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Author Pov
Aakarsh's gaze lingered on her — the woman who had somehow mastered the art of throwing daggers with her eyes, as if it were her second profession. The first one, of course, was driving him insane and disturbing the fragile peace he called life.
No one else could make him this irritated. Not his business rivals, not his board members — only her. And still, he'd never admit she had that power over him.
"I want to go," she said sharply.
"Then go," he replied casually, leaning back against the headrest, deliberately unfazed.
She narrowed her eyes at him in disbelief, the challenge in her stare impossible to ignore. And before he could predict her next move, she settled herself comfortably — right on his lap — as if the seat was hers by royal decree.
"Badshah ki izzat ho toh begum ko unke kothre tak jaane ki ijazat milni chahiye..." she declared dramatically, her voice dripping with mock regality.
Aakarsh blinked, utterly stunned. What in the world had she just said? And what ridiculous period drama had she been watching this time?
His composed expression faltered into one of absolute horror, caught somewhere between disbelief and exasperation — because clearly, she wasn't done tormenting him yet.
"Haan?" Aakarsh asked, his tone carrying that mix of curiosity and mild amusement he could never quite hide around her.
She blinked once. Then again. And in that instant, he understood something he'd noticed countless times before — whenever she was confused or unsure, her lashes fluttered rapidly, and her head tilted ever so slightly to the side, as if trying to decode the world from a different angle.
It was a small habit, but one that gave her away every single time.
"Which movie dialogue is that?" he asked, his lips curving faintly, already suspecting the answer. Her Hindi was charmingly inconsistent — fluent enough to surprise, but fragile enough to stumble at the wrong words. She spoke mostly in English, though she understood Hindi perfectly well... in her own way.
"What do you mean I don't know Hindi? I know Hindi," she shot back immediately, her pride flaring in that adorable, indignant tone that made him want to smile.
"Haan, hume pata hai..." he began, voice deliberately formal, eyes glinting with mischief, "aap Hindi mein behtreen tarah se vartalap kar pati hain."
The difficult words made her eyebrows knit together in confusion, lips parting just enough for him to know she didn't catch a single one.
"You're making joke of me," she accused, pouting slightly, arms crossing in half-serious irritation.
