Nandini Singh was driving me to the edge of losing my patience and sanity – the way she talked, the way she moved, and especially the way her cheeks turned red when she was shy. I pushed all my thoughts about her aside and decided to take a walk in garden.
As I looked around, I spotted Nandini – but with a man. My blood boiled as she laughed with him and the way he held her hand. "Enjoying enough, Nandini?" I said, with a cold voice. She turned around with widened eyes, "N-no, I was just going home, Vy… sir." I chuckled. She's cute.
I turned to the man beside her, "Hello?" I held out my hand for a handshake, which he gradually accepted. "Hello there," he replied. "I was j-just leaving, take care," Nandini said while stuttering. I looked into her eyes and nodded.
Oh, darling, how I wish I could bury him six feet deep just for laying a hand on you.
As they left, I decided to walk back to my office to complete a few tasks when I suddenly bumped into Nandini's father. He immediately smiled at me, "Vyom." I smiled back, "Hello, sir." We talked for some time until he said something that made me smirk. "Why don't you come to our house for dinner today?" Vinay Singh offered me. I thought for a while, then I agreed – because I'd like to see my darling's shocked expression after seeing me.
We reached her house, and the first thing my eyes fell on was the garden. "Beautiful garden, sir," I said. "It's all done by Nandini; she loves flowers," he said while welcoming me inside.
I sat on the couch when her mom came from inside. For a moment, I almost felt like she was my mom – the way she smiled and pulled me into a hug, caressing my cheeks. I hadn't felt that in years.
My gaze wandered until it found her. She was at the dining table, carefully arranging the plates, pretending not to notice me. Pretending not to notice us. This girl had no idea what she did to me.
I moved closer, and the moment she felt my presence, she stilled. Her hands froze midair, as if the simple act of breathing had suddenly become difficult. A smile tugged at the corner of my lips—my effect on her was undeniable.
I stopped just behind her, close enough to catch the scent of her hair. Vanilla. Jasmine. Sweet, delicate, maddening. I didn't know what magic she used to make it smell this way, but it wrapped around me like a spell.
"I hope you're not avoiding me," I murmured, my voice low, brushing the silence between us.
"I'm not," she whispered back, her words fragile, her body rigid, unwilling to face me.
I glanced toward the living room—her family was gathered there, far from where we stood. No one to interrupt. No one to see. A perfect chance.
I leaned closer, letting the space between us vanish until her back was pressed lightly against my chest. Tilting down so my lips hovered near her ear, I breathed, "Don't lie."
Her heartbeat betrayed her, wild and rapid, as though it might break free of her chest. She turned slowly, her face lifting toward mine, her cheeks flushed crimson. Her lips parted, but no words escaped—just silence, trembling between us.
I smirked, sinking into the chair, never breaking eye contact. Watching her—flustered, breathless, undone—was more intoxicating than any fragrance, any touch. She didn't need to say a thing. Her silence told me everything.
She stood frozen, lips parted, eyes wide, as though the simple act of breathing had suddenly escaped her. The faintest tremor ran through her hands, and for a second, I thought the plate might slip right through her fingers. But it didn't thankfully.
I leaned back in the chair, letting my voice cut through the silence, low and teasing.
"Careful," I murmured. "If you drop something, they'll know you're… distracted because of me." Smiling at her.
Her cheeks flamed at that, her skin glowing a deeper shade of crimson. She placed the plate down too quickly. She tried to move with purpose after that swift, efficient, as though her busy hands could disguise what her eyes could not.
But her eyes told the truth. They flickered toward me for the briefest second before darting away again, unable to stay, unable to hide the secret she carried in them.
From the living room came laughter her father's deep voice, her mother's lighter one, the crackling note of her grandmother's chuckle. They were near, close enough to walk in at any moment, but far enough not to sense what was unraveling right here, between us.
And that was the danger. That was the thrill.
I leaned forward, elbows resting lazily on the table, my gaze never leaving her. My voice dropped, meant for her ears alone.
"Relax," I whispered. "They'll never know… unless you keep looking this guilty."
Her head snapped up, eyes locking on mine with a mix of panic and defiance. Her lips trembled before she forced words out, soft and shaky.
"I'm not guilty of anything."
I let a slow smile curl across my mouth, deliberate and unhurried. "Not yet but soon,who knows Nandini."
