His Anaa | Blinded By Love

🥀 Seven • Bejeweled 🥀

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Best believe I'm still bejeweled

When I walk in the room

I can still make the whole place shimmer

And when I meet the band

They ask, "Do you have a man?"

I can still say, "I don't remember"

Familiarity breeds contempt

Don't put me in the basement

When I want the penthouse of your heart

Diamonds in my eyes

I polish up real, I polish up real nice

Nice
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The next morning, Raghbir woke up pretty late. Angana was absent but the fragrance of her perfume was lingering in the room. He yawned and got up from the bed. Walking into the bathroom, he had just picked his toothbrush when he saw a faint lipstick mark on his cheek. That made him smile. And suddenly he didn't feel grim or lazy anymore. The smile remained on his face as he brushed his teeth and then stepped into the shower panel. He was applying body wash on his body when he felt as if he was being watched. But he didn't give it much thought. It was either his mind tricking him or it was Angana watching him. Servants would never dare to enter the bedroom when he was inside. Angana had made it clear to them that if they enter the room when he is present inside, they will lose their jobs immediately. So he relaxed and took a long shower.

He dressed up in a navy blue suit and headed downstairs. The middle-aged maid set the breakfast for him.

“Where is Angana?” He asked while taking his seat.

“Sir, she left for Delhi in the morning.” That confused him. He did feel someone's presence when he was in shower.

“She left for Delhi? But I felt like she was in the bedroom earlier.” He spoke, confused.

“She left around six in the morning saying she has an urgent meeting. You must have mistaken.”  The maid told and poured him orange juice in a glass.

Raghbir couldn't help but feel alarmed. If it wasn't Angana, then who could it be? Or maybe he just imagined it?

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Angana entered her parents' residence in Delhi. Her mother was anxious to know that she has resigned from the party and told her to come to meet her immediately. Angana took the first flight and arrived in Delhi.

She was nervous, to say the least. Her parents were sitting in the living hall. Her mother, being the prime minister, had to live in the official residence of the prime minister. But she sometimes stayed at the house her father had bought when he permanently shifted to Delhi.

Angana greeted them, “Good morning, Mom and Dad.” And she took her seat on the couch.

“Angana, how are you doing?” Her father asked her softly.

“I'm doing good, Dad.” She smiled.

“How's Raghbir doing?” Her mother asked. The tone of her question told how unpleasant her mood was.