"𝕀 𝕒𝕞 𝕥𝕙𝕖 𝕠𝕨𝕟𝕖𝕣 𝕠𝕗 𝕙𝕖𝕣 𝕖𝕒𝕔𝕙 𝕓𝕣𝕖𝕒𝕥𝕙 , 𝕤𝕙𝕖 𝕓𝕖𝕝𝕠𝕟𝕘𝕤 𝕥𝕠 𝕞𝕖"
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"Neither she loves you nor she belongs to you" her ex fiancee shouted in anger.
He stoo...
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After seeing Kabir’s picture with his mom, Erica turned the page of the scrapbook. It had introductory questions answered in the messy, innocent handwriting of a child.
Name: Kabir Randhawa
Age: 8 years old
Birthday: 08/07/1992
Class: 3rd Standard
School: Mountain High School
Favorite subject: Maths
Favorite color: Black
Favorite food: Gulab jamun, gajar ka halwa, kheer and so many other things made by mom 🥰
Who do you love the most?: I love my Mom the most 🥰
What do you want to become?: Businessman 👑
Favorite hobby: Swimming What do you think about yourself? I'm so handsome and intelligent. 😌
Erica chuckled softly at that last line.
Turning the next page, she found another picture of Kabir with his mother.👇
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She stared at it for a moment longer than necessary before flipping the page again—only to realize it was the end of the scrapbook. Quietly, she placed it back where she had found it and left the study.
Back in her room, the images of Kabir and his mother kept flashing before her eyes. He had looked so happy in those photos. She remembered what Tai had said—Kabir was once a happy child. Everyone in the house said Kabir didn’t eat sweets, but the scrapbook clearly said otherwise. He had loved them—especially the ones his mom made.
Did he stop eating sweets because they reminded him of her?
Her chest ached with an unfamiliar feeling. “How tough it must have been for him to cope,” she whispered to herself. “He was such a fragile child. So emotionally dependent on his mother…”
A surge of protectiveness rushed through her. Smriti Aunty loved Anay so openly, but when she was dating Anay, he never once mentioned his mother. It was always “I am this”, “I am that.” And then there was Kabir—perceived as cold and emotionless—but maybe he had simply buried everything deep inside. He had even quit his favorite food, possibly just because it reminded him of his mother.
She was still lost in thought when her phone rang. The screen flashed: Mumma Calling. It had been nearly two months since her marriage.
Her heart pounded. She’d thought about calling so many times but hadn’t had the courage. With trembling fingers, she picked up.
“Hello... Mumma?” Erica said, her voice cracking.
“Erica!! Beta, how are you?” her mother’s familiar voice chirped.
“I’m... good,” Erica managed.
“Beta, I’ve called to invite you and Kabir for lunch tomorrow. We didn’t even get to do the pagphera rasam properly with all the rush. So come tomorrow, okay?”
“But Mumma—” she began.
“No questions! Come tomorrow. We’re waiting. Okay, I have to go prep now. Inform damaad ji! Bye!” The line disconnected.
Erica stared at the screen. Her mother had sounded so warm, so excited. But now came the harder part—telling Kabir.
Kabir stood at his desk in his home office, reading a file, when he heard a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” he said, without looking up.
Erica stepped in. Kabir glanced up—and paused.
She was wearing a beautiful golden nightie with a shrug. It wasn’t revealing, but it fit her curves just right. Her hair was loose, her bare face glowing in the dim light.
Kabir’s eyes lingered for a microsecond longer than usual.
"Kabir..." she said softly.
It was the first time she had taken his name aloud. It felt... different. Personal.
Raising his brows, he gestured for her to continue.
“K... Kabir... my mumma called today. She… uh… she invited us f-for lunch tomorrow. At my place.” Her words stumbled over each other. She was clearly nervous. She already feared his response.
“Okay,” he said casually, flipping the page of the file.
Erica blinked. That’s it? No resistance? No curt refusal?
Unsure of what to say next, she turned to leave. But as she moved, her foot caught on the edge of the carpet. She let out a soft yelp as she tripped forward—
Only to be caught firmly.
Kabir’s arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her in. In seconds, she was pinned gently between Kabir and the table behind her.
Her hands instinctively gripped his shoulders for balance. Her eyes squeezed shut, heart hammering.
When she opened them… she was inches from his face.
He was still holding her. Firmly. Her shrug had slipped slightly, exposing the smooth curve of her neck and shoulder. It was the closest she has ever been with him since marriage.
Embarrassed, she fixed it quickly, her breath catching in her throat. She looked back up.
Kabir hadn’t moved. His eyes were locked onto hers. Her throat went dry.
She tried to move away. But his grip didn’t loosen.
Startled, she looked into his eyes.
“Be careful next time,” he said in a low, deep voice. He slowly let go of her waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric.
Erica didn’t wait. She turned and walked away—hurriedly.
Kabir watched her leave, his expression unreadable.
