Resurgence

Chapter 9

Then
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Shravan arrives on her doorstep in the first light of dawn, under lantern shine, bearing chocolate chip cupcakes and cardamom flavored tea from the stall at the corner of the street. Suman knows it's him before he even manifests himself, he's the only one who knocks and opens the door at the same time.

"You're early," she points out, leaning her head against the door, remnants of sleep still lurking at the corner of her eyes. He doesn't wait for an invitation, not that he needs one, pushing past her to enter into her house, the wooden floor creaks under his boots, loud and heavy.

Suman raises one elegant brow in astonishment, confused by his lack of response. "Sure, Shravan, make yourself at home," she snarls, suddenly, sarcasm heavy on her tongue, but her words lack heat.

"As if you need to say it twice." He gives her a half-hearted shrug, the corner of his mouth ticking up and Suman can't help but notice how nicer he looks when he smiles like that, a little shy, a little playful.

"We're studying in my room," She announces, urging him to follow her by a flick of her wrist as she walks towards the end of the hallway, pushing open the door to her room.

"Woah, what happened here?" Shravan stands rooted to the entrance in contemplation as he takes in the state of the room. Textbooks and notebooks and highlighters are scattered across the wide table. The bed is unmade and a mountain of clothes is resting on the lounging sofa. His eyebrows look as though they're mere minutes away from disappearing up his hairline.

"Oh, come on, it's not that bad!" It's not really messy, chaotically organized more than anything else.

The look he shoots her at that is distinctly disbelieving. "You're kidding, right? I am not working under these conditions."

Arching a pointed brow at him, she does a quick look over at her room and the only reaction he gets from her is an unimpressed sniff. "Under these conditions?"

"I get distracted, okay?"

"One second," Suman interjects, folding her arms over her chest. "So you can play video games for hours in the slum Pushkar has for a room, but you draw the line at this?"

"I told you, my attention diverts, I'll spend more time eyeing that mountain of clothes than actually write my essay," he argues, petulant.

She almost lets out a swear at that. Then, she takes a deep breath, pinching at the bridge of her nose to gain some composure. "Okay, I'll do it after we're done with our essays, happy?"

"Sumo, we can't even see the outline of your table," he remarks, drawing up next to her.

That pulls an impatient noise out of her, which he generally takes as a sign of victory if the smirk pulling at his lips is any indication to go by. "Fine, I'll do it!

Shravan's answer is lost in the string of insults and profanities she hurls at him, (always under her breath) but she recognizes the tell-tale quirk of his lips, the sardonic arch of his brow.

It's unmistakable. He is laughing at her.

"Neat freak."

"Litterbug," he retorts.

Glaring, she manages a scowl, which only serves to make his smirk grow wider if anything. "You could help, you know."

Throwing himself over her bed, he lands with a soft thump, the wooden frame creaking ominously under his weight. "I'd rather watch you labor," he tells her, mild, biting back a laugh as she aims a pillow in his direction, hitting him square in the chest.

"Thanks, Sumo," he murmurs, bringing the pillow behind his head and curling himself around her blue comforter, seeking warmth and comfort in her cotton sheets.