Author POV
As Hruta took one cautious step forward, her heartbeat kicked into overdrive.
Dhak dhak dhak.
Her inner monologue was already in complete panic mode.
I need to get out of here. Abort mission! Run, fly, teleport—anything! She screamed internally.
She glanced at Nirved, who walked ahead like some brooding, hot villain-turned-hero straight out of a K-drama, expression unreadable.
And Hruta? She was freaking out inside.
If only a giant tsunami would suddenly crash through the mansion, washing him away to some deserted island with no return ticket…..
Or better yet—
“If I had Doraemon, I’d pull out the 'Vanish Problematic people’ gadget and—POOF. problem solved,” she thought dramatically.
But sadly, no blue robot cat was coming to her rescue. And the tsunami? Yeah, that wasn’t on today’s weather forecast either.
Which meant... she was stuck.
“Come on, brain. Do something. Think. THINK!”
Her inner voice sounded like it was running around with its hair on fire.
And honestly, who could blame it? The situation had gone from awkward to catastrophic in a matter of hours.
First, she kissed a stranger in a pub. That alone would’ve been enough to haunt her for the rest of the year.
The stranger?
Yeah, he wasn’t a stranger at all.
He was her brother’s best friend.
And the cherry on top now?
She was in his mansion.
With him.
Alone.
For some time.
Hruta was certain of one thing—she needed to escape.
Immediately.
Before this spiraled into something even worse than it already was.
She placed a hand on her forehead, mentally scanning through her non-existent escape plans.
Maybe she could fake a phone call?
Pretend her shoelace was untied?
Suddenly develop temporary amnesia and forget who she was, where she was, and—most importantly—who he was?
Nope. That would only add fuel to this situation.
“I have to figure this out myself,” she mumbled, squaring her shoulders like she was about to face a lion.
A very handsome, irritating lion named Nirved.
“Okay, Hruta,” she whispered. “Time to be smart. Time to—”
FLOP.
Her sandal chose betrayal over loyalty and slipped off her heel.
She stumbled forward, arms flailing like a pigeon trying to take flight.
“Of course,” she muttered, glaring at her traitor sandal. “Why not add public embarrassment to the list, today?”
Amusement played on Nirved’s smug face as he watched.
“Need a hand?” He offered.
She straightened instantly, jerking his hand away, quickly fixing her sandal and standing tall with the pride of someone who did not just trip over air.
With a generous dose of denial and an unhealthy amount of fake confidence, she cleared her throat and forced a tight-lipped smile.
Her brain was already working overtime, trying to invent a believable reason to escape this awkward situation.
"Listen, I need to go. It's an emergency," she said, her voice smooth, polished—an award-winning performance in the making.
Nirved raised one eyebrow in curiosity.
“What kind of emergency?”
His voice was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that made her want to scream into a pillow or throw her sandal at him.
She blinked.
Once. Then twice.
Her mind was blank.
Think, Hruta, think! her inner voice screeched. Use that one percent brainpower!
She scrambled for a reason like a panicked student during a surprise oral exam.
“Uhhh… fire,” she blurted out.
Nirved tilted his head ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing with quiet suspicion.
He took a step closer—slow, deliberate—and suddenly the air between them felt… heavier. Thicker. Charged.
“Fire?”
“Yes. In… the kitchen.”
"Kitchen"
“…In my kitchen.”
Silence.
Not the normal kind.
This was the kind of silence where you could practically hear her dignity slowly packing its bags and leaving the chat.
"Elaborate"
She scrambled. Panicked. Dug deep into the creative corner of her brain—and pulled out a idea.
“At the cafe,” she said quickly. “It’s in my cafe’s kitchen. I just—I got a message. The stove. It’s like, flaming. Dangerously flaming. Like, boom flaming.”
Her explanation was so bad, even the air around them seemed embarrassed.
Nirved’s eyes didn’t move from her face. Not once. His stare was razor-sharp, calculating.
A heavy beat of silence passed.
The silence was so thick, it could be served with a side of awkward sauce.
Then—
To her absolute horror, he nodded once and said, “Okay. I’ll drop you.”
He offered casually, already pulling out his car keys.
Hruta’s soul momentarily left her body.
