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A loud, irritated voice drags me out of my sleep.
"Sashya, why the hell are you sleeping on the couch? You've got a bed for a reason!"
I groan, squinting through the blinding sunlight filtering into the room. Blinking, I find Avyaan standing over me, his arms crossed, looking half-amused and half-annoyed. Typical.
Great. Not even two minutes awake, and I'm already dealing with Mahir's equally insufferable friend. I sit up, rubbing my eyes, trying to shake off the lingering haze of sleep—and that dream.
I rub my face, forcing my brain to forget the image of Mahir that had slipped into my subconscious, creeping in where he didn't belong. In the dream, he wasn't the cold, infuriating stranger I've been living with for the past month. No. He was something entirely different—intense, closer than ever, and completely wrong. So wrong.
No, forget it. You didn't dream about him that way. You just didn't.
"I... uh, just fell asleep here," I say, trying to sound as normal as possible.
Avyaan rolls his eyes and offers me a hand, which I reluctantly take, grumbling as I stand. "You look like death," he comments, not bothering to hide his smirk.
"Thanks," I mumble sarcastically. "Exactly what a girl wants to hear first thing in the morning."
He chuckles, a lazy grin spreading across his face. "Just being honest. Now get up and make yourself useful. Mahir's been in a mood, and I'm not dealing with it alone today."
I raise an eyebrow, crossing my arms. "Oh, so I'm the designated peacekeeper now? That wasn't part of the deal."
Avyaan shrugs as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "You live here, so yeah, you're part of the team now."
I sigh, glancing toward the kitchen where I can hear Mahir moving around. The clinking of dishes and low hum of conversation on his phone fill the space. Avyaan's right— I'm being dragged into something I didn't sign up for.
"Fine, but I'm not babysitting him." I push past Avyaan, who just laughs behind me.
"Sure, sure. We'll see about that."
As I step into the kitchen, the air feels heavier, like the weight of his presence fills the room. He's standing at the counter, his back to me, speaking quietly into his phone.
After few minutes, he ends his call, placing the phone down on the counter with deliberate calm. When he finally turns, his eyes land on me first, and the intensity of his gaze nearly knocks the air from my lungs.
It's like he's searching for something in my face—something I don't even understand myself. His stare burns into me, and I find it impossible to look away, trapped in the quiet tension between us.
