Love isn't supposed to be this complicated- at least, that's what Manya thought before Sarth entered her life.
She's fiercely independent, and he's the infuriatingly charming guy who knows how to push her buttons.
Their connection? Intense, messy...
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After the morning's formalities, my mother-in-law leaves the house, her instructions to "settle in" still ringing in my ears. The silence that follows feels heavy, almost suffocating, as I wander through the rooms, trying to get a feel for my new surroundings.
Eventually, I end up in the kitchen, its sleek, modern design at odds with the old-world charm of the house. The appliances are state-of-the-art—stainless steel everywhere, touch screens and buttons I don't recognize. I pause in front of the coffee machine, a large chrome beast, trying to figure out how to work it. After pressing a few buttons, I realize I have no idea what I'm doing.
I huff in frustration. "How do you make coffee in this place?" I mutter to myself, poking at the screen. "This thing's more complicated than it should be."
As if summoned by my frustration, Sarth enters the kitchen, his presence like an unwelcome chill. He's impeccably dressed, as always—dark shirt, tailored trousers, the faint scent of expensive cologne trailing behind him. His gaze sweeps over me, lingering for just a moment on my fumbling with the coffee machine.
"Having trouble?" he asks, his voice smooth, but laced with condescension. "You know, it's voice-activated. Just say 'brew'."
I glance at him, irritation rising. "Of course it is," I snap, rolling my eyes. "I guess some of us prefer not to be bossed around by machines."
He smirks, his eyes gleaming with amusement. "Or maybe some of us are just stuck in the past."
I resist the urge to snap back. It's always like this—Sarth's comments, little digs meant to put me on edge. I manage to get the machine working after a few more taps, and soon the smell of fresh coffee fills the air. I pour myself a cup, but the moment of peace doesn't last long.
The kitchen feels cold. Too cold. I glance at the thermostat and frown. It's set to an absurdly low temperature. I move toward the control panel on the wall and raise the temperature to something more reasonable.
Almost immediately, I hear a soft beep, and the temperature dips again. I turn to see Sarth leaning against the counter, phone in hand, a smug look on his face.
"Really?" I say, glaring at him. "You can't handle a little warmth? Or do you enjoy making everyone around you as cold as you are?"
He chuckles, not bothering to hide his satisfaction. "Just seeing how adaptable you are. Didn't think you'd break so quickly."
I set down my coffee cup, my patience wearing thin. "Adaptable?" I say, crossing my arms. "I'm not the one obsessed with control."
His eyes narrow slightly, the smirk faltering for just a second. "Control?" he repeats, his tone dangerously calm. "You're one to talk."
The tension between us thickens, the air in the room colder than before. There's more to his words, layers of meaning, but I don't want to go there—not now. Instead, I shake my head and turn back to the thermostat, adjusting it again.
Sarth doesn't leave it alone. The thermostat beeps again, and the temperature drops once more. I glare at him.
"This is ridiculous, Sarth. What's your problem?"
He shrugs, casually sipping his coffee. "No problem. Just don't enjoy feeling like I'm in a sauna."
His indifference grates on me, stirring up old frustrations. "You don't seem to care about making things uncomfortable for other people."
He meets my gaze, something flickering in his eyes. "Funny, I could say the same about you."
I'm not sure if he's referring to the current situation or something deeper, but the sting of his words hits home. I set my jaw, refusing to let him see how much it bothers me.
"Fine," I say sharply, turning away from him. "If you want to live in a freezer, that's your business. Just stay out of my way."
The morning drags on, the silence between us heavy and tense. I try to busy myself with unpacking, but I can't seem to shake the weight of his presence. The house itself seems to conspire against me—every room colder than the last, the constant hum of technology a reminder of how little control I actually have here. It feels like everything in this place belongs to him, like I'm just an intruder.
Later, as I pass by the living room, I notice Sarth lounging on the sofa, scrolling through his phone. For a moment, I consider ignoring him, but the urge to break the silence is too strong.
"You know," I say, leaning against the doorway, "you could make this easier."
He looks up, raising an eyebrow. "How so?"
I hesitate, weighing my words carefully. "By not turning everything into a power struggle. I'm trying here, but you make it impossible."
Sarth doesn't respond right away. Instead, he watches me for a moment, his expression unreadable. "I'm not the one who started this," he says finally, his voice low but steady.
I scoff, shaking my head. "Right. Because you're always the victim, aren't you?"
His jaw tightens, and for a brief moment, I see a flicker of something—anger, hurt, maybe both—but it's gone as quickly as it appeared. He stands up, brushing past me without a word, his footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.
The house feels even colder after he's gone.
Author's Note:
Hey everyone! 👋
What did we think of Sarth and the thermostat war? 😏 The tension is *real* and I'm loving it! Who else can relate to these petty battles? 😂 Drop your thoughts—Team Sarth or Team Warmth?
