Not A Simple Engineer Boy! | ✓

059 • strength coefficient | two

Instagram- suganthii.writes

Spotify- suganthii.writes

Scrollstck- Suganthi Lakshminarayanan

---

❣ vote. share. comment ❣

"So, I take it your father's an asshole." Xavier's voice cut through the silence like a blade, sharp and deliberate, as she fixed her gaze on the glowing moon, desperate to anchor her thoughts elsewhere.

Oh, as if you fucking care!

She had braced herself for a long, uneventful ride. No conversation. Just quiet, suffocating peace. That would've been better—far better—because Xavier's cheerful facade belonged to everyone else, never to her. With her? He was cold, distant, like she was the dirt beneath his pristine boots. Wasn't she the one he hated to even look at?

"Ah, Muruga! Are we really going to dig through my past the entire way?" she snapped, voice laced with venom. "Why should I even bother answering you?"

Silence.

She wanted to turn, wanted to glare into his face, to peel back whatever twisted thoughts simmered beneath his too-calm exterior. But no. She forced her eyes to the cloud drifting lazily across the moon.

"Two kisses," Xavier murmured, voice a low hum, "and yet you act like my existence burns you like acid. I don't understand, sweetheart."

"You don't need to," she replied, her voice tight, a fortress of restraint. "There's plenty more to worry about, and I should be the last of your concerns. And drop the endearment—it's wildly inappropriate."

"What? Sweetheart?" His chuckle was slow, deliberate, and irritatingly smug. "So fucking feisty. Must be that Tamizh Thimiru in your blood."

"Don't you dare judge me," she shot back, heat flaring in her chest, threatening to consume her to be called an 'Audacious Fool'. "I'm not exactly fond of being insulted on repeat."

Then she felt it—his hand.

It rested on her leg, just above her knee, firm but not forceful. Even through the thick denim of her jeans, the weight of his touch sent a shiver racing up her spine. Her heart, damn traitor, sprinted toward ruin. His hand moved slowly, torturously, creeping higher up her thigh.

Oh.

Her breath hitched, lips pressing together in a desperate bid to keep the betraying moan locked away.

"It was a compliment, sweetheart." His voice had softened, silky smooth, weaving around her like a velvet noose. She glanced at him. He wasn't looking at her—no, he was staring ahead, eyes glued to the road as if none of this was happening. "I admire your confidence. You've got a spine, and you stand up for what you want. That's rare. And it deserves appreciation."

She said nothing, unsure if her silence was defiance or surrender.

"I pity your father," he continued, and each word weighed heavier on her heart, "for not seeing the gem of a daughter he has. Sweetheart, you're worth more than he could ever dream of."

Every guarded piece of her splintered.

Every night, she had fought against the urge to want him, crave him. Every waking moment, she had shoved those dangerous thoughts into dark corners of her mind. But now, hearing him, seeing the softness in him—it was too much. Then and there, she saw Xavier as a man with a heart- gentle as a feather- who cared about her, and she didn't want to savor it. It was bloody destructive.

Her eyes blurred with tears she refused to shed. "Whatever," she muttered, forcing her voice to sound flat, indifferent. She turned to stare straight ahead, willing herself to dissolve into the quiet.

"I don't know what you think of me," he muttered, softer now, almost unsure. "And you probably won't tell me. But I want you to know I'm not a monster. I do care."

"Fucking care?" She swatted his hand off her thigh with more force than necessary, her voice cracking like thunder. "You don't need to lie! Thanks for the shower of indifference. You've ignored me for days, and that speaks louder than any bullshit words! Go laugh, dance, whatever, with all your subordinates, because why the fuck should I care!?"

Shit. She had said too much.

A slap to her own face might've stung less than what she had just confessed.

She hadn't meant to spill it all—her bubbling anger, the bitterness that had festered. But it poured out like venom, raw and unfiltered.

Yes, it had deeply annoyed her to know that he was a different—perhaps a happier—version of himself with others, but had carefully shunned her out of it, completely ignoring her presence. Meanwhile, she dreamt about him every fucking day and night. Yes, she had tried to drop her expectations, but there was a constant nag in her mind.

Initially, she had felt nothing, but slowly it had crept under her skin, eating away at her thoughts, her subconscious sobbing with the image of him.

She had dismissed her selective bitchiness as a sign of her impending menstrual cycle—Aunt Flo brought enough mood swings. Being a woman wasn't easy, and being a woman in her prime with hormonal fuckups was the toughest.

But now, her outburst made her realize it wasn't her hormones. It was him—his attitude, his completely shitty, apathetic perspective toward her—that had upset her. It was he who had made her involuntarily cry a few times during the nights.

And now, she had laid it bare for him, like a fucking clown wearing her heart on her sleeve.

The car screeched to a stop.

Do tell me what you feel about this and the upcoming chapters, always open to positive criticism.