Transgressions (Arshi Shorts)

The Maker's Son - 3

🎶 River Flows In You - Yiruma

Preeto shifted in her seat, leaning slightly to get a better view of Arnav in the kitchen. Khushi mirrored the motion, both intently watching his every move.

Arnav stood by the sink, washing the coffee mugs with expert precision - not a single drop of water spilled on the counter. Their eyes met in a silent exchange, both clearly thinking the same thing: the stuff we women appreciate!

"You didn't tell me that he was gorgeous!" Preeto hissed under her breath, her hand tapping the table. "Here I thought it was a tattered old man that you had dragged home."

Khushi blushed, it wasn't like she hadn't noticed that little tid-bit. It also helped that he looked healthier by the minute, more life-life if anything since the time she had found him on the street.

"Anyway let's break it down," sighed Preeto under her breath. "After everything you've told me, it does seem like he could be Raizada's son. But the dates don't add up. If he were born in the 1970s then he would be in his 40s! Dude doesn't look a day over 25!"

"I know...," muttered Khushi. "And Raizada was a business tycoon based in India - even if they do share a connection - what is this guy doing all the way here in Pennsylvania?"

"To be honest, that's the least concerning bit," murmured Preeto from the corner of her lips. "Old Raizada must've had a mistress tucked away in Pittsburgh, and this maker he keeps mentioning...might be a butler. We need to focus more on him."

Khushi nodded in agreement, she also noticed how Preeto cringed at the word 'maker', and was glad that she wasn't the only one who found it disconcerting.

They both stilled when Arnav joined them at the table. He dragged the chair back with such grace that it barely scraped the floor and took his seat, with his back ramrod straight.

"Uh..." started Khushi, after receiving a painful nudge from Preeto under the table. "We have a few questions for you, if that's alright. It's just to help figure out where you're from so we can ensure you return safely, wherever that may be."

Arnav's face was unreadable as he nodded his consent. Khushi pulled up the notes she had prepared, feeling ridiculously like a reporter.

"Do you have a home here, in this city?" Khushi asked, pen poised.

"I do," he replied. "It's on a small hill, surrounded by wild undergrowth. My maker prefers it that way."

"I see," Khushi murmured, jotting down a note while Preeto continued to stare openly at Arnav, her fascination barely disguised.

"Who is your maker?" Khushi ventured.

The question seemed to catch him off guard. "My maker is... my maker," he replied, his brow furrowing in genuine confusion.

"Okay..." Khushi said, exchanging a quick glance with Preeto before trying again. "What does he look like?"

Arnav's expression softened, almost tender. "He has grey hair, and his skin hangs loose on his face and neck. He bakes cookies in the evenings. The machine for it stopped working a while ago, but I fixed it. Since then, I've taken over the baking while my maker continues his experiments."

Khushi's pen froze mid-word, and she darted a glance at Preeto, who looked equally enraptured. In the back of her mind, a sudden thought occurred: Is that where his vanilla scent comes from? Does he carry leftover cookies in his pockets?

"What kind of experiments?" Preeto asked, leaning forward, her skepticism thinly veiled.

"Many," Arnav said, his tone almost wistful. "We built machines to mow the lawn, clean the floors, trim the hedges that cover my bedroom windows... and to make soup."