Siya's life in Chandipur was marked by resilience and solitude, her days consumed by nurturing the vibrant blooms of her flower shop. Abandoned at birth and haunted by the mystery of her parents' disappearance, she had grown accustomed to the whispe...
📖 Drenched saree, teasing curves, and a touch that turned the cool water into flames. ﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌ ˚ ༘♡ 🪷🪕🪞🦢⋆｡˚ ❀
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(17+ ‼️)
How much longer, huh? How much of this cold shoulder is he going to give me? I swear, Adhiraj Singh Rathore...my Hukum-sa...enjoys playing this game. Here I am, pulling out yet another bouquet of red roses because I know he loves them with every stubborn inch of his heart. Fifty-one roses this time, marking the start of a new month. It's been two months since my wrist healed and a month since the stitches on my back were removed. Better... much better than before, thanks to Adhiraj's relentless care...though, he didn't talk much to me beyond what was strictly necessary.
Oh, but I know he loves this game. He won't admit it, but his eyes, his little smirks...they betray him. And what's with my bouquet routine, huh? He might reject the roses every time, but I'm sure he doesn't throw them away either. This morning, I took my time arranging the bouquet, slipping a small card inside with a teasing note, written in my best cursive: "Roses may be red, but my patience is running thin. I'll keep chasing until you do."
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A jiffy later, after sending the boo-key towards his office by sender, I paced the garden, directing the workers as they prepared for the new imports. Delicate flowers, some rare varieties, awaited their place in the soil. Herbicides, insecticides, nematicides. It was a whole science. And while they droned on about formulas and the ideal ratios for pest control, my mind kept drifting back to a certain man who was equally, if not more, stubborn than the weeds I was trying to eliminate.
A ping from my phone snapped me out of my thoughts. I fished it out of my pocket, smirking at the contact name that flashed on the screen—LOVE BEING CHASED. Yes, I'd renamed ASR's contact because that's exactly the game he's playing right now. He thinks he can keep me at arm's length, rejecting all my attempts with that infuriatingly stoic face of his.
The message was short, as always: "50th 1 rose bouquet rejected: Try harder."
I clenched my jaw, feeling a surge of frustration and determination.
