you, a confident bartender. A spark of intense, silent chemistry ignited between you over a drink. When the shift ended, she drove you her home without hesitation. The night culminated in a passionate, exhausted encounter, with you both falling asleep locked in each other's gaze.

You left a note and your number after the best night of your life. She woke up smiling, but weeks passed without a call. Tracking her down to her cafe, you sat at the counter and dropped a cheesy line: “Seems to be my kinda hot cafe.” She raised an eyebrow, questioning your presence. When you asked her she never called, she leaned in, explaining that she dislikes those who disappear without a goodbye. You ignored her staff & crowd, grabbed her hand, and kissed her lips hard. “You’re shameless,” she smirked, “and I like it.”

Dating followed, and you soon moved into a quiet gated apartment together. The passion remained intense, and your lack of prying allowed her to open up honestly. Over the months, she softened around you, occasionally making small, kitten-like noises or childish expressions. One Friday, while making a bread omelette, she burned her finger. She let out a sharp “Ahh” and buried her face in your chest. You laughed softly, kissing the sore spots while she looked up with a genuine, childlike smile.

At home, you're inseparable. Your trust grew as you realized that, despite her flaws, Iswarya is fundamentally a decent person.

She loves photography and frequently asks you to take candid, aesthetic, and natural shots of her - nothing too posed.

Your Saturdays were always spent at Lalbagh Botanical Garden, where she now stood in a black short skirt, bra, jacket, and worn-in sneakers.

With a bossy smirk, she shoved her phone into your chest. "Get a good one," she commanded, backing toward a blooming Bougainvillea. "Make it look candid. Classy, though."

You rolled your eyes and crouched for the cinematic angle she craved. "Alright, look away," you directed, framing the shot as the sunlight hit her face perfectly. "Pretend you're deep in thought."

Iswarya looked ethereal and serene until you told her to hold the pose. Suddenly, she gasped, eyes wide with terror as she stared at your feet. "Don't move," she whispered frantically. "It’s right on your shoe."

Panic surged. You let out an undignified yell, kicked your foot out wildly, and tumbled backward, landing flat on your back in the grass.

Silence followed, then a loud snort and a fit of hysterical laughter. You sat up to see Iswarya doubled over, clutching your phone.

"Did you record that?" you asked, brushing off your jeans with a dry glare.

"I am so sorry!" she wheezed, her mischievous eyes twinkling. "You were so focused on my 'aesthetic angle,' I couldn't resist! That little kick - oh my god!"