Unwritten Chords

Chapter 31: Trouble Trouble.

Anya's POV

The door clicked shut behind me, the faint smell of jasmine and incense lingering from the evening's puja. The house was quiet, everyone asleep after the wedding chaos, leaving me alone with my thoughts.

And him.

I kicked off my heels, the soft clatter echoing in the empty hallway. My fingers reached for the pallu of my saree, tugging it loose as I made my way to my room. The soft fabric slid off my shoulder, pooling in my hands, but no matter how much I tried to focus on undressing, my mind wouldn't stop replaying the night.

Adrian.

God, why couldn't I stop thinking about him?

"Bas Anya, bandh kar yeh sab sochna." (Enough, Anya, stop thinking about all this.)I tossed the saree onto the bed, standing in front of the mirror in just my blouse and underskirt. My reflection stared back at me, flushed cheeks, wild hair, and an expression I didn't recognize.

"You're ridiculous," I muttered, echoing the words I'd thrown at him earlier. But even now, they sounded weak. Hollow. Like I hadn't meant them.

Because I hadn't.

I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to shake him out of my head. But it was useless.

The way he'd looked at me tonight-like he couldn't decide whether to yell at me or kiss me-was burned into my memory. His stupid smirk, the way his voice dipped into that husky tone when he said, "You look... different."

I hated him.

Didn't I?

I unhooked the blouse at the back, letting it slide off my shoulders. The cool air hit my skin, but it did nothing to calm the heat that had been simmering under my surface all night.

And his eyes. God, his eyes. They'd been everywhere-on my waist, my neckline, my back. It should've annoyed me, infuriated me even, but instead...

Instead, it had made me feel... ughh idk what it made me!

I sat on the edge of the bed, my heart racing. What the hell was wrong with me? This wasn't me. I didn't get flustered over boys. Especially not boys like him.

Adrian Marshall.

The arrogant, insufferable, infuriating idiot who somehow, inexplicably, had the power to make my heart race like this.

I buried my face in my hands, groaning. "Get it together, Anya."
But the words didn't land, not when my heart was still racing like I'd run a marathon.

Why had he followed me home? Why did he care? And why, oh why, did I feel... safe with him?

My fingers lingered on the waistband of my petticoat, the memory of his teasing voice cutting through the silence. "Looking like you stepped out of a movie or something. It's distracting."

Distracting.

Distracting?

I clenched my jaw, tossing the fabric aside and slipping into an oversized t-shirt. His words shouldn't have affected me, but damn it, they had. The audacity of that man, saying something so casual while staring at me like... like I was a goddess or something.

I sat cross-legged on the bed, pulling my hair into a loose braid. My fingers worked on autopilot while my mind kept drifting back to him. His smirk, his stupidly perfect face, the way his voice dropped when he said my name.

His voice.

This wasn't fair. I wasn't supposed to feel this way. I was Anya, the girl who rolled her eyes at romantic clichés, who laughed at cheesy Bollywood dialogues about love.