The next morning, I grab a slice of jam toast from the container and take a sip of my coffee. Mom and Dad have gone to their appointment, and Sanjay has already left for the hospital. That leaves me alone, rushing to finish my breakfast so I can hail a taxi to Kathir Rathore's house.
Brushing off the crispy toast crumbs from my rose-gold dress, I sling my handbag over my shoulder and step outside. The morning air is crisp, the sun casting a golden hue over the streets. I walk a few steps toward the road, spotting a taxi approaching. Raising my hand, I signal for it to stop. As I reach for the car door, the driver rolls down the window and calls out, "Ma'am, that side is locked. Try the other one."
I nod, sighing, and move around to the other side. Just as I reach for the handle, a black Alphard speeds past, splashing a wave of murky brown water all over me. My breath catches in my throat as the cold, dirty liquid seeps into my dress, staining the fabric.
"Hey, you!" I shout, glaring at the disappearing car, my hands clenching into fists. But the driver doesn't even slow down. My dress-my beautiful rose-gold dress-is ruined.
"Ma'am, hurry up. I need to pick up my kid from school," the taxi driver urges impatiently.
I roll my eyes and get into the car, feeling utterly disgusted. The damp fabric clings to my skin, the stench of dirty water making my nose scrunch in distaste. As if my morning wasn't already frustrating enough.
The ride to Kathir's house feels endless, and by the time the taxi pulls up in front of his place, my irritation has reached its peak. I step out, paying the driver quickly, then hesitantly press the doorbell. The door swings open, and there he stands-Kathir Rathore, with his usual unreadable expression. His sharp eyes flicker over my stained dress, his brows furrowing slightly.
I exhale, already bracing myself for his judgment. "I know I'm a bit late. I'm sorry. On the way here, one stupid black Alphard splashed dirty water all over me!" My voice is laced with frustration as I grit my teeth. My blood boils just thinking about it. "If I see that car again, I swear I'll throw a rock at it!" I punch my fist into my palm, seething.
Kathir, however, barely reacts. His gaze shifts from my clenched fist back to my face before he exhales, as if I'm wasting his time.
"Get in," he says flatly and walks off.
I step inside, letting out another sigh of frustration. As he heads upstairs, I cross my arms, fuming. A little concern wouldn't hurt, would it? A simple "Don't worry, Vidya. If you see that car again, don't spare them!" Or maybe some emotional support? But no, nothing. Ugh. He's worse than that black Alphard.
But right now, my biggest concern is this disgusting dress. How am I supposed to work like this? What if Renuka Aunty catches the smell and decides I'm too unhygienic to be around? What if she ends our friendship over this?
I sniff myself and nearly gag. The stench is unbearable. Just as I'm contemplating my limited options, I hear footsteps descending the stairs. I don't even need to look-I already know who it is. I roll my eyes, deciding to ignore him.
Suddenly, a crisp white shirt appears in front of my face. I blink, taken aback, before glancing up at the person holding it. Kathir.
"For me?" I ask hesitantly.
He nods once, his expression unreadable. I glance at the shirt and then back at him. It's one of his shirts.
I inhale sharply. "Are you serious, Mr. Kathir Rathore? How am I supposed to wear this? It's-it's"
Before I can finish, he cuts me off. "What? You can wear this until your dress dries." His tone is nonchalant, as if handing me his shirt is the most normal thing in the world.
I exhale, my cheeks heating up. "I'll feel uncomfortable," I admit, looking away awkwardly.
His jaw tightens slightly before he rolls his eyes. "Alright. Find something else to wear," he mutters, turning on his heel with the shirt in hand. "Just don't go near my mom in that disgusting dress."
I scoff. "I also don't want to go near your mom in this dress," I grumble under my breath. Scratching my head, I finally relent. "Fine, give me the shirt."
He stops, turns around, and extends it toward me without another word. I hesitate for a second before taking it from him. Without a backward glance, he heads upstairs again.
I watch him disappear, then look down at the white fabric in my hands. A faint scent clings to it-his usual strong, musky fragrance. It makes my head spin for a second.
I roll my eyes. This smell... this is exactly what he smells like when he's threatening me.
Sighing, I lift my gaze to the ceiling. "Didn't expect my fate to turn out like this," I mutter to myself before letting out a heavy sigh.
I head to my room's bathroom, scrubbing away the murky stench clinging to my skin. The warm water does little to wash away my frustration, but at least it rids me of the filth. Once done, I towel off and slip into Kathir's white twill fabric shirt.
