Krish
It was our first morning together in the safe house. The previous night had passed uneventfully with us retreating to our respective rooms after polite but strained conversation. Then I took care of some phone calls with my team back in Austria, getting updates on other missions I’d my eyes on.
This morning felt different, more intimate somehow, our guards down in the soft morning light.
I was scrambling eggs in the kitchen when I heard Trisha’s door open.
I glanced up and instantly froze. I couldn’t tear my eyes away as I watched Trisha emerge fresh from the shower, hair damp, clad in just an oversized t-shirt that barely reached mid-thigh.
She had worn it with denim shorts, flaunting her long, creamy legs.
She stood there fresh from the shower, rivulets of water still glistening on her bare skin.
Her hair was wrapped in a towel, a few damp tendrils framing her beautiful face.
For a moment, I felt my heartbeat race on seeing her in this relaxed outfit.
After months of seeing Trisha only in conservative work attire, her casual appearance now left me momentarily stunned. And undeniably aroused.
Those endless legs... the curve of her hips as she walked... the fluttering glimpse of collarbone peeking from the wide neck of the tee...
My heart pounded louder than a Dolby music system. Abruptly, I wrenched my gaze back to the eggs I was mauling as she caught me staring. Just act normal, I scolded myself. But I could still feel her presence like a lightning rod as she entered the kitchen.
“Who packed my bags for here?” she asked, sounding annoyed.
“Not me. Why?” I replied, puzzled.
“What do you mean why, Krish? There’s barely anything decent in here,” she huffed. “Just shorts and tees, like I’m on vacation.”
I couldn’t help chuckling. Trisha shot me a look.
“This is serious, Krish. I need some real outfits.” she snapped.
“Sorry, but you should be thankful your team grabbed anything before getting you out of there. And you don’t look half bad in these.”
“I look like a clown.” She rolled her eyes.
“Oh, come on, you look fine,” I said lightly, then added before thinking, “Honestly, you look pretty sexy.”
Trisha’s eyes widened in surprise, so I quickly added, not wanting to offend her, “I… I mean, a sexy clown.”
She again rolled her eyes and sighed.
“C’mon, Trisha. It’s hardly a matter of two weeks.”
“That’s what I’m saying. Two whole weeks stuck in this stuff around you. Great,” she muttered, regretting it immediately while I grinned.
She didn’t mind wearing these revealing outfits that exposed more skin. Her concern wasn’t about the clothes, but rather about my presence while she wore them.
“I mean…” she paused, swallowing the unease, and diverted the topic instead. “I’m hungry.”
Smart woman!
“Have a seat, breakfast is almost ready.” I gestured to the small kitchen table.
“No thanks, I can cook for myself,” she waved me off.
I knew staying under one roof idea for the next few days was difficult for her, but I never thought she would turn down my offer to cook for us.
Shrugging and letting her take over the breakfast duty, I moved aside.
The pan was hot. Trisha tapped the egg against the marble surface with her left hand, ready to crack it into the pan for an omelette.
However, as she prepared to do so, the pain shooting through her shoulder reminded her that her right hand was still out of commission due to the injury.
She winced as she stretched her arm, feeling the discomfort and nervously looked at me.
“That bullet clearly affected your common sense too—you’re in no shape to be cooking,” I teased back.
Her eyes flashed at the teasing jab. “I’m perfectly capable. I just need...”
But she lingered off for a few seconds as I effortlessly cracked the eggs and began whisking before she continued the argument.
“You and I both know I’m still capable of handling missions, even in my current state. If your logical reasoning had been sharper, you wouldn’t have sidelined me from fieldwork for two weeks. I miss being out there, Krish.”
“Seriously?” I frowned. “When was the last time you took a break or went on a holiday?”
She didn’t reply and sat on the chair at the counter. I slid the cooked omelette onto a plate, handing it to her.
“Careful, it’s hot,” I warned.
Our fingers brushed and lingered. The domesticity of this moment felt dangerously intimate.
With supreme effort, I focused on plating the eggs and toast, trying not to notice the soft sound of Trisha's legs brushing together under the table, or the towel slipping slightly from her hair, revealing the smooth skin of her neck.
.. Clearing my throat, I continued our previous debate.
“I’ve seen your records. You hardly take a break or get off work. Why is that?” I probed, eating from my plate.
“I like to keep myself busy.”
“That means you don’t like solitude?”
“Do you?” she countered.
“Nah! Nobody does. Want to know my trick for coping with loneliness?” I queried.
Trisha looked at me sceptically, but there was a hint of curiosity in her face. “Alright, what’s your big secret trick for coping with solitude?”
I leaned in conspiratorially, thrilled by her closeness.
“It’s pretty embarrassing, but...” I lowered my voice to a dramatic whisper. “I talk to myself.”
Trisha’s eyebrows shot up in surprise. Then, a smile tugged at her lips. “You talk to yourself?”
“Full-on conversations!” I said. “I’ll take both sides of a debate or just narrate what I’m doing. The mailman probably thinks I’m crazy.”
That elicited a laugh from Trisha, her eyes lighting up. “Do you use different voices and everything?”
“Oh, absolutely,” I nodded earnestly. “I have a whole range of accents and characters. You should hear my Russian accent; it’s a hoot.”
Trisha was really laughing now, shaking her head at my antics. “You’re ridiculous.” But her tone was full of amusement.
I grinned, buoyed by her reaction. “Hey, it works! Give it a shot the next time you’re lonely, and you’ll see.”
Our eyes held, and our smiles lingered. Just for a moment, the tension between us evaporated.
There was only this shared laughter, this joy of being together.
Maybe we couldn’t define or act on this undefinable connection yet.
But I would treasure these small, perfect moments of bonding, and the sound of Trisha’s unrestrained laughter. For now, that was more than enough.