41||we are a team?

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To all those readers who comments such beautiful words for me and my work don't think I am ignoring them or being ungrateful. I never ignore them. I read them repeatedly. You don't know how much grateful I am to get such messages.

It's just that thank you just doesn't justify it anymore. What I feel is more than the mere words.

And this is to the silent readers wait until the day you know the importance of appreciating someone's effort which you like. Not talking about me, but the life in general.

Goodness comes both ways. Remember this.

"Why did you run away from there?"

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"Why did you run away from there?"

"I didn't." I turn around, to face Kabir, to only come across a look of betrayal on his face. He closed the door behind him, the other hand holding the glass. I take it from him, moving towards the kitchen. Kabir follows close behind me. I take the stainless-steel bowl, pouring the cold milk in it, and putting it on the burner oven. As I lift my hands to light the oven, only then I get to know that my hands were shaking, unhinge. I felt my fingers numb.

Kabir snatched the lighter from my hands, doing the needful for me. I clench and unclench my fingers in a fist, fixating my eyes on the gas stove, which burned to life, its circle having a dance of blue flames. I looked everywhere, at the milk, the sink, oven, refrigerator, titles on the wall of the kitchen, but not at the brown eyes which were looking at me, demanding an answer. Kabir intensified his gaze or rather glares of eyes on me.

He sighs, a long exhale of breath, "Will you speak up?"

"There is nothing, Kabir." I try my luck.

"What did he said, that exactly got you on shaken up?" he crossed his arms against his chest, hiding the logo of US Polo.

"He was trying to point out how he was performing a noble deed by eliminating the wall between two neighbors."

"I was present there, and also knew how his tone sounded when he talked about noble deed."

"Ohh," was all I could utter, which just pushed my friend in a mode of scowling at me, "That's what we were talking. Nothing separate," I lie straight to my tongue. Telling him the real talk will surely put Kabir, the soft man, to a traumatic post behavior. If he hears the truth, I fear he will not even be standing in the room where Reyansh is present. On top, the thing was not to be discussed and let my friend have a doubt on my sanity, for even daring to love such a man.

He doesn't look convinced, "I know there is more, and it is okay, if you are not comfortable to speak about it."

I keep my palm on his biceps, "Kabir, I am sorry, for causing trouble to you."

His furrowed eyebrows smooths, eyes softening as he sided hug me, patting my head, "You can never cause trouble to me,"

I hum, closing my eyes, as I rest my head on his chest, but jerking it open, when the conversation from a few minute echoes in head. What does he meant when he said, I am not the fault behind the person's dead but his feeling for me. Why does for every answer he raises a question after question for me. I should be scare of Reyansh, but can I ever be?

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