The days following the house lockout passed in a haze of cold silence and avoidance. The fragile truce we had found in the garden dissipated as quickly as it came, leaving only the familiar bitterness of unspoken words and unhealed wounds. I stayed at college longer than necessary, lingering over papers and lecture notes, not because I was particularly dedicated to my job, but because it was easier than facing the quiet war waiting at home.
By the time I returned each night, exhaustion was my only companion. I would slip into bed without a word, the weight of unspoken resentment hanging heavy in the air. The silence was a strange kind of comfort—better than the tension that had begun to feel like a permanent part of our home.
Tonight was no different. The campus was deserted as I left, the streetlights casting long, eerie shadows on the pavement. The cold night air bit at my skin, but it felt fitting. 'Home' wasn't a place of warmth anymore. It was just another stop in my day, an obligation, not a refuge.
When I finally reached the house, it was well past midnight. I unlocked the door quietly, stepping into the dim hallway. Silence greeted me like an old friend. I slipped off my shoes, savoring the stillness. It was easier this way—no need for forced conversation, no need to face him. I was only a few steps from the kitchen when I heard something—a faint rustling, the low hum of a voice. My heart jumped, and I froze.
Was someone in the house?
Clutching my bag tightly, I grabbed a heavy vase from the side table and tiptoed toward the kitchen. The light was on, spilling a soft glow across the countertops. I peered around the corner, bracing myself for an intruder.
But instead of a burglar, I found a man around Sarth's age, mid-bite into a slice of pizza. His eyes widened when he saw me, and he quickly raised his hands in surrender, pizza still in his mouth.
"Whoa, whoa! Don't kill me! I come in peace!" he mumbled through his food.
I blinked in disbelief, lowering the vase slowly. "Who the hell are you, and what are you doing in my house?"
He swallowed quickly, wiping his hands on his jeans before extending one toward me. "Raghav. I'm Sarth's friend and his business associate."
I crossed my arms, still not entirely convinced. "At this hour?"
Raghav grinned sheepishly. "Yeah, uh, Sarth gave me a spare key. I didn't think anyone would be home. Thought I'd surprise him."
My grip on the vase loosened, the absurdity of the situation starting to sink in. I put the vase back on the counter, still eyeing him cautiously. "You scared me half to death."
He chuckled, picking up his pizza. "Sorry about that. Want some? There's plenty."
I hesitated for a moment, then sighed. Why not? "Sure. It's been a long day."
YOU ARE READING
The Missing Key To Her Heart
RomanceLove 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...