Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
We were finally back at the mansion. The chaos had subsided, the adrenaline fading, but my heart still raced from everything that had happened. Nandini had been kidnapped just hours ago, yet here she was, sitting calmly on the bed, unbothered by the ordeal she had just endured. It was as if nothing could shake her. She was fearless, and I couldn’t help but be in awe of her.
I walked over to the bathroom and grabbed the first aid kit, my steps slow as I tried to process the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me—anger, relief, and the overwhelming need to protect her, now more than ever.
Sitting beside her, I carefully opened the kit and took out some antiseptic and cotton. My eyes locked on the small cut near her lip, and the bruise on her cheek—signs that someone had dared to lay their hands on her. My fingers gently brushed against the bruise, and I felt my blood boil, but I kept my rage in check, knowing that now wasn’t the time.
She tilted her head slightly, sensing my anger. Her soft hand reached up and covered mine, stopping me from applying the antiseptic just yet.
"It's okay," she whispered, her voice gentle, but filled with that same strength I loved so much.
I didn’t respond right away, too caught up in the way her skin felt against mine, the way her lips quirked up in the faintest of smiles, even with a cut marring her perfect face. She always had this incredible ability to calm me, to bring me back from the edge. I kept caressing her cheek, my thumb brushing over the bruise tenderly, and she leaned into my touch.
“You're really trying to calm me down, huh?" I muttered, my voice low and filled with emotion.
She smiled, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “Well, someone has to. You're always so dramatic, Yash. Getting all worked up like this,” she teased, her fingers playing with the sleeve of my shirt.
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head. “I’m dramatic? You were the one kidnapped, Nandini. And now you’re sitting here, acting like it was just a casual day out.”
She shrugged, a playful glint in her eyes. “Well, I’ve been with you long enough to get used to the craziness. Maybe you’re rubbing off on me. I think I’m finally getting some of that fearlessness you keep bragging about.”
I couldn’t help but smile, watching her so effortlessly lightening the mood. She always knew how to do that—turn even the darkest moments into something bearable. I leaned in closer, my lips hovering just above hers, careful not to touch the cut.
“Finally,” I whispered, my voice dropping lower, filled with teasing, “I’ve had some good influence on you.”
Her laugh was soft, but it sent a shiver down my spine. She nudged me playfully, but her hand never left mine. "Maybe I should start teaching You how to stay calm, huh? Seems like you’re the one who needs a little help in that department."
I raised an eyebrow, smirking. "You think you can handle me?"
She leaned in closer, her breath hot against my skin, her lips dangerously close to mine. “I Know I can handle you.”
