Always Is Not Forever (Breaking Myself - Part II)

26. The One Where I Imagine Him

"Alina, stop crying." Sniffing, I ignored Kabir's pleading and paid attention to the work at the task. "I hate when you cry." He placed his thumb on my cheeks but I shrugged it off. "I hate this. I'm sorry. I won't say such stuff again."

"Shut up. It's hurting me." I pressed the back of my hand to my eyes to stop the tears and burning at the back of my eyes. "I hate you."

"But baby, you should've listened to me." He took the knife from my hands. "Stop crying, please. I promise I won't say your cooking sucks. I was teasing you."

Pushing the onions far away from my sight, I glared at him. "Because of this, I'm making the dish again. Stupid." I slapped his hands. "I hate you. I threw all of it in the dustbin."

His lips quirked up in a smile. "Blame the onions. Who told you to cut them?" He started cutting them and soon, his eyes were red and he was sniffing. "I hate onions."

Giggling at his attempts, I moved around the kitchen to get him a napkin and clean his eyes.

"Explain me again why are we cooking when we have a chef now?"

"Because of," I opened the refrigerator. "Sunday."

After exposing to our parents our biggest secret, his parents realized the reason why we didn't want a cook and his mother had slapped the back of our heads for being too secretive about everything. The cook was hired back but we started giving holidays on Sunday to cook ourselves and spend some time which was becoming harder with college and his job and my job.

If freelancing on the internet could be considered a job. From three months, I hadn't used my debit card and had gotten calls from the bank if everything was alright. Wasn't it my wish if I wanted to use it or not? From three months, dad didn't even try to contact me once, and if I called him, it was never picked up anymore.

He hated me.

He was angry at him and it was valid. I hid such a big thing from him.

"I'm leaving my job." His sudden conversation made me whirl my head. Without looking up from the cutting tray, he added further, "CAT preparations. Need coaching. Timings are clashing with my job."

"No more waitering?" I asked, a smile hanging on my lips.

"Nope. Dad made me leave it. He said it was enough that I worked for a year, and I should attend to studies because I was wasting time by waitering now. I learned what I had to learn. Hard work." He placed the knife back on the tray and lifted his head to look at me. "He said he was proud of me." Taking the broccoli from the refrigerator, I smiled at him.

At least, he got what he desired.

Three weeks from now Misha marriage was there and I wasn't invited.

Gulping the heavy emotions, I placed the vegetable on the chopping board and gazed down at the greenness of it, or rather the lack of confidence in me that was increasing day by day.

"Bookworm." I lifted my head to see him. "You look sad today."

"Nothing. Just work. Writing articles and copy typing for hours is a tough job." The smile slipped from his face and he nodded tightly. He hated the idea of me working, hated how I wouldn't leave my laptop for hours which caused headaches and me sleeping in some of the lectures, hated how I couldn't even buy books without thinking thrice about it. "Misha's wedding is in three weeks."

His hand stopped on the pot of boiled pasta as I started cutting the broccoli into tiny pieces.

"Not going?" He asked quietly.

I shook my head, gasping for a breath. "It's my sister's marriage and I can't even be there. Why are they so angry at me?" He grabbed my hand, inching me closer to him. "I'm not in a mood to eat. You cook. I should look at the status of my recent work."