His eyes were neither too dark nor too light, a shade where solace resides-the kind that could both ignite you like fire and freeze you like ice, evoking feelings you've never experienced before.
༺♡༻
*IF*
What a word, isn't...
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"So, you think I’m the victim? Tell me… Am I?"
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10 Days.
Ten days have passed, and I haven't heard his voice or seen the depth of his grey eyes. I neither pushed him away nor stopped him from loving me. I am happy, and I don’t miss him.
Yeah, right! Who am I kidding? I miss him. During Ranjini's entire wedding, maybe I pretended to ignore him, but I knew. I knew exactly where he was standing, who he was talking to, when he was smiling. Even his cute dimples were enough to send butterflies fluttering in my stomach.
You’re driving me crazy, Verdi! You make me insane. I don’t want love, but—
My thoughts were interrupted when Shravan snapped his fingers in front of me, yanking me back to reality like a ton of bricks. And damn, that smug smile of his. I raised my eyebrows, clearly annoyed.
“Daydreaming, aren’t we?”
I rolled my eyes. Daydreaming? Really? What’s that supposed to mean? I wasn’t thinking about some fantasy romance.
“No,” I answered, curt and confident, like it wasn't a complete lie.
“Oh, yes, you are! And about our Officer at that.” If we weren’t sitting in this crowded café, I swear I would have punched him right there. He obviously meant Verdi.
"Should I murder you right now?" I asked him with the sweetest, most mocking smile, resting my chin in my palm, elbow on the table.
He chuckled, clearly enjoying this. "Sure, kill me. Then go to jail and fall in love with some officer there... Oh wait, you're already in love with Officer Verdant, aren’t you?"
"Enough," I snapped, signaling him to stop before I lost my patience. Honestly, with friends like him, who needs enemies?
"Yeah, yeah, I’m done. Now stop making that face, Devi ji," he said with mock reverence. The audacity!
We were still bickering when my eyes fell on a couple sitting across the café. There were two couples: one newly wedded in traditional desi attire, the woman in a saree, and the other, modern and flashy, the type you can recognize by their heels.
But it was the woman in the saree who caught my attention. Something was wrong. She looked distressed, her smile forced. She was eating with her right hand, but her left hand... where was it?
A sudden feeling of unease washed over me. I bit my lip as Shravan’s phone rang, and he excused himself. I nodded absentmindedly, leaning forward slightly. That’s when I noticed—her husband’s hand was gripping her wrist tightly, his hold too firm. She was trying to free herself, subtly, but his grip only tightened.
