HER POV
After half an hour, we both reached the 20th floor.
"Why is your door not locked?" he asked with a tense face, looking at the lock.
"I don't know. I remember I locked the door. I even compared mine with yours." I hurriedly checked the gate.
"No. It's not locked," he yelled.
We both froze, staring at each other, and rushed inside the house.
We checked every corner — under the bed, on the balcony, behind cupboards, curtains, everywhere.
"Nothing is here and nothing is missing. Thank God. How can you be so careless, Tara?"
"I remember I closed the gate," I cried.
And suddenly, everything started feeling wrong.
No, it can't happen. Nothing is there.
My hands started shaking, and tears began dropping from my eyes.
"I locked the gate. I remember," I fumbled, and suddenly my knees collapsed.
He hurried to me and wrapped his arms around me.
He brushed his hand through my hair.
"It's okay. Everything is alright."
"Nothing is alright."
"No worries. Nothing is missing. Nobody got inside. It's not your fault. Stop crying," he consoled me.
I don't remember when I fell asleep in his arms.
---
HIS POV
Her eyes have become drained due to this exhausting day.
If I pick her up and lay her on the bed, will she wake up? But it's uncomfortable for her to sleep like this in my lap. She'll wake up with body pain.
I carefully picked her up in my arms and went to her room, but then I realised that her room had a storm of clothes.
If she ever says she doesn't have clothes, then I am going to take all of these.
I took her to the living room and carefully laid her on the sofa. Where does she keep her blankets?
After 15 minutes, I finally found one.
Till the time she is sleeping, I'll just clean her room.
Oh. My. God. It's more than I expected.
Half of her clothes are stuffed inside the closet like trash. She could just wear any top and jeans.
Why does she do a fashion show just for breakfast?
I started by folding all her clothes.
Madam has about a hundred varieties of only tops. Leave shirts alone.
Wait. This blue checked shirt is mine. I've been looking for it for a month.
Well, she likes it, so I'll give it to her.
I started separating everything — fitted tops, crop tops, oversized T-shirts, shirts, jeans, trousers, dresses, skirts.
Why don't men have such varieties of clothes?
Everything is done. I just have to keep them in the closet now.
I opened it and cleaned it first.
Wow, she still has the handkerchief I gave her years ago. I remember I embroidered this tulip on the corner because it's her favourite flower. It took me a whole day.
I finished organising her wardrobe and noticed that it's already 2 p.m.
I should make her lunch. She must have been tired today.
I entered the kitchen and saw a box of cake on the slab. I tasted it and wow — it's fresh, like someone just made it today.
I started by chopping vegetables and boiling some pasta on the side.
Why does she like pasta so much? She can eat it every day.
I thought of making it healthier. I surfed through my phone to find some healthy recipes and ended up making regular pasta.
That will also be good because she buys whole wheat pasta, and red sauce is mainly tomatoes.
"What are you doing?" She murmured, still in sleep.
"Oh you are awake." I reached her.
"Wow you are making pasta." She ran to pasta and tasted it and then ran towards me and throwed her hands around me.
"Thank you, my bestie. I really love… pasta. I really like pasta."
And then she stepped back and sat on the chair.
Ahh this girl. Makes my heart skip a beat.
"Are you sick?" She asked suddenly.
"No. Why ?"
"Your cheeks are red." She pointed.
"Ohh that. I was cooking pasta so the heat made them look red." I rubbed my face.
"Well I found a cake in a box on your kitchen slab."
"Oh I forgot to bring it to your home. I baked it in the morning."
"You baked it." I said with my eyes wide open.
"Yes. I did. Do you think I can't cook? I can cook food and you too." She almost threatened me.
"Oh sorry Miss. My apologies. Well that cake was so delicious."
"Thank you." She smiled.