Hello, Mr. Major General (1)

Chapter 109 - Don't Copy Me

In the evening, Rashmi swung by in her car to pick them up for dinner.

Rohit did not go; he wanted to keep all interaction with Shehnaaz’s teachers and students to a minimum. He came up with an excuse about meeting up with his friends, and told Shehnaaz to go to dinner with Brother Khatri.

When they were seated inside the car, Rashmi noticed that Rohit wasn’t with them. She asked, “Sana, where’s your guardian? He’s welcome to join us.”

“That’s okay, he has stuff to do, too. He has so many friends here, he’s been flooded with dinner invites since arriving in America. He’s so much more popular than I am.” Shehnaaz
laughed lightly as she placed the gift box she had brought with her next to her feet.

Brother Khatri saw the gift box, and smacked his forehead.

“Oh duh! I forgot my present. Can you wait here? I’ll run up and get it.”

Rashmi had already started the car. “No, don’t worry about it. Let’s have dinner, your present can wait.”

Shehnaaz and Brother Khatri sat in the back. They stared curiously at the Boston suburbs, taking in the summer scenery.

It was nearly evening, and the heat from the sun had dissipated. There was a gentle breeze in the air. The road was flanked by large, leafy trees. There were grass lawns, climbing vines, and flowers of all colors everywhere.

They left the car windows open as they drove along the small road.

A breeze entered the car, carrying with it a hint of the summer sun and the subtle scent of flowers.

There was a magnificent sunset, hanging low on the horizon. The air was full of the fragrance of beautiful
flowers.

Shehnaaz took a deep breath. She closed her eyes and relaxed, savoring the fresh air and the scents and sounds of summer.

Rashmi brought them to Four Seasons, an Italian fast-casual restaurant.

There was no such thing as “American cuisine”—unless you counted hot dogs and barbecue…

The high-end, fine dining restaurants in America were all either French or Italian restaurants.

British cuisine was considered lowbrow in America, not worthy of being served in proper restaurants.

Four Seasons was an Italian restaurant, but it was decidedly not a high-end restaurant. It was just an ordinary chain restaurant that was famous only because it was
everywhere. Still, it was a little bit classier than a fast food joint.

When they entered the restaurant, Kartik was already seated at a table.

Their table was next to a window in the large restaurant hall. It was only a small table meant for a party of four, not a private room.

The rectangular dining table was sandwiched on both sides by two-seater sofas.

Kartik wore a snug, light blue shirt. His black trousers were smooth, straight, and entirely devoid of wrinkles.

One arm was casually laid out on the table, the cuffs turned up to reveal a Patek Philippe Platinum watch.

Shehnaaz’s sharp eyes spotted the inscription on the platinum dial: “Made especially for K. Sen” and “Geneva
Observatory Bulletin No. 12″…

This was the famous Patek Philippe Platinum Geneva Observatory watch!

And it had been custom-made for Kartik.

Shehnaaz clucked her tongue. That watch was worth at least 10 million dollars.

Was Professor Sen in the habit of carrying his entire family fortune on him, wherever he went?