Chapter 16 #2
And without a word, she knelt beside me. Her hands found mine—warm, steady, threading through the cold tension of my fingers like a lifeline.
Her presence didn’t demand. It offered.
Her touch didn’t push. It waited.
And somehow, that was what undid me.
“She knew I wouldn't read them soon,” I said quietly. “She postponed her surgery.” My voice trembled. “She knew there was a chance she wouldn’t make it, but she… she stayed. For me.”
Kiara wrapped her arms around me, pulling me into a tight hug. At first, my body stiffened, as though it was resisting the comfort. But then, slowly, it gave in, melting into her like I’d been holding my breath for too long. I let my head drop against her shoulder like gravity had finally won.
“I thought I was past this,” I murmured, barely trusting my own voice.
“No one ever really is,” she whispered. “You don’t move on. You just move… differently.”
I looked at her then. Her eyes weren’t pitying. They were open. Anchored. Holding mine like she could take the weight if I handed it over.
I let out a breath, and her fingers squeezed mine—once, firmly. Like a promise.
We sat like that for a while. The letters still open. The grief still lingering. But somehow, it didn’t feel quite as unbearable.
And for the first time in a long time… someone saw the pieces of me I’d hidden in this house.
And chose to sit with them.
I hadn’t planned to speak. But when you’re sitting in a house filled with ghosts, and someone stays with you long enough… the words start to fall out.
“She used to leave me notes,” I murmured. “Little ones. In my lunchbox. On the mirror. Inside books, she knew I’d pretend not to read.”
Kiara didn’t speak. Just listened. Her hand still wrapped around mine like it belonged there.
“They weren’t big messages. Just… ‘Drink water,’ or ‘Don’t punch anyone at school today,’” I said with a soft laugh. “Sometimes, she’d draw a badly sketched cat because she knew I hated them.”
“She sounds like a badass,” Kiara whispered, her voice warm with something close to reverence.
“She was everything,” I said simply.
Another silence stretched—but it didn’t suffocate. Not with her next to me.
— — —
“This is not called helping, you know,” I said, throwing Kiara a pointed glance as she popped another slice of cucumber into her mouth like it was her life’s calling.
She looked at me with mock innocence, crunching audibly. “I’m tasting for quality. You wouldn’t want to poison us, would you?”
I sighed dramatically, wiping my hands on the kitchen towel. “You said you were going to help. Do not decimate the salad before it even reaches the table.”
“I am helping,” she said, waving the half-empty bowl like a trophy. “You won’t let me near the knives, so I have to do something, at least.”
She rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t fade.
I felt lighter. I hadn’t realized how heavy everything had been until it started to lift.
The letters had done something I hadn’t expected—they let the grief out without tearing me open. Kiara had stayed through it, asking nothing, offering everything, and now here we were—making dinner like we’d done it a thousand times before.
“Why have you been staring at your phone nonstop?” I asked, glancing at Kiara, who sat cross-legged on the dining chair.
She didn’t even look up. Just frowned harder at the screen and scratched the tip of her nose absentmindedly.
“Is it a crime now?” she muttered.
“Nope… please, continue,” I muttered, shaking my head as I focused on tossing the contents of the pan.
“I had shortlisted a fake boyfriend,” she declared, setting her phone on the table with a dramatic sigh.
“Okay…” I paused mid-stir, raising an eyebrow as I glanced over at her. “Should I know…why?”
“To avoid Dadi’s parade of eligible bachelors trying to get me married as soon as I visit her for her birthday,” she replied, crossing her arms like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“And…?” I prompted, already biting back a grin.
“And he cancelled…”
“Who?”
“The fake boyfriend.”
“For how long was he supposed to be the boyfriend?” I leaned casually against the counter, intrigued now.
“Twelve days.”
“And after twelve days?” I pressed. “Do you think Dadi will just give up on your wedding plans after the birthday?”
She huffed, clearly annoyed. “A week after her birthday, I have my book launch. Then, in another week, I’ll be moving back to France.”
The words hung in the air like an aftershock.
“France?” I repeated, too quickly.
She didn’t seem to notice. Just nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “I went there for college, but I fell in love with the place and ended up staying longer than I planned.”
She shrugged like it was nothing. Like she hadn’t just said something that tilted the axis of the room.
“I came back to India about a year ago,” she added, more quietly now. “But I still miss it.”
I swallowed, the taste of garlic bread suddenly dry in my mouth.
“I didn’t know you were planning to leave.”
“I wasn’t sure I was,” she said, offering a small smile. “But… the past year hasn’t exactly gone to plan. And maybe that’s the sign I needed to finally move on.”
Move on.
I nodded slowly, but my chest tightened—something between hesitation and something I didn’t want to name yet.
“Right,” I said, trying to keep my voice even. “France.”
She smiled again, softer this time. “Don’t look so surprised. I don’t exactly belong here.”
And there it was—the sentence that shouldn’t have stung but did. I didn’t realize until now that I wasn’t ready to imagine a world where she wasn’t in mine.
“Do you ever think about staying?” I asked before I could stop myself.
She glanced away briefly as if the thought of being away brought both relief and a twinge of sadness.
I tried to change the air, lighten the weight hanging between us.
“So now, without your fake boyfriend, what if Dadi decides to marry you off during the birthday party itself?”
