The Love Voyage

Chapter 13

Adhrit's POV

I left the compartment, the door clicking shut with a finality I wish I felt. A cold, precise fury settled in my chest, tightening like a vice. That's the thing about people I've always hated the most-they always forget that words carry the heaviest weight. I thought she wasn't like those people. I thought maybe she knew her grace. But when was I ever right? When does the universe ever let me be right?

Why am I literally mourning over her? She's no one. Except my almost-wife. Again, almost.

I shouldn't even think about her silly words. I have much more important things to focus on.

Yeah, like looking out of the train's door, right? my brain questioned. I released a deep breath, thinking about life this past month. It was, and is, nothing less than a roller coaster.

Ever since this whole marriage fiasco entered my life, it's been moving in unpredictability. Now, as much as it is adventurous, I'm a control freak. I hate my control slipping away. And yet, I'm allowing myself to sway to her pace. That's why she thought she had the audacity to question me and my intentions.

It did sting. Oh hell, it was a lot more than a sting-it was hurtful.
But I know her response came from the hyper-independent environment she's created around herself, for whatever reason. I'm not a psychologist-why am I being her therapist? This girl is driving me to the brink of my every ounce of restrained patience.

I opened my phone and started replying to emails to calm myself down. Well, everyone have their own coping mechanism.

I was scrolling through my business-related emails and Nihal's OTTD checks-yes, he sends me emails of his outfits and general photos along with texts, since even he knows I'm more active on Gmail than on those stupid texting apps. A sheer waste of time and a waste of intellectual consistency.

I scrolled through Nihal's "what he made for breakfast" email and how he misses touching my ass. Thank god only I have access to my Gmail, because how am I supposed to explain this to the world?

I was near the main gate of the train. I was simply sitting there, enjoying the view and looking out of the window. Well, it was afternoon, and I was more than anything, hungry. So I stood up and went back inside the compartment.

Izna Burman is no one. She was just my arranged, almost-bride-the very person I ran away from and escaped the wedding. Her presence is not welcomed in my life. At-

What the fuck!!!!

She had brought another man into our compartment?? Another man?? In my seat?? The audacity. Oh, the sheer audacity.

And not just any man-the typical tattooed guitarist. Obviously, he was playing "Please Please Please Let Me Get What I Want" by The Smiths. What else can a loser guitarist play than a song of yearning without achievement? Because perhaps he never picked up hard work.

Was I jealous? No. But was I territorial of my very seat, which I had been staying in for the past two weeks now? Yes. And there was no way I'd give up my seat the third week, not for some fucking loser-core guitarist.

"This is my seat," I said calmly to that long, curly-haired, tattoo-covered, fair-skinned guitarist.

I bet "I love to fuck" is his middle name, I thought. Especially with this personality; he's definitely attracted the mentally unstable lot.

"The lovely lady here told me she has a seat vacant, so I can be here," he said politely, as if God himself birthed this saint.

Izna? And "lovely lady"? That woman eats even jam like it's blood. Calling her lovely?