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I frown, puzzled. “But you already asked me everything. I’ve given you all the details about my clients and my daily routine.”

He shakes his head. “That was business. Now, we need to discuss about personal stuff—your friends, the people who are close to you.”

I sigh, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over me. But more than tiredness, it’s the underlying tension, the fear of something that makes me want to discourage him from encroaching into my home and personal space.

“I’m really tired today, Vishnu. Can we do this some other time? Like tomorrow morning when we drive to the boutique again?”

“Why not now?” he insists. “What’s the problem with discussing it inside your house?”

I hesitate, unsure how to respond. He seems to sense my reluctance and adds, “Do you have any other plans? Is someone coming over?”

His implication is clear—he’s wondering if the father of my child will be dropping by. Ever since Vishnu learned about my son, he surprisingly hasn’t asked much about him or the man who fathered him.

I remain silent, and as if reading between the lines, Vishnu reassures me, “Don’t worry. I won’t take much of your time.”

Not wanting to raise his suspicions, I reluctantly agree, and we step into my apartment. As we enter, Claire greets us, her surprise evident at seeing Vishnu with me again. Before I can speak, Claire informs me that my baby is sleeping peacefully and has had his meal.

“Thank you, Claire,” I reply, grateful for her support.

Claire turns to Vishnu with a polite smile. “Can I get you something to drink or eat?”

He shakes his head, declining politely. I remember how Vishnu never eats or drinks anything when he’s on duty—a sign of his unwavering focus.

“Very well then,” Claire turns back to me and asks. “You want me to stay for some more time?”

“Oh, no, Claire. I’ll be fine. Tuesdays are the only days you get to meet your family. I don’t want you to change your plans for me.”

She smiles and tells me to call her if I need her to come back soon, and then she leaves for home.

“I’m going to fix myself a sandwich,” I tell Vishnu, who is still watching Claire as she leaves. “I’ll make one for you too.”

“It’s not necessary. I’m good.”

“You may be good, but I don’t let people protecting my life starve.”

He doesn’t argue this time, just gives me a slight nod. I make my way down the hall to the bathroom first.

I splash some cool water on my face and catch my reflection in the mirror. My eyes are tired, but more than that, there’s fear in them. I can’t let Vishnu stay here for too long. Taking a few deep breaths, I try to shake off the anxiety and head back to the kitchen. I open the refrigerator and pull out the ingredients for the sandwiches. I assume Vishnu is in the living room, but the familiar prickling sensation on the back of my neck tells me otherwise. I glance up and see him standing in the doorway, watching me with those intense eyes of his.

The sensation of him watching me silently like that makes my skin tingle, but I try to focus on slicing the bread and laying out the ingredients. I remind myself to act cool and unaffected, even though his presence wreaks havoc with my mind and heart.

Vishnu steps inside, moving with a confidence that makes it seem like he owns the place. His gaze sweeps around the kitchen before settling on me.

“So, tell me about Claire,” he says, curious about her role in my life. His voice is steady, but I can sense the underlying suspicion, his desire to make sure that everyone around me is trustworthy.

“She’s been with me since I moved to New York,” I say, focusing on spreading the mayo on the bread. “It’s been about eighteen months now. She’s seen me through a lot, and I trust her completely.”

I can feel his eyes on me as I slice the tomatoes and layer them on the bread. “How did you meet?”

“A friend recommended her,” I reply, trying to keep my voice casual. “She needed a job, and I needed someone I could rely on. It worked out perfectly.”

Vishnu nods, but I can see he’s still processing the information.

“What about her background?” he asks, stepping closer. His curiosity is relentless, his need for getting the facts obvious.

“She’s from upstate New York and came to the city for work,” I explain, adding the cheese and lettuce. “I’ve met her family a few times—they’re good people. Claire’s been a godsend, really.”

His brow furrows slightly, as if weighing my words against some internal scale. “And she’s the only one you trust to look after your son?”