'Ishan Oberoi' - The name that echoes success, power, and resilience. A rising billionaire who carved his empire with his own hands, refusing to ride on his father's wealth. Yet, he never turned his back on his responsibilities as a son. Balancing h...
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AADHRITI'S POV :
“You're a great distraction.” The doctor’s words echoed in my mind, playing on loop as we walked through the hospital corridor.
I knew he said it just to take my mind off the injection—a clever tactic, and yes, it had worked. I was distracted—completely.
“So, you played me,” I said.
“Distracted me,” I added quickly, glancing at him from the corner of my eye.
Then with a playful tone, I teased, “Don’t you think you should apologise for that?” He turned to look at me, his eyes scanning my face, and I struggled to keep my expression neutral, to hold onto the mock seriousness I was trying to project.
“I didn’t play,” he said simply. “I didn’t distract you. I just helped.” And with that, he walked ahead, unbothered like he hadn’t just turned my heart into a mess of confusion.
There was something different about him. He was different. Ever since Jaipur, ever since he left so suddenly without a word, something had shifted. I still didn’t know what exactly happened back then, but he wasn’t the same with me anymore.
The cheesy, teasing Ishan, the one who’d made me laugh effortlessly was gone. The man beside me now was Ishan Oberoi, the one people whispered about, admired, feared. The man the world saw.
Not exactly the same, though. Not entirely. But not so different either.
At work, he was all sharp edges and clipped words. But the moment he noticed the cut on my hand, something in him softened.
He became gentle. Attentive. Caring.
And I would be lying if I said I didn’t like it. I didn’t know the reason behind his distant, changed behaviour, but something told me it wasn’t trivial. No, it felt heavier than that like whatever he was carrying was too serious, too painful to put into words. And maybe that’s why he hadn’t spoken a word about it.
Choosing not to press him further, I stayed silent. But the feel of his touch lingered, warm and unsettling in its own way. Even though he’d pulled away, the proximity still clung to me, like a ghost of an embrace I wasn’t ready to forget.
The car ride mirrored the tension between us quiet and heavy. The only sound was the low hum of the engine, filling the silence we refused to break.
Minutes passed, and just when I thought we were heading home, he made an unexpected turn. A completely different road. One that led in the opposite direction of my house. My hand twitched, ready to question him. But I stopped myself.