Her glare was swift and sharp. “Mr. Oberoi,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sweetness, “Don’t make me break your teeth—on your birthday.”
“Please, don’t let my birthday stop you from fulfilling your fantasies,” I grinned, flicking a green chili in her direction.
“Ouch… that could’ve hurt me!” She yelped, stepping off the stool.
“Really? I missed the chance to see you in the headlines tomorrow: Bestseller author gets hit on the head by a green chili and forgets how to use her brain.”
But I wasn’t prepared for what came next.
I was so caught off guard by my laughter that I didn’t notice her rushing toward me. And then—shiiiittttt.
She scooped up a fistful of flour from the counter and chucked it straight at me. Direct hit.
It was everywhere—my face, my shirt, even my eyelashes.
“Kiara Randhawa…” I blinked through the white cloud of chaos, still processing as she grabbed another fistful of flour and launched it at me, turning my meticulously groomed stubble into something resembling a snowy landscape.
“What? You’re not the only one who can write headlines—” Her laughter was ringing through the kitchen as I stood there, covered in flour from head to toe, my black shirt looking like it had survived a powdered sugar explosion.
I dropped the knife and left the counter as I stalked her around the kitchen island. “You think this is funny?”
“Absolutely.”
After a two full minutes of this ridiculous game of cat and mouse, I finally caught her, wrapping my arms around her waist and pulling her to me. Her laughter didn’t stop—it only got louder, her sparkling eyes locking onto mine with pure mischief.
“Do you have any idea… what have you done?”
She struggled to catch her breath. “This salt-and-pepper looks cute on you.”
“You’ve ruined my shirt, Cheeseball…” I muttered, pulling her a little closer until there was barely an inch of space between us. “And I don’t have any spare clothes.” I tried not to focus on the intoxicating vanilla scent that seemed to wrap itself around me.
“Please go ahead and do your favorite thing—roam around shirtless. I’m sure some butterflies will appreciate the view.” Her fingers rested lightly on my chest. That traitorous organ in my chest, the one that always lost its cool around her, thudded in protest.
My laughter died completely as I realized how close we were. Her soft breaths mingled with mine, and I became excruciatingly aware of every inch of space between us—because there wasn’t much left.
My eyes closed briefly when I heard her voice—a whisper, “Manav.”
I couldn’t respond. Hell, I didn’t know how to respond. This girl—this extremely beautiful girl—had waltzed into my life, unearthing things I thought I’d buried for good. Feelings I’d sworn off, emotions I didn’t have the bandwidth to deal with.
But when she whispered my name again, softer this time, my eyes flickered to her lips. “Hmm…”
“The pancakes—” Her gaze motioned toward the now-charred mess in the pan. “—are burning”
“Hmm…?” It took me a second to process what she had just said.
I snapped out of it, breath catching in my throat, and let go of her instantly.
Too fast. Too abrupt.
One second, I was standing too close—her laugh curling into my lungs like something I didn’t want to let go of, and the next, I was rushing to the stove like it was on fire.
She followed, brushing past me, trying to hide her flushed face behind a smirk. “Almost burnt the garlic,” she said, nudging my arm.
“Almost,” I muttered back.
And just like that, we were both leaning against the counter, breathless and laughing—trying to pretend like that moment hadn’t just happened. Like my hand hadn’t lingered on her waist for a second too long. Like her fingers hadn’t curled into my shirt.
Boom.
Footsteps.
Voices.
And then—the door flew open.
“I thought I’d never see you laughing like this again,” Kartik announced dramatically, bursting into the kitchen like he owned the damn floor.
Of course, it was Kartik. Nosy, noisy, and perpetually three seconds away from being drop-kicked out of the room.
Kiara straightened instantly, tugging at her sleeves like a teenager caught sneaking in late. I stepped away from the counter, every muscle bracing for impact.
I turned at the sound of more footsteps echoing through the hallway.
“We are going to talk,” Meeta said, arms already around me in a quick hug, her eyes narrowing in mock disapproval as she pulled back.
And then, because the universe wasn’t done with me—
“I hope Ms. Randhawa hasn’t officially eaten up your popular abs,” Myra announced as she swept into the kitchen like a hurricane disguised in designer prints. She struggled with the strap of her bag, which appeared to be fighting back with equal commitment.
Before I could register what was happening—
Thud thud thud thud—
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY, MAANAV!”
Nick came charging in like a tiny rocket on sugar, arms outstretched, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with excitement.
I bent down instinctively, catching him mid-launch. He wrapped his arms around my neck with zero hesitation and maximum chaos.
“Thanks, champ,” I said, tickling his sides as his giggles erupted, loud and infectious.
Lina, Kartik, Meeta, Myra, Nick, and a smattering of people I’d only met occasionally over the past six months were all there.
And they were all staring at me. My face, shirt, and hands? Still covered in flour.
“What are you guys doing here?” I finally managed to ask as Nick landed a playful punch on my stomach, his tiny fists barely registering.
“We’re here to party…” Meeta announced as she popped open a bottle of wine and made herself comfortable on a stool.
Kiara had shifted her attention to Nick, now fully immersed in a lively game of ‘Stone, Paper, Scissors, Blah Blah—or whatever chaotic version they had just invented.