The weight of those two words seemed to press against her. She swallowed hard, her hand brushing against the table's edge, gripping it like she needed the wood to anchor her.
Her mother's voice rang out suddenly from the living room.
"Are you done?"
The sound jolted her like a spark. She flinched, nearly sending a glass tumbling. Her panicked gaze darted toward me, wide, and I couldn't stop the soft laugh that slipped past my lips.
"Y-yes, almost!" she called back, her voice pitched higher than usual.
Turning away quickly, she busied herself with the last of the plates. Her hands still trembled, but she refused to look at me again. Not directly. Not when she knew she'd lose whatever fragile control she was clinging to.
Yet even from where I sat, I caught the tiniest curve tugging at the corner of her mouth—the ghost of a smile.
She might pretend. She might run, deflect, deny. But her silence spoke louder than words, her blush gave her away, and her heartbeat all wild and uneven already belonged to me. And I was not the gentleman of her dreams but the one she never imagined.
The dining table filled slowly, each chair creaking as her family settled into their places. The room smelled of fresh food and tempered spices, the kind of homely fragrance that spoke of comfort which I never had.
Nandini's mother moved with practiced grace, spooning dal into bowls, her smile polite but curious. Her father, tall and stern, adjusted his glasses before finally lifting his gaze to me. Beside him, her grandmother lowered herself carefully into her chair, her silver hair pulled back, her eyes sharp in a way that made me wonder if she missed anything at all. I dropped into my seat.
"How's your work?," her father began, his voice steady, respectful but edged with something firmer. "It is an unexpected honor to have you here."
I inclined my head, offering the faintest smile. "The honor is mine, sir. To serve an area, one must first understand its people. The work is going good too."
Her mother chuckled, her bangles clinking softly as she reached for the rice. "Hmm. Why don't you have dinner with us often,I would love to cook your favourite dishes." Her eyes crinkled as she studied me.
"I would love to" I smiled.
I accepted the rice she placed on my plate with a nod of gratitude, though my attention was already drawn elsewhere. Nandini sat quietly, her shoulders stiff, her head bent. She lifted her spoon as though it weighed more than it should, and though she never once looked at me directly, I saw the tell-tale tremor of her fingers.
It made me smirk– subtly, carefully, so no one else would notice
I set my spoon down, unhurried, deliberate. "The food is nice ," I said evenly, "I haven't had this kind of meal in while now." My gaze lingered on the food before me, but for a heartbeat just a heartbeat it lifted toward Nandini.
Her spoon stilled midair. She swallowed hard, her lashes lowering to shield her eyes, but the color that rushed into her cheeks betrayed her.
The table carried on her mother urging me to eat properly, her father asking her grandmother if the rice was to her liking but the air between Nandini and me was heavy with everything unsaid.
And then, beneath the table, I felt the faintest brush of contact. Her foot against mine,hesitant, fleeting, as though she hadn't meant for it to happen. She froze instantly, her body stiffening.
I did not move away.
Instead, I let the silence stretch, my expression calm, giving her every chance to retreat. She didn't. Not this time. Too shy to be true.
Dinner ended with the usual chorus of clinking dishes and polite farewells. I rose from my seat, offering a courteous smile to her father, a respectful nod to her grandmother, and a soft goodnight to her mother.
As I stepped toward the door, her mother's voice stopped us.
"Nandini, go and see him out."
Nandini hesitated, just for a second, before obeying. She walked ahead, her movements careful, her silence sharper than any words.
As we walked, I turned slightly, letting my voice fall into the quiet between us.
"Don't be late tomorrow," I said.
Her eyes flickered to mine, just once. "I won't," she replied, her voice softer.
I allowed the faintest curve of a smile before slipping into the driver's seat of my car. The door shut with a muted thud. She stood there, framed by the warm light spilling out from the doorway.
I didn't look at her directly. My eyes stayed fixed on the steering wheel as I spoke, my tone low.
"Go back, Nandini. And don't forget what happened today."
For a moment, there was only silence. I could feel it the weight of her breath.She didn't speak. She only turned, her steps slow, and walked back toward the house.
I let my gaze follow her, watching the shape of her disappear into the doorway, swallowed by the light.
I rested my hands on the wheel, shaking my head faintly and I almost smiled again.
I'd been smiling too much these days. Strange for me.