✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*
[ 𝐒𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐋 1 ]
Because this is where love fades and hate resides and intensifies, broken hearts produce the most tragic stories.
Their treachery is told through their bleeding hearts: their unrequited love was never reciprocated. The...
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"Will you become my friend?"
The words, simple yet revolutionary, sliced through the salty air and the fog of my own bewildered exhaustion. They left his mouth with a softness I hadn't known he possessed, making my eyes widen until I was certain they might pop out of my skull.
I stood there, my bad ankle throbbing a dull protest, but the pain was negligible now. My mind, usually a fortress of logical analysis, stuttered and stalled. Am I hallucinating? I wondered, pinching the inner skin of my wrist hard enough to leave a mark. Or did my ears truly get damaged due to the sudden exposure to the roaring seawater?
The dissonance was jarring, absurd, and hilarious. The man—no, the boy—who had rejected the very idea of us sharing a professional acquaintance, let alone friendship, was now asking me, all by himself, with those intense, dark brown eyes that usually held an arctic chill.
Why the sudden change?
A genuine spike of alarm shot through me. This wasn't just out of character; it was a character assassination of the 'Mr. Agarwal, I knew.
Did someone truly do something to him? Is he possessed by any demon? God, please save me. Apart from my controlling father, I am genuinely afraid of ghosts and cats. The thought of a malevolent spirit wearing Vidyut's annoyingly handsome face sent a shiver down my spine that had nothing to do with the cool air.
I forced myself to move, standing up from my seat. My ankle hurt, but that was negligible now. The logical side of my brain—the future neurologist in me—took over.
I reached out, my fingers brushing the cool skin of his forehead and then his neck. His temperature was normal. No spiking fever suggesting a severe concussion or brain fever.
"How many fingers are you seeing, Mr. Agarwal?" I asked, holding up five fingers right in front of his nose.
He frowned, his brows knitting into that familiar, adorable, and deeply irritating scowl. "Ada, what in the hell are you doing? Five." He gave the correct answer.
