𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐔𝐧𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐕𝐨𝐰𝐬

Chapter 18 :- Shoping

Here's you new year and my birthday surprise. I'll try to post the next chapter as soon as possible.

Happy new year everyone 🎆.
Happy reading

Next  Morning……

The voice of the alarm ringing shattered the peaceful silence of Nayan's sleep. Groggily, she stretched her hand out to reach her phone and silence the persistent noise.

She sat up, pressing her palm to her forehead as she groaned in pain. “Ugh, why is my head aching so much?” she moaned, clutching her hair, her eyes still half-closed from sleep.

Blinking a few more times to remove the fog of drowsiness, Nayan surveyed her surroundings. The realization of what had happened the night before hit her like a wave, and her eyes widened in sudden panic.

Her heart skipped a beat. What did I do last night? she thought, trying to recall the events.

Nayan quickly pushed herself out of bed and completed her morning routine, the weight of the headache still lingering. When she descended the stairs to make breakfast, she noticed him already in the kitchen, busily preparing the meal.

Her mind flashed back to the previous night. She was embarrassed—hoping that she hadn’t said anything out of turn about her nightmare. She couldn’t remember much of their conversation, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that she might have made a fool of herself.

“Ooh, you’re up,” he said, sensing her presence as he flipped a sandwich in the pan. “Sit down for a bit. Here’s some hangover soup to help with the headache. I’ll get the rest of the breakfast ready.”

Nayan silently lowered herself into the chair, watching him with a mix of curiosity and confusion. She couldn’t fathom what had gotten into him. She glanced at the soup and then back at him, weighing her options. Eventually, she picked up the bowl and drank the soup. Her headache wasn’t going anywhere, anyway.

Just then, the doorbell rang.

Confused, she rose from her seat and made her way to the door. A delivery boy stood there, holding a bouquet of flowers in his hands.

“Mrs. Nayan Rathore?” he asked, scanning his list.

“Yes,” she replied, just as bewildered as before.

The delivery boy handed her the flowers before leaving, leaving Nayan with a sense of confusion

“.Mujhe flower kisne bheja,” she wondered, looking at the bouquet as she stepped back inside.

(Who sent me flowers?)

Her hands gently sifted through the blossoms until she found a card tucked among the petals. She opened it carefully, and her breath hitched when she read the message:

“I’m sorry. Please forgive me.”

Nayan’s heart skipped a beat. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had done something like this for her. It was overwhelming—an apology so sincere, so unexpected.

When she re-entered the kitchen, she saw him standing there, holding a plate of sandwiches with a little smile drawn on top using sauce.

She placed the flowers aside and raised an eyebrow. “What’s all this about?” she asked, despite the smile she was holding back from appearing.

He placed the plate down and walked toward her, carefully taking the bouquet from her hands.

“I’m sorry, Nayan,” he said, his tone soft but full of sincerity. “It wasn’t intentional. I didn’t mean to say that, but I panicked when you disappeared. The one thing I can’t stand is when people are careless. Please forgive me.”