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Since Mahir told me to sit quietly on the couch and not break anything else, we haven't spoken to each other. Ugh, like I did that intentionally. Sitting on the couch, I watch his back as he washes the utensils in the kitchen.
I offer to help, but this arrogant asshole says in his cold voice, "The plate you broke is part of a crockery set worth rupees 12 lakh"
Huh!! He is going to remind me of this until my last breath, isn't he?
I pause for a while, trying to make conversation. "So, do you live here alone?"
"Did you see anybody else here?" he snaps, the jerk. He pauses for a moment and speaks again without turning around. "I don't usually live here."
"Then where do you live?" I ask him, curiosity piqued.
He sets the final plate in the sink and turns to face me, leaning against the kitchen counter. His eyes are cold and distant once again, but there's a hint of something else there too—annoyance at my questions, maybe? "I don't see how that's any of your business," he snaps, his tone gruff.
"Huh? I'm just asking. That's how we'll become best friends and forever," I say in a mocking tone.
"Best friends, huh? Really? You and I, bestie buddies for life? I think I'd rather jump off a cliff, princess," he replies in the same cold tone. He pauses for a few more minutes, then turns his back to me again "I live in California, in the US."
"And your family is here, aren't they?" I ask.
"Hmm. They are," he responds.
"And what do you do for a living?" I inquire further.
He seems to have had enough of my questions and retort, "Enough. Now tell me about yourself. What do you do for a living?" He starts putting the leftover food in a container and places the utensils in the sink.
"Huh, me? Um, I'm a tech student. I want to pursue a career in technology," I say, feeling a bit self-conscious under his intense gaze.
"And why did you come here?" he asks, his tone softening slightly.
"Because I wanted a break from my life," I admit.
"Well, happy break, Miss Mehra." he says, his tone cold, turning away to finish cleaning up.
(After some time)
When he finishes washing the utensils, he climbs the stairs, leading to his room. He doesn't give me a glance while I'm gawking at his back.
When he disappears, I stand and move to the kitchen to fill my bottle. Then I see a garlic powder glass jar on the right side of the sink. "Bhai sahab, yeh yahan isse tootne ke liye chhod gaye hain."
(Seriously, he left this here to break?)
I whisper to myself. I lift the jar and open the drawer. I pause, my backbone shivering with fear. There is a gun in his drawer.
