“Yes,” I reply calmly. “Which is not that late.”
She laughs under her breath, the sound hitting me square in the chest. “You’re ridiculous.”
She starts to walk past me toward the closet, completely casual, like she hasn’t just abandoned her husband for two days straight.
I close the file.
“Sitara.”
She pauses.
Turns around slowly.
“Yes, Dhruv?”
That tone. Innocent. Sweet. Dangerous.
I gesture vaguely toward her. “Do you plan on acknowledging your husband today, or should I book an appointment?”
Her lips twitch.
“Appointment for what?”
“Attention,” I say flatly.
She blinks once, then laughs. Not a polite laugh. Not a quiet one. A full, startled, hands-to-mouth laugh that echoes slightly in the room. She bends forward a little like she’s trying to catch her breath, eyes bright, cheeks flushing.
“Oh my God,” she says between giggles. “Are you jealous?”
I feel heat rush up my neck instantly. “No.”
She straightens, clearly enjoying this far too much. “You’re absolutely jealous.”
“I am not,” I repeat, firmer now.
She walks closer, slow and deliberate, like she’s testing something. “You’re jealous of Tia.”
“I am not jealous of your friend,” I say, offended on multiple levels.
She stops right in front of me, hands clasped behind her back, leaning slightly forward. “You’re pouting.”
“I do not pout.”
She gasps softly. “Youarejealous.”
I open my mouth to deny it again, but nothing comes out fast enough, and that’s when she knows she’s won.
Her smile turns mischievous. “You missed me.”
My jaw tightens.
“Maybe,” I admit.
Her expression softens just a fraction, the teasing melting into something warmer. “I didn’t forget you.”
“You disappeared,” I say, quieter now. “I barely see you all day.”
She tilts her head. “You see me at night.”
