With love, Sunshine

1. no one knows

My phone pings with another notification, making me snap my attention away from the laptop screen on the table. Another email from my publisher. Heart racing, I brace myself to read the subject. 

About Your Next Book 

The smell of Nutella and waffles wafts in the surrounding air, the bustle of rush hour in Sunroom Cafe providing a background tune to my dull life. Four words are enough to make my hands sweat profusely. Not because I am struggling to complete my book. Well, I am. But it is the ending. I should be able to complete it this week. No. My struggle has nothing to do with writing. 

My publisher has been trying to get me on a video call for months. We cannot continue this campaign without an author photograph. That is the opening sentence of the email. My stomach tightens. This should never have happened. Three years ago, when my first romance novel got published, the publisher agreed to keep my identity anonymous. 

That was before the book, 'Paper Hearts', became a bestseller. Since then, every attempt from the marketing department has included one undercurrent: my identity. 

Your readers want to see you.

The festival wants a face.

The book launch will perform better.

My response has always been the same. No. Taking a deep breath, I set my phone aside to focus on the ending. Lately, I've been too fed up with the happily ever after idea. I started writing this one to give it an open, bittersweet ending. I hope my agent, Lara, and editor, Jennie, approve of this. 

Since I started writing full time two years ago, leaving my career in IT behind, I've spent each day holed up by this corner table at the far end of the cafe. It has got a warm, cosy vibe with teak wood tables and chairs; a bookshelf beside my table with great classics and modern books alike; my favourite barista, Maya, who almost always gives me free cookies with my usual hazelnut latte; and the best 'I am almost social but not quite' thing. 

Cold Delhi air whooshes past me as the back door close to my table opens. Weird. Mostly staff use this one, and with the crowd gathering up front by the counters, I doubt anyone here has time to take a break. Shrugging, I type.

He smiled at her like– 

Delete. Why is this ending giving me so much pain? Right as I am about to close my laptop and usher Maya to order another waffle, a voice interrupts me.

"Are you working?" 

I look up to find a pair of umber eyes staring at me. This man dressed in a simple chequered green shirt and blue pants seems cheery, if the ear-to-ear smile is anything to go by. 

"Do I know you?" I frown. One brow quirked up as my mouth forms a thin line. 

"This is the only free chair. Mind if I sit? Didn't wanna disturb your work." The smile never falters from his face. 

I crane my neck to take a better look. He's holding a coffee and a bag in his hands. Dimples are visible prominently, eyes sharp with focus even as wrinkles appear because of smiling too much. Maya knows not to allow anyone near my table. Maybe there really is no space. Sighing, I nod. 

He sets his coffee opposite my laptop and slides onto the chair, his bag set next to the coffee. I do not wish to talk or even order when table-sharing. 

Outside the cafe window, rain has turned the street into a watercolour painting. People hurry past under umbrellas, shoulders hunched against the downpour. 

"You still did not answer my question, you know," the man says. He then sips on his coffee. I do not owe him answers. 

"What?" My voice comes out strained.

"You working?" His tone remains light and friendly. Dimples. Gods. How can anyone smile so much?

"No," I say sharply, gaze returning to my laptop.

"That is unfortunate." 

What a weirdo. Why can't he let this conversation go? The last thing I enjoy is socialising. "Why?" I ask, instinctively. Looking at him, I notice how his eyes shine while he speaks, a relaxed posture with his back resting against the chair opposite me. He is so comfortable talking. 

"You are clearly working." Even though he is correct, I would much rather he stayed mum. The last thing I need is to tell a random stranger what no one except my parents and colleagues knows. 

Under my pen name, Amoh, my books have sparked fanfics. People have tattooed quotes from my books on their ribs. There are fan accounts dedicated to my fictional couples. Someone once made a twelve-minute video explaining why one of my heroines had an avoidant attachment style. I watched it. It was unsettlingly accurate. I also read the comments.

I NEED TO KNOW WHAT SHE LOOKS LIKE.

Why won't she show her face?

Imagine being this famous and refusing to interact with your readers.

She's probably some eighty-year-old man.

That one had made me laugh. My publisher hadn't found it funny. Shrugging myself out of my thoughts, I reply sharply, "I am not."

His smile still in place, he shuffles his feet under the table. Setting his coffee down, he looks at me, his hand outstretched. "I'm Karan."

I stare at him. He waits. I speak up. "Congratulations." With that, I return to typing aggressively on my laptop.

"You're funny," he says, a small chuckle escaping him. "Are you a writer, by any chance?" 

His question makes me freeze. He does not need to know.

"No."

I type one sentence. He opens his bag. I notice from the corner of my eye the very huge rainbow sparkles on a doughnut that he takes out. 

As I type another sentence, he takes a bite and chews loudly. I take a deep breath. Deleting both sentences, I am about to contemplate my life choices when he speaks up again.

"You always this friendly?" His voice remains cheery, his eyes on me. 

I look at him, my expression dead serious. "I'm being exceptionally welcoming today."

He smiles, his doughnut finished. "Good to know." That cheeky grin irks me. There should be a limit to how cheery a person can be before noon. 

I continue typing on my laptop.

"What are you writing?" 

His question makes my hand freeze mid-air. "Grocery list."

"That is one aggressively long grocery list." He smirks.

I shrug, my gaze focused on my laptop. How much longer is he gonna sit there? That is when my phone pings again. One text.

CALL ME. 

My breath hitches. Jennie texting me is never good news, especially in this context. 

"What's on it?" He quirks an eyebrow as he looks at me.

"Milk." My words almost sound like a question.

"Very convincing." He smiles again. "See you soon, Sunshine." He gets up, giving me a smile before walking away.

Just then, Maya slides onto the same chair he occupied moments ago. "His company is organising the fundraiser here next Monday. I heard he is in charge of the whole thing. What did he talk to you about?"

Her curious dark eyes look inquisitively at me as she rubs her hands on her apron to get rid of the crumbs. I let her words sink in. I need to see this man every day for a week. Fuck my life.