Yours insanely

16.Wrap his heart up

"Someone's here to see you," Ishan said as soon as Shubman walked inside the mansion.

"I don't have time for a 'someone,'" he said bluntly as the duo walked through the hallway.

"He said it's about Y/n," the older one replied and he paused briefly before nodding.

As soon as Shubman and Ishan walked inside his office, the person waiting for him was sent in too.

It was a police officer, of a rank that his organization did not have direct connections to.

He gestured for him to start talking.

"Ma'am came to the police station this afternoon," the officer started. "She gave this complaint." A small file was placed on the table. "I made sure she was sent with all due respect."

Shubman took the file from his table with no expression on his face, reading it.

"And the man is outside," he added.

Ishan noticed the expression on his best friend's face and understood that this meant only one thing.

"Robin," he called loudly and the young man walked inside. "Send this officer off with something, and there's a man waiting outside. Take him to the basement."

All Shubman did was slam the file on the table before he stormed out of the room.

Ishan followed him to the basement, more specifically the torture chamber, where a terrified middle aged man was left standing, surrounded by a few other men.

He didn't know what made the younger one so furious that it looked like his jaw could break just by the way he was clenching it.

But he knew this called for torture and looked at the table that had numerous tools spread across and behind.

Brazen bull using which bones can be crushed and made into bracelets, iron maiden, the pear of anguish for the throat, the rack, the breaking wheel.

All methods of torture ranging from the prehistoric period to the most recently invented, to inflict maximum pain and suffering.

"So there's a Heretics' fork from the middle ages, an icicle, thumbscrew, head crusher-"

Ishan stopped on his words as a gunshot echoed through the basement.

He turned around and found the man on the floor with a hole in his forehead.

"What the hell?" He asked. "What about torture time?"

"He doesn't have that privilege," Shubman said coldly. "He didn't deserve another second to live."

He wiped the blood off his cheek as he threw the gun away to one of his men.

"Throw his corpse in the middle of the road," he said before walking away.

Time skip to the next morning~

You didn't go to the convenience store in the morning.

After having breakfast at the diner, you returned home again, deciding to unpack a few things.

You only kept your clothes in the cupboard. Everything else went to the ceiling-height cabinets in the bedroom.

Using a chair from the storeroom-for-a-kitchen, you climbed on top of it and managed to get the duffle bag.

You threw it over your shoulder and it fell to the bed, making you cough a little because of all the dust.

Getting off the chair, you sat in the middle of the bed, unzipping the bag.

You had your sketchbooks in it, along with art supplies you hadn't touched in months, also all your other ID, your old phone and its charger.

All you needed was a phone number. You concluded after an internal debate that before leaving to the café, you'll buy one.

-

"How do you always manage to be here only when I've finished dinner?" You asked as soon as you were near Shubman.

"You always take only twenty minutes or less," he said, holding out another box of chocolates.

"Is this becoming a routine now?" You asked while also accepting the confectionery.

The words Debauve & Gallais were on top of the box and you knew it was French. It was your second language in high school.

And I'll let you in on something. What Shubman gave you was a collection of 35 prehistoric chocolates, costing 550. In dollars.

"You don't always have to bring me something, you know," you mumbled, having a staring contest with your shoes.

Ferrero was something you were used to from childhood.

Anything else was just too much for you when you literally did nothing.

"If I could wrap my heart up, dear, I will do it gladly and give it to you," Shubman said, unfeigned. "But I'll keep it beating so that we can live interminably happy years together."

And he said that with such emotion in his eyes that you found yourself gawking at him for a long time.

"Baby," he called and you blinked.

"Yeah," you said, covering up your bashfulness with a subtle cough, placing the chocolates in your backpack. "Let's start walking," you turned around.

Plus, you've not yet realized that you're responding every time Shubman calls you 'baby.' For a long time now.

You were still astonished by the fact that his car behind was being driven at less than 3 mph.

No words were exchanged as you walked to your house. Just a comfortable silence enveloping you both.

"I almost forgot," you mumbled to yourself once you stopped at the familiar sight of bougainvillea. "You don't have my phone number, right?"

You fumbled with your backpack before taking your phone out.

"I just bought one today," you said while unlocking your phone.

He already knew, by the way.

"Wanna save it?" You asked and Shubman nodded, though he had already memorized your phone number before you.

That's why you read it out while looking at your phone.

He typed your number faster than you said it but you didn't notice.

Once you were done, you looked up at him who was looking at you with the most tender smile ever, as if you were the most precious soul to ever exist in all of the universe.

His smile looked way more expensive than his car. And we're talking about a very expensive car here.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you said, a small smile on your face too before you turned around and left. One that grew even more as you looked back at him one last time from your doorstep.

Once you were inside the house, Shubman got in his car and his driver started driving for real this time.

He stared at his phone, pausing as he thought of something for the field where a name had to be typed.

Then an uncontrollable smile took over his face, revealing his dimples as he saved your number as 'Jaan.'

Look at him. Getting all mushy over a caller ID.

On the other hand, you were done with your night routine by 9 pm as always.

This time, you didn't keep staring at the ceiling.

While waiting to fall asleep, you scrolled through your phone randomly, just looking at pictures of all your sketches, reading books from a certain orange app you used.

There were too many updates you haven't read in the past months.

When you checked the time again, it was 3 am. And this is why you never went to bed with your phone.