After the sleepover, the mood between us lightened. We joked often, and he always made me blush. But soon, our schedules got hectic with the "new dam project".
I watched him go through the papers I collected.
"Yeah, this looks perfect," he said.
We'd been working really hard. Honestly, I deserved a break—especially since my birthday was next week.
"We really deserve a good break," I said, pretending to wipe fake tears.
He laughed, shaking his head. "You're so dramatic."
"Excuse me, that's called expressing emotions," I said proudly.
He rolled his eyes. "Yeah, yeah."
"I think it's ready to submit," I said, feeling proud of us.
"Yes." His smile curved slowly before he checked his watch. "It's lunchtime."
"I brought food," I said, pulling out two tiffins. Aloo parathas, curry, and yogurt.
"Unhealthy," he muttered.
"Oh please, Health Minister, shut up," I shot back, taking a bite. "This is love in the form of food."
He tried it too. "It's… nice."
"I know. I'm the best cook," I said, flipping my hair.
He chuckled. "Confident much?"
"Not confident—just talented," I grinned.
For a moment, he ate quietly, then asked, "So… what do you want for your birthday?"
I almost dropped my spoon. "What? Why are you asking like that?"
"Just tell me," he said casually, though his eyes stayed fixed on the paratha.
I leaned closer. "Hmm… maybe a big surprise?"
He glanced at me. "Big surprises require big budgets."
I laughed. "Relax, Mr. Accountant. I'm happy with anything. Even a flower would do."
"Good," he said with a teasing smirk, "because that's all you're getting."
"Vyom!" I hit his arm lightly.
He chuckled, but the way his eyes lingered on me made me wonder if he was actually planning something more.
We sat cross-legged on the floor, the papers spread out like a messy carpet around us, and the tiffins between us. Vyom was chewing slowly, pretending to act unimpressed, while I kept boasting about my cooking skills.
"Don't get too used to this. Next time, you're cooking for me," I teased.
"Oh please," he scoffed. "Im a great cook."
He laughed, the sound warm and unguarded, and for a while the world outside didn't matter.
My phone buzzed against the floor. I glanced at it, saw the name flashing on the screen, and immediately pressed decline. Vyom raised an eyebrow.
"Not going to pick up?"
"Spam," I said quickly, brushing it off and forcing a smile.
We continued eating. He told me a silly story about one of the workers at the site, and I laughed harder than I probably should have. Then the phone buzzed again. The same name. My chest tightened.
This time, without thinking, I picked it up—maybe out of irritation, maybe out of habit.
"Hello?" I said sharply.
There was silence for a second. Then a voice I thought I'd never hear again.
"Nandini."
My spoon slipped from my hand. That voice. Cold. Familiar. The one that haunted my childhood nights. My biological father. The man I had sworn never to let near me again.
All the warmth drained from me. My throat went dry.
"How did you get this number?" I whispered, my fingers trembling.
Vyom noticed immediately. He leaned closer, his eyes narrowing in concern. "Nandini? Who is it?"
But I couldn't answer. I was frozen, listening to the very voice I had buried in my past, suddenly pulled back into the nightmare I never wanted to relive.