Heal the Heart

38.

I rushed to my spot near the window, cursing Brij for holding me back after class. He'd stopped me to tell me that he and the 'boys' were going to play pool later in the evening and that he was extending the invitation my way. I liked Brij, I did. He was a good guy and coworker who didn't ask too many questions and whose grandmother's Rasam was to die for. But I had better things to do with my Friday nights than hit balls with a stick.

Also, he could've asked me after our shift. We worked in the same fucking clinic, but no, he just had to cut short the already short break we had between classes and our rotations.

So, I was appropriately pissed when I found my seat occupied. By none other than that green-eyed devil who was slowly turning out to be the bane of my existence.

I dropped my sandwich on the table where Syamantak had his nose stuck in a fancy-looking laptop.

His eyes darted to my wrapped sandwich, then slowly reached up to meet my glare. The bastard smirked, slowly closed his laptop, and rested his chin on his knuckles.

"You're in my spot," I gritted out.

"Really?" he said and looked around him. "I don't see your name?"

"Are you trying to pick a fight?"

"Me? No."

I prayed to the heavens to restrain me from committing homicide. "For the nth time, what the fuck is your problem?"

"For the nth time," he mimicked, and I balled my fists to prevent myself from slapping him with a chair. "I don't have any problem."

I didn't have the time for this. I rounded the table and gripped the underside of his chair, pulling it away from the window. He yelped and shoved my shoulders. I ignored him. Once out of the way, I grabbed another chair from the behind table and sat on it, right under my sun. Basking under the brightness, I willed for the irritation to fade, I barely had forty minutes to myself before I had to slap on a smile and pretend all was good with the world.

"You could've told me to move," nosey fucker said, reaching across the table for his laptop.

"I did," I snapped.

"No. You just said I was in your spot."

Ignoring him again, I unwrapped my club sandwich and took one big bite from it, eyeing the barely nibbled croissant he was picking at.

"What do you want?" I asked when he didn't make any move to leave.

"I wanted to apologise." He cleared his throat and swallowed, turning in his seat to face me, resting his elbow on the backrest. "For freaking out and leaving yesterday. I promise I'm normal."

I continued to face forward, deliberately not meeting his eyes. That colour, for some reason, threw me off balance. That shade of green was not natural, it couldn't be. At least not when our heritage was concerned.

"That's nice of you," I said around a bite. "But you didn't have to. I don't know you, you don't know me. No harm done."

"No one calls me that anymore," he whispered, and I snuck a peek at him. His eyes were downcast, and his trimmed fingernails played with the edge of the laptop lid. "Syama. No one ever did." And then those eyes brimming with all his hidden emotions reached up to tighten the noose around my neck. "Except him."

I looked away. This was what I'd avoided all these years. Someone thinking they could get close enough to see what was inside. So, I ignored his presence beside me that said he thought I was a good guy. That said he could use one of those in his life.