My Mr. Artist

Chapter 44

Kiyah

[ This chapter contains - sexual content ]

The echoes of the grand wedding still lingered in my heart. The swirl of colors, the laughter, the tears—all vivid as though it had been only yesterday. And then there was him. I could still see the look Ansh had given me when I was leaving the venue: a soft, wounded smile, his eyes carrying a weight of sadness he hadn't tried to hide. Like a lost puppy watching someone slip out of reach.

I sighed at the memory, half-smiling to myself, before my gaze shifted to the chaos around me. The house I had called mine for almost a year looked like a storm had passed through. Half-packed cartons leaned against the walls, stacks of my study books, clothes I hadn't touched in months, and knick-knacks I couldn't quite bring myself to wrap away. I had to choose—either finally start packing or go check one of the two apartments that had made it to my shortlist.

My body, however, had no such urgency. Wrapped in a loose t-shirt and shorts, hair tied in a messy bun, I sank deeper into the couch with my mug of lukewarm coffee, lazily scrolling through my phone.

Maybe I'll just start tomorrow, I thought, stretching like a cat. Or the day after. What's the rush? I still have a week in hand.

The sharp trill of the doorbell cut through the silence. I froze mid-stretch. Hardly anyone visited me here—and I wasn't expecting deliveries. My stomach fluttered. I had a guess who it might be.

I padded barefoot to the door, tugging it open.

My breath caught.

Two figures stood there. Not one—but two.

Ansh, in his usual composed, unreadable elegance, his presence filling the doorway as though the world bent to accommodate him. And beside him, Arnav—gentler than I remembered, though his eyes studied me with an intent that made me hesitate.

"Surprise," Arnav said with a small smile.

I blinked at them, utterly wrong-footed. "Um... you both? Here?"

But my eyes lingered long on Ansh. He was gazing at me—no, through me. His stare slid over my messy hair, my oversized shirt, the bare skin of my legs. His brow twitched—disapproval? amusement?—before his lips curved, barely there. My gaze flicked to his arm—still plastered, but no longer bound to his neck. He looked... stronger. Freer.

And beside him—of all people—

"Arnav?" I breathed.

That was all the invitation he needed.

Before Ansh could say a word, Arnav raised his hands in mock surrender. "I know, I know. I deserve that look. Big crime, missing the wedding. Had to fly abroad last minute—wasn't planned, couldn't even call. So today first thing, I went to apologize to Saira at her return home ritual. Took a little gift to soften the blow." His grin widened at his own theatrics.

"—and then, of course, this fellow here—" he jerked his thumb toward Ansh,"—used me as his golden ticket. Made me his driver, practically kidnapped me. And now look—here we are." 

"So, madam, your loyal servants await. What are your orders?"

I stared at Arnav, not because of his endless chatter, but because of the shift I couldn't quite process. Gone was the guarded man who had once stood in my doorway with sharp eyes and sharper words, warning me away from his best friend. That wariness, those thorns—nowhere in sight.

Instead, he leaned casually against my doorframe, face lit with an easy smile, warmth rolling off him as though we'd always shared this kind of closeness. The sudden friendliness unsettled me more than the old hostility ever had.