Chapter 18 SCENTS AND STORIES #2
For a moment after the words leave my mouth, the room goes completely still. Aditya doesn’t move. He doesn’t speak. He just looks at me. The expression on his face shifts slowly—from confusion, to disbelief, and then something else entirely, something sharper that makes my stomach twist.
I wipe my cheek quickly, annoyed that I’m crying in front of him like this. “I shouldn’t have said anything,” I mutter, staring down at the floor. “It’s just… something I heard and it got into my head and—”
I don’t finish the sentence. Because suddenly his hand closes around my wrist. Not rough. But firm enough that I stop talking. “Divya.” My name comes out low and almost as a...growl.
I look up and before I can say another word—he kisses me.
He's not gentle. He's not hesitant. This one feels is urgent. Like he’s trying to stop every terrible thought running through my mind at once.
My brain freezes for half a second in pure shock.
Then my fingers grab the front of his shirt automatically, holding on like I might fall otherwise. The kiss lasts only a few seconds.
But when he pulls back my heart is racing so loudly I’m sure he can hear it.
“What exactly,” he says, slightly breathless, “gave you the idea that I’m stuck?”
I blink at him. “I just—”
“Yes,” he interrupts, running a hand through his hair, “we married because we needed something.” His voice is steady now. “But that’s not what this is anymore.”
I swallow. “Aditya—”
“I feel so much more for you now, Divya.” The sincerity in his eyes makes my chest tighten painfully. He exhales slowly, like he’s trying to collect his thoughts.
“Actually,” he mutters, glancing toward his desk, “I had planned to say this in a less chaotic situation.”
He walks over to the desk and opens one of the drawers. I watch him, confused and slightly dizzy from everything that just happened.
When he turns back, there’s a small box in his hand. Plain. Teal. He places it on the desk in front of me. “Open it.” His tone is almost commanding.
I hesitate. “Aditya…”
“Just open it.” My fingers feel strangely clumsy as I lift the lid. Inside the box is a small book. Hardbound. Simple. The title is written across the front in neat lettering.
Where My Heart Belongs.
My brow furrows.
“What is this?”
“Open it.” I slide my thumb under the first page and turn it carefully.
My eyes move across the paper. And then stop.
Because it’s not printed text. It’s handwriting.
Aditya’s handwriting. I flip through the pages.
Poems. Unmistakably written for me. The words talk about the first time he saw me in the bookstore.
About a girl standing between shelves looking for a story that reminded her of her father.
My throat tightens immediately. I flip to the next page. Another poem. Then another. My hands begin to shake slightly. “What… is this?”
I look up at him, completely stunned. Aditya leans against the desk, arms folded, watching my face with a mix of embarrassment and stubborn pride. “I wrote them.”
“You… what?”
“I wrote poems.”
My mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. “You wrote poems?”
“Yes.” He admits. “For you.” He rubs the back of his neck and lets out a short laugh. “I fucking wrote poems for you, Divya.” I stare at him dumbfounded. “You think I’m just being kind?”
He shakes his head slowly. “I’m not that generous.” My heart feels like it’s about to burst out of my chest. “You wrote… a whole book?”
“Technically it’s more of a collection.”
“Aditya.”
He runs a hand through his hair again, suddenly looking slightly nervous. “I fucking wrote poems for you, Divya.” He repeats. The bluntness of the sentence makes me laugh through my tears. “And you think I’m just being kind?” He takes a step closer. His eyes search mine intensely. “I love you.”
The words hit me like a physical force. For a moment my brain simply stops working. “You… do?”
His eyebrows shoot up. “What does it look like?”
I laugh again, the sound half breathless and half disbelieving. “It looks like you do love me.”
“Yes,” he says dramatically, throwing his hands up slightly. “I do.” He says softly this time, “I do love you.”
My chest feels too small to hold everything rushing through it. Before I can think, I step forward and kiss him.
This kiss is softer. Warmer. My hands slide up around his neck as his arms wrap around my waist instinctively. When we pull apart we’re both smiling like idiots.
I glance back down at the box. There’s something else inside.
A small glass bottle. Familiar shape. I pick it up slowly. My eyes narrow.
“Aditya.”
“Yes?”
“You stole attar from my shop?”
He looks offended. “I did not steal anything.”
I raise the bottle.
“This is literally one of my bottles.”
“Yes, but what’s inside it is not yours.”
“What does that mean?”
“I made it.”
I stare at him again. “You made… attar?”
“Yes.” He sighs dramatically. “Do you have any idea how complicated that was?” I laugh at him, “It was a nightmare. My respect for you skyrocketed.”
I twist the small cap open carefully and bring the bottle closer. The scent rises slowly. Rose, saffron, Oud. It smells like old books and citrus and something slightly sweet underneath.
My chest tightens again. “It’s beautiful.”
“I’m glad you like it,” he says, clearly relieved.
I step forward and wrap my arms around him tightly. “I love you so much too.”
The words feel natural leaving my mouth. Like they’ve been waiting there for weeks. He freezes for half a second. Then his arms tighten around me. “Say that again.”
I laugh against his shoulder. “I love you.”
“Again.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“Again.”
“I love you.”
He presses his face into my hair and laughs quietly. “I needed to hear that.”
I pull back slightly and look up at him. “This,” I say, holding the book gently, “is the most thoughtful thing anyone has ever done for me.”
He shrugs.
“I was inspired.”
“Well I love it.”
“I’m glad.”
“And this perfume.”
“You love that too?”
“Yes, I might ask you to make it again.” He groans and I chuckle.
I hold the bottle up thoughtfully. Then a sudden idea sparks in my mind. “What if we did something with this?”
“With what?”
“With books and perfume.”
He looks confused. “Explain.”
I step closer to the desk, suddenly excited. “What if we create limited collaborations?”
“Books and scents.”
He tilts his head. “Go on.”
“Imagine reading a novel and there’s a perfume inspired by the story. The scent of the world inside the book.”
His eyes light up slowly. “That’s actually brilliant.”
“I know.”
He grins. “We should absolutely do that.”
I laugh. “I knew you’d like it.”
He pulls me back into his arms. “Of course I like it.” Then he kisses my forehead. “I like everything about you.”
My heart does something ridiculous inside my chest. We stay like that for a moment. Just holding each other And for the first time since the conversation in the washroom earlier—the fear disappears completely.
Because now I know. Without any doubt. His heart belongs exactly where mine does.