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Rudraksh stormed into his room, shoulders hunched like a thundercloud, his white kurta clinging damply to his chest. While he was mentally cursing Vihaan.
This idiot had to spill the colddrink on me when I was wearing a white kurta. Mom is gonna scold me, He muttured under his breath, striding towards the cupboard.
"Kya pehnu ?" He muttered while rummaging through his clothes. Suddenly he froze, fingertips brushing something soft. A lavender kurta lay half-buried beneath a crumpled Nehru jacket, its embroidery catching the afternoon light. He lifted it slowly, fabric whispering against his fingertips, holding it at arm’s length like a suspect artifact.
“Yeh pehen loon kya?" His nose wrinkled as he glanced at the mirror—noticed a splotch of cold drink crusting his collar—then back at the kurta.
The memory of Ahana's gloomy face flashed through his eyes. "She was looking quite sad when Ishaan said that her dress wasn't matching with anyone back there" He muttured, grazing his hand at rich embroidery on the kurta.
While observing her today, I also started doubting if she really likes me. But maybe I'm just thinking too much. She doesn't even talk to boys of her class much so that could be a reason that she doesn't talk much with me.
Oh god ! What the hell am I thinking. Yeh sab us idiot vihaan ki vajah se hua hai. Jabse usne yeh sab daala hai mere dimaag mein tabse mera mind ussi direction mein ja raha hai. Rudraksh muttered shooking the thought away.
Pehen hi leta hoon. Koi notice nahi karega or karega bhi toh I'll say that it was a mere coincidence. Rudraksh nodded thinking.
With this thought he marched to the bathroom. The kurta landed on the sink counter with a soft whimp as he stripped off the stained white one, balling it up and chucking it into the laundry basket with a slam-dunk flourish. The shower hissed to life—he stood under the icy spray a beat too long, shoulders shuddering, before scrubbing furiously at the cold drink residue.
Emerging with a towel slung low, droplets still glistening on his collarbone, he eyed the lavender fabric and then with hesitant hand he picked up from the bed, where he had dropped it earlier. Shooking away all the unwanted thoughts, he quickly dressed himself fitting into the set before his mind could intervene with another absurdity.
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Rudraksh's fit
Rudraksh emerged from his room, shoulders squared. The fabric whispered against his wrists as he strode toward the chatter, his steps faltering slightly when Vihaan’s voice cut through the noise.