It feels impossibly large on me, the sleeves hanging past my wrists, the hem stopping mid-thigh, making it look more like an oversized dress than a shirt. I grit my teeth, exhaling sharply. Great. This is just perfect. But I have no choice—my dress is a mess, and that monster must have already left for work. At least, I hope he has.
Dragging my feet to the laundry room, I toss my ruined rose-gold dress into the machine, setting it to wash. With nothing else to do, I make my way to the kitchen. Fine. If I'm going to be stuck here in this ridiculous outfit, I might as well cook something.
I gather the ingredients, rolling up the sleeves of the shirt to keep them from getting in the way. Lentil and vegetable puree, I decide, prepping everything efficiently. The familiar rhythm of chopping and stirring soothes me, allowing me to momentarily forget about my unfortunate attire—until a deep, measured voice shatters my illusion of solitude.
"Yes, Raj, I'll take care of that."
My breath hitches. My hands freeze mid-stir. No way. I yank the shirt down as much as I can, suddenly hyper-aware of how little it covers.
Kathir steps into the kitchen, his presence filling the space like a storm cloud. He's on his phone, completely oblivious to my existence—at first. His long fingers wrap around a glass from the top cabinet, filling it with water as he speaks. Then, as if sensing my stare, he finally glances at me.
His gaze drops.
His forehead creases ever so slightly as his eyes scan me—head to toe. My pulse pounds in my ears. My cheeks burn with embarrassment. His damn shirt is swallowing me whole, and judging by the way his jaw tightens, he's fully aware of it.
He takes a sip of water, eyes flicking back up to my face. "What are you doing here?"
I blink at him, utterly dumbfounded. Does he not remember he's the one who hired me?
"Cooking! What else am I going to do?" I snap, still tugging at the hem of the shirt as if that will magically make it longer.
His jaw flexes, as if I just proved a point he didn't want to acknowledge. His gaze drifts down again, lingering for a second longer before he turns away with a nod, leaving without another word.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. "What the f**!* I thought he left for the office!" I mutter under my breath, turning back to the stove, my movements stiff with irritation.
Once the meal is ready, I load it onto a trolley and head toward Renuka aunty's room, praying I won't run into him again. Tugging at my shirt, I step inside. She sits in her wheelchair, unmoving, her expression blank. I settle on the edge of the bed, still fidgeting with the shirt, trying to make myself feel less exposed.
Balancing the plate in one hand, I try to adjust my grip—and that's when disaster strikes.
A spoonful of vegetable puree slips, landing squarely on my chest.
I freeze. My jaw drops as I stare at the vibrant yellow stain now decorating Kathir's precious white shirt.
Kill me now.
I squeeze my eyes shut, making a silent crying face, already dreading the inevitable confrontation.
After feeding Renuka aunty, I take the stairs down, my luck running thin. There he is, sitting on the floor with Winston, gently pressing a kiss to the dog's furry forehead. Winston's ears twitch as if responding to his touch.
My chest tightens involuntarily. How can a man like him be this soft with a dog but act like a stone-cold monster with people?
As if on cue, his gaze flicks to me. My heart stutters.
Even Winston turns his head, blinking at me with his usual innocent curiosity.
"Done feeding Mom?" Kathir asks, his voice as indifferent as ever.
I nod hesitantly, hoping to escape quickly. But, of course, his eyes drop straight to the stain on his shirt.
His brows furrow slightly. I don't wait for him to ask.
"I was feeding your mom, and this happened!" I rush out defensively. "Don't worry, I'll wash it clean."
His expression remains unreadable as he studies me for a moment. Then, to my surprise, he says, "No need. I won't wear this shirt again."
He walks past me, heading up the stairs.
I grit my teeth. Oh, so now he's acting all high and mighty just because of one tiny stain? My frustration boils over before I can stop myself.
"So you don't mind if I burn this shirt, right?" I call out loud enough for him to hear.
He doesn't even spare me a glance.
I roll my eyes dramatically, huffing. Winston wags his tail, tilting his head at me.
"Him and his attitude!" I grumble, blowing a stray strand of hair from my face. "If he thinks he can forget my attitude, he's in for a surprise."
Winston suddenly bolts toward the stairs.
My eyes widen. "Hey! I was joking!"
He disappears after his master.
I groan, rubbing my temples before stomping toward the kitchen to do the dishes.
