Chapter 27
TWENTY-SEVEN
Greesha
My eyes narrow at Viraj’s words.
I’m trying hard not to react to his earlier condescension toward Advik—but I know he sees it on my face. Which is probably why his tone softens as he continues.
“We found four children by intercepting a boat off the coast in Kerala. It wasn’t from the makeshift dock we were surveilling.”
My spine straightens.
Viraj pauses, takes a breath like he’s weighing what to reveal. That breath tells me everything I need to know. He’s holding something back.
“Two of those children...” He looks at Advik. “Were from Sunrise Home. They escaped from their locked room, maneuvered the comms of the boat, and contacted the Indian Coast Guard directly. That’s how we found them before they were taken.”
Advik releases a shuddering breath. I know what he’s thinking. That he taught those tools to these children. And that might have actually saved their lives.
“Where are the children now?” he asks cautiously.
Viraj shakes his head. “Can’t tell you. But know that they’re safe. The problem is that...”
He mutters a soft curse under his breath making me frown. That wasn’t all?
“The kids mentioned you... by name, Advik. They shared how they learnt about escaping and they said it in front of the many people that Mehul employs. They’re in custody now but... we don’t know if those men had the chance to get the word back to Mehul somehow.”
I freeze.
My brain zaps with a visceral jolt of fear.
“Fucking hell.” Advik rubs his temples, his head bowing. “It doesn’t matter. I already have a target on my back. And I’m not the only ‘Advik’ in the damn country.”
Viraj nods but I know he doesn’t believe that. And I can’t seem to move from my chair. It won’t take long. A few days at most before Mehul connects the dots. Advik’s Sunrise Home volunteer work isn’t exactly a secret. All it takes is one piece of surveillance, one insider. One conversation.
And that’s only if Mehul already knows. But if he does?
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“We’re taking you off the project. You’ll be on indefinite leave,” I blurt out. Causing Viraj to send me an almost imperceptible glare.
“Wha—no!” Advik’s head snaps in my direction. “It’ll be fine. I’ll lay low until this ends but I can’t pull myself out. Dev needs me on this, Gr—Aadya.”
That slip. That stutter.
He almost said Greesha in front of others.
And for the first time, I wouldn’t have minded if he had. How pathetic is that?
I shoot to my feet and start pacing, needing to do something. My limbs can’t sit still with this storm building inside me.
Both their gazes follow me as I move.
“We need to have you officially removed. You want to work on the down low? Sure. Go ahead. But you’re not staying anywhere near the GenVault office or the damn Sitara complex.”
My voice shakes slightly. I can hear it—the trembling fear in it. I hope to God—who I don’t even believe in—that they don’t see my rising panic.
“Fine,” Advik breathes out, but I can’t bear to look at him. Otherwise I know he’ll see the terror in my eyes.
The mask is officially off, folks. Fucking fuck. Kill me now!
“I’ll work from home,” he adds.
With that Viraj stands up, walking over to me with those silent but hesitant steps. I feel the phantom brush of his hand on my arm, urging me to meet his eyes.
My jaw clenches, summoning the stupid mask back. But I already know I am failing as I face him.
Viraj studies me for several seconds. And then... he gives me a small smile and nods slowly. As though admitting the reluctant defeat.
“She’ll still be on your security detail.” He turns to Advik, who has been watching the silent little exchange with a mix of curiosity and sadness. “No unnecessary outdoor activities for the next few weeks. Understood?”
He nods. “Yeah, we’ll... stay put.”
And with that, Viraj walks out, the door clicking softly behind him.
I stay rooted to the spot.
Dazed. Hollow.
Because for the first time in a long time, I didn’t hide behind duty. I didn’t pretend I was fine.
I felt the fear.
And now, I have no idea what to do with this rare, brutal taste of emotional freedom.
??????
“You haven’t said a word.” Advik’s voice jolts me back to the present.
I have been trying to understand this flicker of warmth that accompanied me as the fear took over. It was almost stupid of me to feel that. But I know what it means. I’ve given up the damn walls.
We’re sitting on his couch.
After Viraj left, we packed up whatever we could and left for the apartment. And for the past thirty minutes I’ve been sitting here, on this couch—trying to rest the rapid thoughts of... feelings.
Of course, I’ve felt them before. But never have I let them seep out. And now I find myself almost incapable of blocking them.
“Do you want something to eat?” His voice is shy—almost tentative. But I’m simply staring at the chip on the coffee table.
Memories swamp me. The day this chip came about.
And suddenly—I’m back there.
??????
“No, no, no—wait!” I giggled, nearly breathless, as Advik attempted to lift the tabletop out of its box like it was a bag of bricks.
We were building the damn thing together. Or trying to. The amount of parts were more than a damn motorcycle.
He was determined, though—his brow furrowed in concentration, sleeves rolled up, hair a disheveled halo of stress. That determination lasted right up until he tripped on the throw pillow I told him not to throw on the floor.
“Shit!” he cursed as he stumbled forward, instinctively bracing the tabletop against the floor—corner-first.
A loud thunk. And just like that, his brand-new table had a lovely, permanent dent.
“Look what you did!” I gasped, somewhere between scandalized and trying not to laugh.
He stood frozen, holding the tabletop like it was a fallen soldier. “I... fuck, baby. I’m sorry.”
I blinked. Was he apologizing... to me?
“It’s your table, stupid,” I reminded him, stepping closer.
He looked like a kid who’d broken a toy.
I laughed, soft, and cupped his cheeks in both hands. He smiled sheepishly.
“Should we say it came like this?” he mumbled.
I mock-glared at him. “I told you the tabletop was the last thing we were supposed to assemble.”
He gave me his boyish smile. “I swear, I’ll never not follow your instructions again.”
I kissed his nose. “Good. Now repeat after me...”
He sat cross-legged in front of me, palms resting on my thighs.
“I, Advik Sharma...”
“I, Advik Sharma...” he echoed, grinning.
“Will always—always—listen to Greesha Das.”
He leaned forward, lips ghosting over mine as he whispered the next part. “Will always—always—listen to Mrs. Advik Sharma...”
I rolled my eyes as he continued. “Unless I’m stupid enough to make stupid mistakes because I’m stupid.”
I burst out laughing, and before I could even recover, I found myself on the floor, my back to the carpet, with him smiling down at me.
“Punish me, baby,” he whispered, right before kissing me like it was the only way for him to breathe.
??????
I blink away the memory. My gaze still locked on that tiny chip in the wood. It feels like a relic now. Proof of us—when we were happy, messy, unfinished.
“You remember?” Advik asks softly, following my gaze.
I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I nod, just once.
And somehow, I don’t feel like running away anymore.