Chapter 5
What kind of human is he?
Why didn’t I stop him? This isn’t funny anymore.
I shouldn’t care this much. I barely know him. But my feet kept moving on their own.
I pressed the bell twice. No answer.
I pressed it again… and again.
After about five minutes, I heard his heavy, groggy voice from the other side of the door. “Wait… coming…”
The door creaked open, and there he was, standing with a sleepy expression, rubbing his eyes. “Hi…?” He mumbled, clearly still half-asleep.
“Are you crazy?”
He blinked slowly. “Good morning to you, too!” His face was unusually red, and his eyes looked… off.
“How are you feeling?”
“How am I feeling? Did you hit your head somewhere, cheeseball?” He looked at me, blinking, trying to focus. Gesturing toward the entrance, he asked, “Would you want to… come in?”
Before I could think, my feet moved on their own, stepping inside.
The cottage was beautiful. Ivory-colored walls, an earl grey sofa, large glass window panes that let in streams of natural light, and a wall-mounted TV in the spacious hall.
The kitchen, though, was the real surprise—huge and impeccably organized.
Manav moved into the kitchen and poured two glasses of water, handing me one before sitting on a stool at the kitchen counter, sipping from his glass.
“Nice house?” I could not help but smile, seeing everything organized in every corner.
“All thanks to your brother,” he replied with a small nod.
“But you’re keeping it so tidy and clean.”
“Mmhmm…” He rubbed his forehead as if he was in pain.
“You don’t look well.”
He glanced at me, then took another sip of water before shaking his head lightly. “I’m fine. Just a bit of a headache.”
Because of me. He went into that freezing water because of me.
You are dangerous to mankind, Kiara!
I stepped toward his stool. He was sitting casually, with a sleepy face, wearing a white t-shirt and black sweatpants. His eyes were red and swollen, and his face was flushed. He watched me carefully as I moved closer. He almost winced when I placed the back of my hand on his forehead.
“What are you doing?”
“Shit… You're burning up!” I said, feeling the heat radiating from his skin.
“Am I?” he asked, his voice low as he watched my hand move to his throat, checking again.
“Yes… Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I’m fine.” He just blinked, glancing at his watch. “I have to leave for a meeting…” His gaze landed on me, and that persistent voice inside my head kept cursing my decision to push him into the freezing ocean at midnight.
“I am calling a doctor. Move another inch and I’m throwing you again into the ocean.” I walked towards the intercom by the fridge.
Before I could reach it, he gently grabbed my hand, his eyes locking onto mine. “Cheeseball, I don’t need a doctor. This meeting is important!”
“Really? With who? The potatoes and the capsicums?” I snapped, “Are you all going to write some sort of culinary constitution together?”
He tipped his head back, “Please, let me go… No doctor needed.” He looked at me with the cutest scowl ever invented.
“I’ll check on you again, mister, and don’t forget your medicine.”
I have no clue why I’m doing this. I’m taking care of a random guy—something I’ve never done before. I could be the next lab experiment! Dear scientists, sign me up. My body's gone rogue, and my brain's calling a code red.
As I turned to leave, his voice floated after me, “And next time, feel free to come in without the wait. The spare key’s in the hanging planter.”
____________
“I mean, he's my chef,” I clarified.
Myra paused, “Wait, your chef? Like, the person who cooks for you?”
“Yeah, but it's not like that,” I hastily added. “It was just a game. Things got out of hand.”
“He swam in the ocean at 3 a.m. because of a game?” Myra sounded incredulous.
I sighed. “I shouldn’t have done it.”
“You've got to be kidding me,” Myra said with a laugh.
I rolled my eyes. “Oh, please, it’s not like that.”
“Uh-huh,” she said. “How are you doing, though? Still struggling with those sleeping pills?”
“Sometimes,” I admitted. “But I’m trying to wean them off. It’s a process.”
“Babe, I love you, but next time, try charades or pillow fights. Not midnight hypothermia.”
She is enjoying this a bit too much.
“Noted.”
“Sweetie, give life another chance. And when do I get to meet this daring guy?”
“Myra…” I sighed, rubbing my temple.
“What…? You have no idea what you’re missing, bro. At least have some casual sex. Is the chef hot?”
“Myraaa…” I groaned, glaring at my phone like she could actually feel it.
“Babe… there is no harm in having friends with benefits.”
“No, thank you. I don’t want any friends or benefits.”
“Yes, you do, darling! By the way… that douchebag Vihaan—did he try to call you?”
“Why would he? I already made him suffer enough. He was practically viral on every news channel: ‘Business tycoon Vihaan Singhania left at the altar by his fiancée.’”
