Rich Man, Simple Love

Chapter 2 : The return

The morning air carried a softness that clung to Alya’s skin like dew. She adjusted the basket against her hip, careful not to spill the bundle of vegetables her mother had picked the evening before. Her feet traced the familiar earth path, still damp from last night’s drizzle. Every sound was magnified in the quiet birds rustling among the coconut trees, the occasional bleating of goats tied near the fences, and her own breathing, steady but heavier than usual.

It was supposed to be another ordinary day.

The market. The chatter of neighbors. The careful exchange of coins.

But as she turned the corner that led to the wooden bridge, the sight waiting for her stole the rhythm of her steps.

The black car was back.

It gleamed faintly under the pale morning sun, its polished surface already kissed by dust from the village road. The same stranger leaned against the driver’s door, hands tucked in his trouser pockets, his gaze fixed on something in the distance until it landed on her.

Alya’s stomach tightened.

Why here again?

She slowed, her fingers gripping the basket tighter. The strap dug into her palm, grounding her as she forced her eyes down. She told herself to walk past him, to pretend he was part of the scenery, like the river or the trees. But his presence was not something that could be ignored. He was too sharply drawn, too out of place in this world of mud and wooden houses.

“Good morning,” he greeted, his voice even lower in the morning hush, carrying across the space between them.

Alya’s steps faltered, just slightly. She didn’t want to respond, didn’t want to give him anything more than she already had yesterday. But her manners, ingrained since childhood, betrayed her again.

“Morning,” she murmured, her tone clipped, her gaze fixed firmly on the ground.

He didn’t move at first. Just watched her, as though trying to read the guarded curve of her shoulders, the quick pace of her feet. Then, with a small push away from the car, he fell into step beside her.

Alya’s heart lurched. She almost told him to stop, but words tangled in her throat.

“I was hoping I’d see you,” he said lightly, as though they were old acquaintances.

“You shouldn’t.” The words escaped sharper than intended, but her face burned.

He chuckled softly, the sound deep and unhurried. “Then I suppose I should apologize for showing up where I’m not wanted.”

Silence stretched between them, thick with her resistance and his patience.

At the edge of the market, villagers were already gathering. Women arranged vegetables in neat piles, men discussed the weather and harvest, children darted between stalls with laughter spilling from their lips. It was life as usual except every pair of eyes seemed to flicker toward the stranger walking beside Alya.

Whispers rippled almost instantly.

“That’s the city man from yesterday.”

“He came back?”

“Why’s he walking with Alya?”

Heat crawled up Alya’s neck. She wanted to disappear, to sink into the ground. Her steps quickened, but Adrian matched her pace easily, his long strides effortless.

At Mak Som’s stall, he stopped first, plucking a mango from the pile and turning it in his hand. “These look fresh,” he said, his tone casual but his eyes flicking toward Alya as if measuring her reaction.

Mak Som’s eyes twinkled with a knowing mischief. “Fresh from my orchard, sir. You have good taste. Not many city folk can tell the difference.”

Adrian’s lips curved slightly. “Maybe I’m learning.”

The exchange drew more curious glances. Alya could feel them like thorns against her skin. She placed her vegetables quickly on the next stall and muttered the price under her breath. Anything to end this, to slip away unseen.

But she wasn’t invisible anymore.

“Ah, Alya,” Mak Som called with a teasing lilt. “Looks like you’ve made a new friend.”

Alya’s head snapped up, eyes wide. “He’s not” she started, but her voice tangled in embarrassment.

Adrian’s brow lifted, amusement flickering in his eyes. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t correct, only let the silence speak for itself.

When Alya finally escaped the stall, her basket heavier with new purchases, she caught him waiting near the corner, leaning casually as though he had all the time in the world.

“You didn’t have to wait,” she said sharply, trying to mask the quickening of her pulse.

“Maybe I wanted to,” he answered, his tone soft but steady. “Or maybe… I wanted to walk with you again.”

Her chest tightened. Dangerous words. Too dangerous. She turned away before her resolve cracked, quickening her steps toward home. But no matter how fast she walked, she couldn’t outrun the sound of whispers chasing her back.