“No, no! That’s fine,” she rushed out, hands waving in full panic mode. “It’s… It’s a very narrow street. Your car won’t fit.”
He stared.
She stared back.
It was a silent war—logic versus the absolute circus of her excuse.
His eyes pinned her, like he already knew she was lying.
Which, she was.
But of course, she was Hruta Salvi.
And Hruta Salvi didn’t back down easily.
“You think I’m going to let you go alone when your kitchen is on fire?” he asked, calm but serious.
She looked at him like he had just offered to throw her into a pit of snakes.
“I can handle it,” she declared, trying to sound like an adult. “I’m a grown-up. An adult. I pay taxes—well, almost. It’s fine. No need for you to—”
“I can see that,” he cut in, “Especially for someone who barely handles her sandals.”
Oh, the audacity.
Her jaw dropped, eyes flaring with indignation—but before she could argue further or dig herself into a grave more profound than the Mariana Trench.
“Bhai! I got chips and—oh?”
A new voice rang out from down the hallway.
Both Hruta and Nirved turned at the sound of the cheerful voice.
A casually dressed guy in his early twenties strolled in, holding a jumbo pack of chips.
His entire vibe was a stark contrast to Nirved’s ever-present broody aura—laid-back, warm, and practically radiating sunshine.
Reyansh.
His eyes landed on Hruta, and in an instant, they lit up with unmistakable curiosity.
"Heyyyy," Reyansh greeted, walking straight toward her with a bright grin. “I’m Reyansh. Nirved’s younger and way cooler brother.”
Hruta smiled politely, charmed by his energy.
"Hiiii, Hruta,” she replied with a friendly nod.
"Wait, if I'm not wrong, then you’re Arjun bhai’s sister, right?" he asked, eyes twinkling with recognition.
A flicker of amusement danced in her eyes.
"You know me?"
"Of course! I’ve heard a lot about you," He replied with a warm smile.
“If this grumpy brother of mine gives you a hard time, just call me. I’m the better Singhania.”
Hruta stifled a laugh, “I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks for the heads-up.”
“By the way,” he continued, with a dramatic sigh, “You have to teach me some Marathi!”
Hruta raised a questioning eyebrow. “And why, exactly, do you want to learn Marathi?”
“To impress girls, obviously,” Reyansh replied with a smug nod, as if it were the most noble reason on Earth.
Hruta burst out laughing. “Oh God, that’s horrible. But don’t worry, I’ll help you. Then you can go break hearts.”
High five!
Their palms met mid-air with a satisfying clap of friendship.
She tapped her chin, thinking for a second before she offered, “Alright, Rey. Let’s start easy. ‘How are you?’ in Marathi is ‘Tu kasa aahes?’”
Reyansh nodded like a student preparing for an exam. “Tu… ka… kasa… aa… aahes?” he repeated, stumbling slightly over the syllables.
Hruta giggled but gave him a thumbs up. “Not bad! With a little practice, you’ll sound native.”
Reyansh dramatically clutched his chest. “Finally, someone believes in my potential!”
They both laughed—carefree and loud—caught up in their silly little moment.
Meanwhile, in the background… Nirved turned into a statue.
A very judgmental statue.
Arms crossed, brows slightly furrowed, eyes fixed on the two of them.
He wasn’t just watching them. He trying to process how, in such a ridiculously short amount of time, Reyansh and Hruta had become this… close.
They were talking, laughing, sharing inside jokes—as if they’d known each other for years, not minutes.
And it bugged him.
More than it should have.
“Great,” he muttered just under his breath, though loud enough for them to hear, “Dono ke dono ek jaise hai.”
[“Both of them are the same.”]
Reyansh, unfazed, casually threw an arm around Hruta’s shoulders, acting like they’d been best friends since kindergarten.
“Don’t listen to him,” he whispered. “He was born grumpy. Probably glared at the doctor right out of the womb.”
Hruta covered her mouth, failing miserably to hide her laugh, sneaking a glance at Nirved, whose expression hadn’t changed one bit.
Stone. Cold.
If looks could kill, Reyansh would’ve turned into ashes by now.
And then finally, Nirved spoke, his voice sharp and clipped.
“Late nahi ho raha abhi?” he snapped Hruta, eyes narrowing ever so slightly.
[“Aren’t you getting late?”]