“He deserved that for what he did to you.”
“I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Oh, yes, let’s talk about your hot chef instead. At least send me a picture, dude.”
“I am not sending you anything. I hired a chef, not a calendar model.”
“When’s Roy coming back?”
“No idea. I came here to meet him and got stuck with that chef and his stupid abs.”
“Oooh… did someone say abs?”
“Bye,” I groaned as she burst into laughter on the other end of the line.
“Hahaha…okay listen, I’ve got a meeting with the designer now, so we’ll catch up soon. And next time, I want to hear all about him, unfiltered. Take care!” She was probably pushing through a crowd, her voice breaking up amidst the noise.
She was always one for exaggeration and Bollywood drama.
After all, she was a big-time producer of OTT and films in Indian cinema.
She had that flair for making everything sound like it belonged on a big screen.
She’s my only friend right now, especially since I lost touch with everyone else in my life six months ago.
Myra knows me like nobody else ever could—or should, for that matter.
I eventually find myself walking up to the cottage. I pressed the bell again. No answer.
Panic curled in my chest. I knew it—he wasn’t okay. Not after swimming in freezing water at 3 a.m. because I dared him.
I found the key exactly where he’d said—in the hanging planter—and let myself in.
“Manav?” I called out softly. No response.
The cottage was still. I moved toward the open bedroom door.
There he was. Asleep. Or… not quite.
He was lying on the bed, shirt clinging to his damp skin, forehead flushed. Shivering.
Shit.
I rushed to his side. “Manav… hey…” I placed my hand on his forehead. Burning. His breathing was shallow, skin was clammy.
Guilt hit me like a wave. This was my fault. I pulled the duvet over him, then darted to the kitchen for a towel and cold water. For the next half hour, I sat by his bed, dabbing his forehead, whispering nonsense to fill the silence.
Of all the things I’ve ever done wrong, this might top the list. Eventually, his breathing evened out, the shivers stopped, and I dared to hope.
I didn’t sleep. Just watched. Just stayed.
Morning came. I must’ve dozed off because I woke to the soft rustle of sheets.
Carefully, I reached out to check his forehead, brushing my fingers lightly against his skin. A wave of relief washed over me—thankfully, the fever was gone.
Before I could pull my hand away, his fingers gently wrapped around mine. My breath hitched. His eyes remained closed, but his grip was firm, his brow furrowing deeply, as though he was lost in a dream or fighting some unseen battle.
Is he awake?
Just as I started to pull my hand away, Manav slowly opened his eyes, looking at me while still holding on.
“Hi…” I whispered.
His frown eased a bit as he blinked, clearly trying to process everything. He didn’t let go of my hand. He didn’t reply; he just kept looking at me, his brows furrowed as if trying to figure something out. His fingers—warm now—curled gently around mine.
“Fever’s down,” I murmured.
Still no reply. Just the quiet weight of his gaze, like he was trying to figure out why I was still here.
I stood. “I made breakfast—soup, croissants.”
He nodded faintly, not letting go of my hand.
“You scared me,” I added before I could stop myself.
Then he released my hand.
Silence again.
I turned and walked to the dining table, grabbing a plate with croissants and soup. When I came back, he was sitting up in bed now, his expression still unreadable. I handed him the plate, and though he accepted it, it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about it. His face looked drained, his eyes weary.
I placed the medicines on the side table. He blinked slowly, avoiding my gaze, his thumb absentmindedly tracing circles along the spoon’s handle, like he was trying to ground himself in silence.
Is he angry? But beyond that, there was something else—he looked… troubled.
____________
The soothing sound of seagulls outside had stirred me from my sleep. I hadn’t even realized when I’d drifted off in my room. It was already evening. My head felt heavy, and my stomach was growling.
As I entered the kitchen, Elena found me, her usual warm smile in place. “Ma’am, your food is ready. Shall I serve you?”
“My food?” I blinked.
“Yes, Manav sir prepared it for you and just left,” she replied with a warm smile.
“He cooked?” I mumbled, trying to process the fact that he was up and about after the fever he had.
“He left a note…” She smiled, gesturing toward the table.
“A Note?” I muttered, walking slowly to the table, my mind still reeling.
The smell hit me first—warm spices, something tangy, something home. I stepped into the dining area and froze.
A full Indian meal was laid out. Everything was perfectly plated. Fresh. Hot. And next to the water glass, a note.
Hey,
Hope I still have a job after yesterday. Tell your army of helpers to serve the food hot.
Thanks for putting up with me last night.
—Manav