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"What are you doing here?" he asks me, his eyes raking over my drenched body and widening. Instantly, he opens the door further, allowing me to slip inside and grab a towel from somewhere, handing it to me.
My sobs may have taken a backseat f...
I’M THE DUMBEST PERSON ON THIS PLANET! I wrote this chapter right after the target was met and then completely forgot to post it TF IS WRONG W ME????????? i’m so sorry for the late update, you guys. I feel so bad, esp after you guys completed the target SO quickly. You’re THE best people ilysmmmmmmm! mwahhh
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I still haven’t wrapped my head around the words that keep blasting in my mind; the ones that Aayansh just said, the ones that have no right making me feel so delirious and warm.
The wound on Aayansh’s hand is deep, and it looks so painful, I have to curl my toes to stop myself from gasping. I tug at his hand to guide him towards the bed but he resists, his gray eyes zeroing in on me. “What the hell are you doing?” he asks me, his voice rough.
“Living room mein chalo,” I insist. “I can’t treat you here. Your knuckles are bad. We should probably show it to a doctor.”
(Let’s go to the living room.)
“No,” he refuses without missing a beat.
I resist the urge to stomp my foot on the floor. What is wrong with this man? “Why?”
He inspects something over my shoulder, the way to his living room seemingly more interesting than me as he says, “I’ve to make tea.”
“It’s not even seven yet!” I mutter, shaking my head. “Besides, if you want it that bad, I’ll just make it for you. You can hang out outside. You shouldn’t make tea with busted knuckles.”
I let his hand go to search for a vessel and other necessary ingredients and instantly felt the cold sweep over me. The absence of his touch is painful and lingering. I want to hold onto him, but at the same time I can’t.
“For you,” he quips. I meet his eyes and goosebumps erupt all over my skin. “I want to make tea for you.”
“Me?” I lick my lips and gulp.
His eyes catch onto the movement. “Mm-hmm.” The voice comes deep from his throat, scratchy and firm. “I figured you’d like some tea and breakfast after the shitstorm of a night you had.”
I still haven’t wrapped my head around the fact that Aayansh has a recorder installed in the Rajan’s mansion. I can’t help but wonder how much of the house’s conversations he’s heard. Does he know I indulge in watching television and TV soap operas with Rajlakshmi and discuss them with her because I’d much rather keep her attention on TV than on me? Does he know how disrespectful Mahesh and Neil have been to me? Has he heard my voice cracking when I’m being yelled at because I wore a black saree one day?
My own husband of two years has never offered to even get me an icecream, much less ever cared about something that may have disturbed me. And this man, Aayansh Singhania, the man who doesn’t even know me, probably is only tolerating me because I’m his sister’s best friend wants to make me tea and breakfast to make me feel better.
