Love, Lies & Lattes

The weekend arrived with a bitter chill in the air—fitting, Kiara thought, considering the frost that now defined her dynamic with Rohan. He hadn’t returned to Brew-tiful Days since their argument, and she certainly hadn’t stepped foot near Espresso Empire. It was as though an invisible line had been drawn across the street, and neither of them dared cross it.

The neighborhood, however, didn’t seem to mind the tension. If anything, it fed on it.

A group of university students sat in her café, whispering and giggling as they pointed at Espresso Empire across the road.

“I swear, this is better than Netflix,” one of them said, loud enough for Kiara to hear. “Coffee Wars, Delhi Edition.”

Kiara rolled her eyes but forced a polite smile as she handed them their drinks. The comment stuck with her longer than she cared to admit.

Later that day, Meera found her rearranging the bakery display for the third time in an hour.

"You're spiraling," Meera said bluntly.

"I'm organizing," Kiara replied without looking up.

"You're angry, restless, and avoiding eye contact with every customer who mentions him."

Kiara finally glanced at her, defensive. "I'm fine."

"No, you're avoiding the fact that you don’t actually know what you're angry about anymore."

Kiara opened her mouth to respond but said nothing. The truth of Meera’s words stung more than she'd expected.

Later that night, at home, she scrolled through social media mindlessly—until she saw it.

A video clip, grainy but clear enough: Rohan standing outside Brew-tiful Days late at night, looking up at the café, then turning away.

The caption read:

"Caught: Espresso Empire’s CEO checking out the competition after hours? 👀 #CaféWars #EspressoVsBrewtiful"

Kiara stared at the screen, frowning. The video was only a few seconds long, but it struck her like a slap. He had been there—quietly, silently—without confrontation. Without gloating. Without a word.

She set the phone down slowly, unsettled.

That night, sleep didn’t come easily. Not because she regretted anything, and certainly not because she felt guilty—but because, for the first time in days, she wasn’t sure what this was anymore. Not just the rivalry. Not just the anger.

Something else was creeping in, quieter, harder to name.

And that scared her more than any critic’s review ever could.