Once I'm done with the dishes, I head to the living area and drop onto the couch, still tugging at the oversized shirt I'm wearing. With an irritated sigh, I glance at the blank television mounted on the wall. A massive screen, yet absolutely useless. What's the point of having such a grand TV when I can't even turn it on? I'm not even sure if the damn thing works.
I roll my eyes, muttering under my breath, "What kind of house is this? It's huge and creepy, but there's not even the simple joy of watching television. My house is way better than this place."
Just then, I hear footsteps descending the stairs. Kathir. I instinctively pull down the hem of my shirt again, exhausted from constantly adjusting it.
"Fine, I'll call you back, Arshaan," he says, his deep voice laced with finality as he ends his call. He barely spares me a glance before turning to head toward Winston's room.
Taking a deep breath, I seize the chance and ask, "Can I turn on the television?"
He stops in his tracks, his jaw clenching. His sharp gaze locks onto mine. "You should ask before comparing your house to mine," he says, voice controlled yet taut.
I blink, caught off guard. Oh, so he heard that. Shrugging, I lift my chin defiantly. "I'm just telling the truth. I know you're a boring person, but why does your house have to be boring too? Poor Winston, I don't even know how he survives here every day."
His expression hardens. He steps toward me with slow, deliberate strides, his intense gaze never leaving me. I quickly add, "I get that an office has to be professional, and sure, entertainment might be off-limits there. But this is a home. Even if I'm the only one here, why can't I watch television?"
His piercing eyes study me, his jaw tightening even more. The silence between us thickens, making my skin prickle with discomfort. My fingers twitch at the hem of the shirt.
My gaze lands on a snack bottle on the coffee table. Without thinking, I reach for it, eager to distract myself, but before I can even open it, Kathir snatches it from my grip.
I snap my head up at him, my patience unraveling. My teeth grind, my irritation bubbling over. "What kind of person are you?! First, you won't let me watch television, and now you won't even let me eat? This feels like an insult." My chest tightens as I glare at him.
His grip on the bottle tightens, his knuckles going white. "It's mine."
I stare at him for a second, completely at a loss. I take care of his mother. I take care of his dog. And in return, he treats me like this? A wave of humiliation washes over me.
I rise abruptly from the long black leather couch, my throat tightening with unshed frustration. This ridiculous, oversized shirt is already annoying enough, and now this? I tug at the hem once more and turn to him, words tumbling from my lips before I can stop them.
"I really can't bel—"
Then it happens.
I step back, and my foot catches something. Winston's toy.
I don't even have time to react. My balance falters. The world tilts.
Before I know it, I stumble forward, crashing straight into Kathir's chest.
A startled gasp leaves my lips as we both topple onto the couch. His grip on the snack bottle loosens, and it rolls onto the floor. My hands instinctively clutch at his shirt to steady myself, but it only makes things worse.
I brace for the impact of the cold floor—except it never comes.
Instead, I land on something firm. Something warm.
Something breathing.
Kathir.
For a second, everything stops.
Slowly, hesitantly, I lift my gaze. His light brown eyes, framed by dark lashes, are locked onto me. First, they follow the snack bottle rolling on the floor, then they flick back to mine.
I can't breathe.
His face is too close—far too close. His breath fans against my cheek, warm and slightly uneven. My heart pounds violently against my ribs, so loud I can't hear anything else.
His arm is around my waist.
A shiver shoots down my spine. His fingers are barely pressing against me, but the heat of his touch lingers. The silence between us is so thick, so suffocating, that even swallowing feels impossible.
For a moment, I see something flicker in his eyes—realization.
I blink, my mind screaming at me to move.
As if snapping out of a daze, his grip on my waist loosens. Slowly. Not abruptly, not forcefully, but like he's unwilling to let go.
As soon as I regain control of my limbs, I push myself up, my fingers trembling as I adjust the twill fabric shirt I'm wearing. It's slightly disheveled from the fall, the neckline slipping lower than I'd like, revealing my collarbone.
Kathir notices.
His eyes linger there for a brief second before he looks away.
That's it. I'm done. I can't stay here any longer.
Heart still hammering, I spin on my heels and bolt upstairs. My legs move on their own as I rush to my room, my breath coming out in uneven gasps.
Leaning against the closed door, I press my palm to my chest, feeling the frantic rhythm beneath my skin.
Shit. Everything today feels like a nightmare.