She blinked.
Before she could fumble for another half-baked excuse, Reyansh jumped in.
“Are you going somewhere? Come, I’ll drop you off!” he offered cheerfully.
Nirved’s eyes flicked from Reyansh to Hruta, then back again. But he didn’t say a word.
“Come, buddy!” he grinned, slinging an arm around Nirved’s shoulder casually. “I don’t mind dropping you. Maybe Bhai also doesn’t mind. Right, bhai?” he added with a dramatic wink in his brother’s direction.
“Anyway,” Reyansh continued, “You can teach me a bit of Marathi jate jate. Might as well multitask, right?”
Hruta nodded—maybe a bit too eagerly.
Because hello, she needed to get out of here, and this? This was the golden escape route.
Aya hua chance kon chodta hai bhala?
“Yeah! Great idea. Educational ride. I’m in"
Nirved didn’t say a word.
But his jaw?
Oh, that poor jaw—
It looked like it could slice through diamonds with how tightly it clenched.
“Bye, grumpy Singh-a-nia.” Reyansh teased, tossing the words over his shoulder with a grin.
Hruta giggled—nervously, of course—but didn’t dare glance back at Nirved.
Nope. Not when she could feel the weight of his glare stabbing into her spine like invisible daggers.
She walked off with Reyansh, their laughter echoing behind them as they dove into a playful debate about “Marathi flirting lines.”
And Nirved? He stood there in the same spot, glaring in the same direction where they walked out.
Left behind.
With nothing but silence…
His fingers curled slightly around the key in his hand, grip tightening as her laughter—her laugh—faded into the distance.
He wasn’t sure what annoyed him more—the lie, her laughter with Reyansh, or the fact that it mattered at all.
And maybe—just maybe—With a tiny, simmering hint of something unfamiliar twisting in his chest.
Was that… jealousy?
.
.
.
.
Once in the car, Reyansh took the driver’s seat while Hruta slid into the passenger seat.
Within seconds, the car was alive with chatter and laughter.
The atmosphere? Light. Easy. Far from the tension she’d left behind.
After a while, Hruta tapped his arm. “Please stop here.”
He slowed the car and looked around, confused. “Why here? I thought I was dropping you home.”
She pointed at the cozy-looking place with a warm sign that read "The Whispering Brew."
“This is my cafe,” she said, flashing a proud grin.
Reyansh let out a low whistle. “Wow, boss lady. Impressive. You own this place?”
“Yup,” she nodded, hopping out. “And no, you don’t get a discount.”
He laughed, leaning out the window. “Next time I come, I’ll have my full Marathi flirting toolkit ready. Prepare to be impressed.”
Hruta chuckled. “I’ll be waiting, Rey. See you soon!”
She waved goodbye and went inside.
Hruta's POV:
The second I enter, I grab my phone and text the group: “EMERGENCY. Come to a cafe. Urgent.”
I sit there, clinging to my fourth cup of chai like holy water. My legs bounce, my thoughts spiral, and my soul half-leaves my body every time the door creaks.
Soon, Vishu and Dhanu rush in, their eyes brimming with curiosity.
“Ky jhale?” Dhanu demands, panting like she ran a marathon. “Weren’t you supposed to go with your brothers? Why’d you call us so urgently?”
[“What happened?”]
“Sach bata, kya kiya hai tune is baar?” Vishu narrows her eyes suspiciously, already assuming I’ve committed a crime or embarrassed myself again.
[“Tell us the truth, what mess have you created this time?”]
I sip my chai.
“Arey bol! Kya bas chai peeti ja rahi hai!” Dhanu shouts, eyeing the empty cups in front of me like a disappointed mother
["Say something! Are you just going to keep drinking tea?"]
“Are ruko, saanse toh lo,” I roll my eyes. “Baitho at least! Tum dono toh CID kai jaise chalu hi hogye!”
["Whoa, hold on, take a breath, at least sit down! You two have started like CID agents!"]
They both flop into the chairs with dramatic sighs.
Dhanu muttering, “Agar kuch stupid reason hua na, toh tu pitegi.”
[“If this is something stupid, you’re dead.”]
I open my mouth to say something.
And just before the first word can tumble out—
Suddenly, a familiar voice came from behind,
“Hello, ladies.”
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