“I hate you,” she mutters, wiping her mouth.
“No, you don’t.”
“Professionally I do.” She huffs, almost pouting but also wanting to throw hands at me.
“Personally?” She glares. I beam. We go through schedules, costs, and labor updates. She explains everything clearly, occasionally sketching rough ideas on paper when words aren’t enough. I barely look at the screen anymore.
I watch her hands. The way she taps the pen against her lip while thinking. The way she pushes hair back impatiently. The way her face sharpens when she cares about something.
I’m down catastrophically.
“You’re not listening,” she says suddenly.
“I am.”
“What did I just say?”
“That your voice gets stricter when you’re irritated.”
She stares at me. “Aryan.” She warns.
“Also that the acoustic panels need revised measurements.”
She narrows her eyes. “Show-off.”
“I always listen to you, Sunshine.” She rolls her eyes again, but I love the way her neck turns a soft shade of pink. I decide to make it worse for her and better for me as I lean in and whisper, “especially when you compliment my biceps.”
She gasps as if she’s scandalized and immediately turns into a beautiful version of red. I hold back my laughter as I notice she’s clenching her fists and then she’s up.
A small smirk forms on her face, “I was drunk when I said that,” it’s her turn to lean in I guess, “but you know who thinks you’re a menace when they’re sober?” She smiles sweetly at me and I think I may faint at the sight, “Your own mother, Golden boy.”
My mouth is hanging open and she looks so proud of herself. “My mother said that?” I ask, unable to fathom how the hell are they talking behind my back.
“She sent me three reels last night,” she winks at me, “about sons who are headaches.” She shrugs and I almost fall off my chair
What the hell? My mother and Ishika are at the reel sharing stage? Me, who has been trying to hold her attention for ten minutes since I met her, desperately finding reasons to talk to her while she’s always annoyed with me, and she’s easily getting reels from my mother and she finds it funny.
My chest softens. I am glad Ishika is letting someone in, but being jealous of your own mother is not a good look. But I guess, it's better this way, because once my mother decides tolike someone, she will always be there for them and Ishika needs that. Besides if not closely, if I get to breathe the same air as her occasionally because of my mother, I would be forever grateful.
“She must be talking about Vedant.”
She laughs, “Aw, poor golden boy is hurt.”
I almost want to stick my tongue out but that would be too childish so it’s my turn to roll my eyes. “I need your signature on vendor release forms,” she says, the smile still intact on her face as she pushes the papers towards me.
I sign without reading, “You should at least skim before signing.”
“I trust you.” I shrug.
“That’s reckless.” She looks taken aback.
I smile softly, “Sunshine, You reek of goodness, it’s not in you to scam people,” I chuckle, “besides, we are friends.” I shrug.
“That’s still stupidity.” She whispers but I am glad she’s no longer fighting or regretting the friendship. I hand the papers back. She shakes her head, but there’s softness in it.
When the meeting ends, she begins collecting sheets into neat piles. I don’t move. “What now?” She raises an eyebrow.
“I think we need another meeting.” I say, fixing my tie.
