Aisha Kapoor
“Your boyfriend is doing what?” I ask, baffled at what Sienna—our latest author—told me.
“He wants me to not go to NYC without him,” she sighs, looking completely defeated and broken.
How do men even find the audacity to make decisions on behalf of their women without their consent? How do they even think they are in a position to control their women?
This is why I have always advised my friends and colleagues to not date a male specimen who is afraid of their potential, who can’t see them rise above them. You should always date a man who doesn’t have a fragile ego.
I have always found myself fawning over the fact that Reyansh has never stopped me from doing what I want. Bare minimum, I know. But how many are even willing to do that in this generation?
Moreover, he has always been my biggest supporter, which is one of the reasons why I fell for him in the initial days. As the eldest daughter, I needed that. So badly.
“But that is absurd, Sienna,” I say, and I am almost about to jump out of my seat. “This tour is important for your career. You are already so loved by the readers’. Your showing up would only heighten it for you. Besides, everything is booked and ready. We can’t cancel it just now. It would have been possible if you had a legitimate reason. This is not one of those, and you know it.”
She looks defeated, and if I could give her a hug, I would have. I would have told her that she doesn’t deserve to be with a guy like him who hinders her growth.
She needs a man who lets her fly, the one who gives her wings the support they need.
“I know, Aisha.” My name sounds foreign on her tongue. “I am so exhausted. I have been working my ass off to make this tour amazing with you. I have looked forward to it this whole year, but now this makes me question everything.”
My eyes soften as I look at her. I hoped she had a friend, or a sister, or a mother who was there to uplift her. But she has always been very private about her life, and I do know that she likes to be secluded. If I am not wrong, that is exactly why her boyfriend is treating her like trash.
“Sienna, you know we gave him an option to tag along, but he didn’t want to,” I assert. “I am sorry if I am overstepping, but he doesn’t deserve you. You deserve the kind of love you write about. I mean, the kind of men you write about is amazing. I would love to have one.”
She laughs at that, and I feel the tension in the air disappearing. Her laugh is beautiful and hearty, and I want someone to make her laugh like this every day. Because this woman deserves it.
“What we can do is book a ticket for him; if he cares to join, then good. If not, then you will still be on tour, and he won’t be able to do anything about it. Tell him he can join later too whenever he is free. We are going to be there for some time, after all.”
She bites her nail, thinking over my words, and I just hope and pray that she says yes. She deserves this, and it would be a real shame if I couldn’t convince her.
“Okay,” she nods, a small smile on her face. “I will let him know, and I will come on the tour, no matter what. Thanks for being so patient with me.”
“That’s awesome, and don’t mention it, please. You deserve it and your readers deserve it.”
We talk about a few other things, including the tickets and where her boyfriend would be staying in case he comes. I am not surprised to know that she wants a separate space from him.
I let out a huge sigh, like my head was wrapped in tight bubble wrap and all the air was sucked out of my lungs.
I rest my head on the desk when my phone rings, and I let out a loud groan. My eyebrows wrinkle when I see Reyansh’s name pop up on the screen.
My heart skips a beat as I pick it up and clear my throat.
It is not like we are talking over a call for the first time. Hell no. So why does my heart beat like he is my crush and it is the first time we are talking over a call?
“Yes?” I say and instantly cringe at the way the words come out.
“No hello, husband, from you,” he says, and I can hear the sarcasm in his voice, and I roll my eyes.
There goes my beating heart, sitting down back in its seat.
“No,” I say, sweetly. “Not to the one who will soon become my ex-husband.”
“Ha ha,” he lets out dryly, and I bite my lip to stop myself from laughing. “So funny.”
“That I am,” I nod, proudly. “Why did you call me?”
“I can’t call my wife midday to check up on her,” he replies, and my smile disappears from my face.
