𝗦𝗵𝗲 𝗜𝘀 𝗧𝗼𝗼 𝗗𝗲𝗹𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘁𝗲 𝗙𝗼𝗿 His 𝗗𝗲𝘀𝗶𝗿𝗲
"Fuck, whenever you're in my arms, I feel like I might crush you. You're so delicate," he said, kissing her cheek.
"Huh?"
"It took me three years to hug you, and today you let him hug you...
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A H V I
I sighed softly, snuggling into his warmth as he held me close. "I want to sleep," I murmured, feeling his lips trail gently along my neck. Each kiss sent an odd, fluttering sensation to my stomach, making me feel like my stomach is going to brust at any time.
He finally stopped and pulled me into his arms, whispering, "Good night," as he closed his eyes. I nestled against him, feeling his steady breathing, and tried to calm my own racing thoughts.
I couldn't help but think about the girl who had come to our house tonight—his employee. He seemed worried that I’d be upset with him for letting her stay, but honestly, I wasn’t.
It reminded me of a time from my own childhood. My father had once brought a young girl home, a worker from his office cafeteria. She had missed the closing time at her hostel due to her workload, and Dad let her stay with us for the night.
She was only eighteen, working tirelessly to support herself,and her family. I remember her sleeping in my room, her face weary but grateful.
Now he had done something similar, offering help when it was truly needed. I understood now. She was part of his team, someone who worked hard for him, and he’d shown her the kindness she deserved.
Just as my father always said, "A company thrives because of its employees."
With that thought, I felt a sense of peace settle over me. He had simply shown her respect and understanding. I was glad I had welcomed her, even if only with small gestures.
༻❀✿❀༺
"Good morning, Ahvi,” my mom said, stepping into the kitchen with a cheerful smile.
“Why did you cook this much, and why four tiffin boxes?” she asked, glancing at the array of food I had prepared.
“Me, Dad, him, and our guest,” I replied, a hint of uncertainty in my voice.
“That girl?” Mom raised an eyebrow, clearly curious.
“Yes, Mom. But will she like this Indian food? Should I make some sandwiches or pasta instead?” I asked, feeling a wave of confusion wash over me.
“Ahvi, you shouldn't worry about her so much. You have classes, and here you are making tiffin for everyone,” Mom said, gently pushing me aside as she began arranging the food.
“Does Dad not like my cooking?” I blurted out, suddenly anxious.
“Ohhh, Ahvi, you just don't understand what I’m saying! Anyway, you should go get ready. I’ll handle everything here,” Mom insisted, her tone leaving no room for argument.
