Just Manav Oberoi, in all his quiet, maddening glory—standing in front of me like he never left.
I folded my arms, partly because I was freezing… partly because, if I didn’t hold myself together, I’d fall apart.
32 ♥?Manav
My mind was in overdrive, my heart pounding in reckless rhythm, and my hands… they had a will of their own.
I found myself standing close to her, closer than I intended. She was focused on the mugs, her attention fixed on the coffee machine in front of her. I leaned in slightly. “Kiara…”
She didn’t respond, her hands fumbling with the mugs as if she were trying to distract herself.
Without thinking, my hands moved. I gently wrapped them around hers, stilling her nervous movements. “Cheeseball…”
Her hands stilled beneath mine, trembling ever so slightly. I lifted the mug from her grip and placed it on the counter, my other hand still holding hers. Her eyes fluttered shut, and I could hear her uneven breaths, feel the faint tremor in her fingers.
Every part of me screamed to pull her into my arms, to hold her close and never let her go. But my mind whispered caution. Be patient. Don’t rush.
I stayed there, close but not too close, my hand still lightly holding hers. I didn’t move. “Look at me.”
She hesitated for a heartbeat, her eyes fluttering open, meeting mine. The depth in her gaze—conflicted, vulnerable, but undeniably present—made my chest tighten. Slowly, as if drawn by an invisible force, I closed the small distance between us, my hands gently holding hers.
Her fingers curled slightly against mine. “You wanna play one last round of truth or dare?” her voice was barely audible.
“Truth,” I said, bracing myself.
“Why didn’t you come to the launch?”
I exhaled slowly. “I didn’t think you’d want me there.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around mine, her voice cracking as she asked, “Because you don’t read books?”
I shook my head slightly, a sad smile playing on my lips. “I don’t need to read them. I’ve read the writer.” My fingers brushed her cheek, gently caressing her skin. “Not just her words, but every page of her. Every nuance, every heartbeat. People remember lines from books; I remember every time her nose flares when she’s angry, every time she smiles in her sleep, every time she speaks in her dreams.”
A tear slid down her cheek, her lips trembling.
I chuckled softly, the sound breaking through the tension. “One night,” I began, tucking a stray lock of her hair behind her ear. “She dreamt about butterflies attacking and destroying my abs. I’m still not sure if that’s biologically possible, but it’s her world, and I’d let those butterflies do whatever they want if it made her happy.”
She let out a small laugh, the sound shaky but genuine, as she stepped closer. My thumb moved instinctively, brushing away her tears as they fell.
“But…” My voice wavered. “I’ve hurt her. I’ve hurt us. I…”
“It was my fault,” she interrupted, wiping at her cheeks with trembling fingers. “We shouldn’t have lied to Dadi inthe first place. And I shouldn’t have put you in that position.”
I closed the remaining space between us, leaning in until I could feel the warmth of her breath. “Think again, Cheeseball,” I said gently. “We didn’t lie to her…” I murmured, my voice steady. “We lied to ourselves.”
She stared at me, her emotions warring in her expression. “Are you drunk?” she asked softly, trying to pull back just slightly.
But I didn’t let her pull away. My hands slid down to her wrists, holding her firmly yet gently, as though grounding her in the moment. “That night,” I began softly, “Dadi was giving her real blessings. And every fiber of my being wanted to take them. I wanted it more than anything—but not before I told you things I should have told you in Beaufort.”
Her body stiffened for a fleeting moment, but then I felt the faintest shift, a breath of relaxation as she let her guard slip, even if just a little. My arms moved to wrap around her, careful and deliberate, leaving enough space between us for her to step back if she chose to.
My hands came up to frame her face, my thumbs brushing softly over her cheeks, grounding her, grounding me. “Do you remember the night you hugged me and wished me ‘Happy Birthday’?”
Her eyes flickered with surprise, her resistance faltering for just a moment. “Yeah,” she said softly, almost a whisper.
“That was the first time I realized…” I felt her breath hitch as she stared at me, waiting.
“Realized what?” she asked.
