Chapter 32
Samaira
Aria wasn’t home, she was off being a responsible adult at work. Meanwhile, I was home, dramatically flopped on my bed like a Shakespearean heroine in a hoodie. I wanted to cry, I really did, but the tears were clearly on strike.
My head was pounding, so I got up in search of the only thing that’s never betrayed me, coffee.
I popped in my favorite pod like it was a sacred ritual, added water, pressed the button, and waited for magic.
Instead? The machine made a weird choking noise... and died.
And then because the universe clearly had a flair for theatrics, so did the power in my entire apartment.
“Oh great,” I muttered. “Freaking fabulous.”
That was it. That was my villain origin story. Not heartbreak, not confusion, not emotional turmoil. No. It was the coffee machine that broke me.
Armed with nothing but a wooden spatula and pure unhinged energy, I switched the machine off, stomped over to the fuse box, and flipped the main power switch back up like I was performing CPR on my sanity.
By now, tears had finally shown up, fashionably late, of course.
I sniffled, grabbed my hoodie, well not mine. It was Kartik’s, he left it accidentally the last time he was here and car keys, and locked the apartment behind me.
Where was I going? I knew exactly where. But one thing was certain, if I stayed in that apartment a second longer, I might actually spiral into baking banana bread just to feel something.
Kartik
I reached home and instantly knew I’d messed up. The air felt... off. Like my apartment was judging me for leaving her alone.
Aria was at work, which meant Samaira had been alone, after that kind of night. Honestly? I should’ve stayed. I knew better.
So I grabbed my car keys, flung open the door dramatically like some rom-com idiot about to run through the rain, and nearly collided with her.
Samaira. Standing right there. Hand frozen mid-air like she was about to press the doorbell, eyes wide like she didn’t expect me to actually be on the other side.
I blinked. She blinked. Time blinked.
“I came because my coffee machine broke,” she began, tone way too defensive for someone who had clearly power-walked her way here.
“And then the electricity went out and…okay, fine, that’s not why.
” She huffed, crossing her arms. “This doesn’t mean anything, okay?
I’m still mad at you. I just… didn’t know where else to go. ”
Her voice wobbled at the end, and just like that, the sass gave way to softness. Her cheeks were tear-streaked, her eyes glassy, and I swear a little piece of me short-circuited.
I opened my mouth, but she beat me to it. Of course she did. She always did.
And just like that, the only thing louder than my guilt was the protective rage curling in my chest. Not at her.
Never at her. But at the world for making her feel like crying in a hoodie outside my apartment was her only option.
Even though the fact that she chose to come to me was a bit satisfying but now wasn’t the moment to gush about that.
I stepped aside without a word and she brushed past me like she owned the place, which, given how often she’s been here, maybe she kind of did.
She plopped onto the couch like it had personally offended her and muttered, “Your building’s elevator is still slow. Just letting you know in case you were wondering how my day’s going.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t have to come, you know.”
She shot me a look so sharp it could’ve sliced bread. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I have stayed home crying in the dark while my coffee machine sparked betrayal? Please, Kartik, be serious.”
I held up my hands in surrender, even as I headed to the kitchen. “Okay, okay. Do you want coffee that actually works or do you want to emotionally roast me some more first?”
She didn’t answer, just pulled my throw blanket over her legs and muttered, “Both. Obviously.”
I made her a cup, strong, extra sugar, with whipped cream, just the way she likes when the world feels heavy, and handed it to her gently.
She took it, and didn't look at me for a second. And then, voice softer than it had been all evening, she said, “Thanks.”
I sat next to her. Close, but not too close. “You know I would’ve stayed if you told me you needed me, right?”
She glanced sideways, raising one brow. “Kartik, your emotional availability isn’t exactly your brand.”
I winced. “I’m trying something new.”
She sipped. “Hmm. Growth.”
And even though she was still mad and hurting, she didn’t move away when our knees brushed. And I didn’t say anything else, because for now, her being here, on my couch, in my hoodie, drinking my coffee, was enough.
I didn’t know why she was mad. Maybe I did know. She was mad at me for leaving her alone when she clearly needed someone. It wasn’t hard to read her.
I wrap a blanket around Samaira. She is shivering—I don’t know why, but it makes me feel helpless. I wish I could do something to ease her pain. When she finally speaks up, it breaks my heart.