CHAPTER 41
ABHIMAAN
I drive with one hand on the wheel, the other resting lazily on the gear.
Aditi’s beside me, flipping through some emails on her phone and muttering something under her breath about a missed deadline.
Her hair is tied up today, messy by now, with a strand curling at the nape of her neck where sweat's gathered thanks to the humidity outside. She looks like she’s been through a battlefield—and well, she kind of has.
A day with me as her boss is a battlefield.
“Are you okay?” I ask, watching her out of the corner of my eye as we slow down near a traffic signal.
She scoffs, not even looking up. “I’m fine. I’m just reconsidering all my life choices. Like wanting to work with you.”
I grin. “You didn’t want to work with me. You demanded to.”
“Yeah,” she sighs. “Mistakes were made.”
I chuckle, reaching out to turn the volume knob down a bit. Some old Kishore Kumar song is playing faintly on the radio. The signal turns green, but something makes me slow down near a small roadside flower stall just past the light. I pull over, ignoring Aditi’s surprised expression.
“What?” she asks, glancing around.
I just say, “Wait,” before stepping out.
The flower vendor’s eyes widen when I approach him and tell him to make me a bouquet with every flower he’s got.
Roses, lilies, marigolds, daisies—he looks at me like I’ve lost it but starts putting it together anyway.
Within five minutes, I’m carrying the most chaotic, colorful mess of petals and stems I’ve ever seen.
I knock on her window with it. She stares, blinks twice, and rolls it down.
“What—what is that?”
I rub my neck, feeling a bit embarrassed, saying it out loud, “I have never given anyone flowers, so I didn’t know which one to pick.” I look at her to see if she’s smiling or about to laugh at me.
She’s not doing either. She just looks at me.
And then at the bouquet.
And then back at me.
And for a second, I think maybe I’ve overdone it. That it’s too much. That I should’ve just bought her a damn cold coffee like a normal person.
But then she reaches out—slow, hesitant—and takes the bouquet from my hands. Her fingers brush mine, and I swear something in my chest shifts. Like she’s rearranging parts of me just by touching me.
She sets the bouquet gently on her lap, still not saying a word. Then she glances up, and finally, there’s that small smile—the one she tries to hide but always fails.
I get back in the car and shut the door, clearing my throat like it’s nothing. Like I didn’t just do something completely uncharacteristic in the middle of a weekday traffic jam.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she says, voice quieter now. Almost… tender.
I start the engine again. “I know.”
Her fingers are grazing the petals now, playing with the edge of a sunflower like it might crumble if she holds it too tight. “So why did you?”
I glance at her, and the words leave before I can stop them. “Because you looked like you needed something good today.”
She doesn’t respond right away. Just leans back in the seat, hugging the flowers a little closer to her chest like they’re made of gold.
We drive in silence for a few minutes. But it’s not the heavy kind. It’s soft. Comfortable. The kind that says more than conversation can.
She breaks it with a huff of a laugh.
“What?” I ask.
“These look insane,” she says, nodding down at the bouquet. “Like a kindergarten art project gone wrong.”
I chuckle. “You’re not wrong.”
“But I love them,” she adds quickly, looking at me. “It’s kind of… perfect.”
There’s something about the way she says it that gets to me. Like she doesn’t get flowers often. Like no one’s ever paused at a traffic light and thought of her.
And it kills me a little.
She deserves more than chaos and deadlines. More than long hours and my impossible standards. She deserves flowers on random days and her favorite food at lunch. She deserves to be thought of, considered, and cared for—even if she’s too stubborn to ask for it.
We stop at another red light. I glance at her again.
“Are you free tomorrow evening?” I ask casually.
She narrows her eyes. “Why?”
“No reason,” I lie.
“You’re terrible at lying.”
“Don’t avoid the question.”
She sighs dramatically. “Fine. I’m free. Unless you give me a presentation to finish by 9pm.”
“I won’t,” I say, letting the smile tug at my lips. “Maybe.”
She groans. “Abhimaan.”
I laugh again. “Okay, okay. I won’t. Tomorrow evening. You, me, and something better than paperwork.”
She looks at me, her smile warmer now. “And more flowers?”
I pretend to think about it. “Hmm… depends on how much you whine tomorrow.”
She elbows me lightly. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re late on three email replies,” I shoot back.
She gasps. “You’re literally the worst.”
But she’s laughing now. Genuinely. Her eyes crinkle, and her cheeks are flushed, and I want to kiss her so bad it actually aches.
But I don’t. I can’t, especially while I am driving. Because Aditi deserves all my focus, and if driving takes even 1% away from her, it would be unfair.
She leans back into her seat again, flowers in her lap, a small smile on her lips.
I know she’s going to recheck her emails in five minutes.
I know she’ll work late tonight even if I tell her not to.
I know she’s driven by something deep, something that keeps her going even when she’s tired and stretched too thin.
And I know that, for some reason I can’t explain, I want to be part of that reason.
Even if it’s just through roadside flowers and packed lunch boxes.
Even if she never says it out loud. I want my girlfriend, MY girlfriend, to get everything she wants, because she deserves the best.
She glances at me again as we near the turn for her apartment. “Thanks, by the way.”
“For what?”
She shrugs. “The flowers. The rajma chawal. The yelling. The everything.”
I don’t say anything.
Just reach out, grab the back of her hand, and squeeze once.
The rest of the ride is quiet. Comfortable, for the most part.
Her head eventually leans against the window, the bouquet still in her lap, her fingers gently fiddling with a ring I wear on the index finger.
I don’t think she’s ever looked more peaceful.
When we finally pull into her building’s underground parking, she stretches, then makes a face.
“I’m too tired to move,” she says, grabbing her laptop bag and the bouquet.
I turn off the ignition. “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”
“You could come up.”
I shake my head. “You need rest. I should go.”
She pouts. Literally pouts, and I swear I almost cave right there.
“Who’s going to carry this bag if I’m carrying the bouquet?” she says, fluttering her lashes with exaggerated effort. “You exhausted me today, Abhimaan.” Her eyes widen, and she giggles. “I should really get my mind out of the gutter.” A flush spreads across her cheeks. “I am so shameless.”
I laugh. I can’t help it.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to say no to this woman,” I mutter under my breath as I get out.
I grab her bag, sling it over my shoulder, and open the door for her. She steps out, clutching the bouquet like it’s a lifeline.
We make our way across the parking lot to the elevator lobby, her heels clicking softly against the concrete, her arm brushing mine now and then.
And then—
A deafening blast shakes the ground.
The impact hits like a punch to the chest.
I spin around.
My car, my car—is engulfed in flames.
My ears ring. I don’t even think. Just drop her bag and throw my arms around her, shielding her as smoke and fire fill the space behind us.
She screams, a sharp, fearful sound that rips through me.
I hold her tighter, pressing her head to my chest, trying to block out the chaos.
Glass rains somewhere. Alarms blare. The heat creeps toward us even from a distance. My heart was thudding in my ribcage.
I don’t say anything. I just move. Grab her hand, and lead her to the elevator that hasn’t been damaged. I press the button with more force than necessary, every muscle in my body coiled tight.
Inside the elevator, she’s shaking. Her lips parted soundlessly, eyes wide. Her eyes are full of fear, confusion, and questions.
We reach her floor. She fumbles for the keycode, missing it twice before I step in and enter it for her as she whispers the code.
Once inside, she just sinks onto the couch like her knees can’t hold her anymore.
“I’ll get you water,” I say. My voice sounds rough, even to my own ears.
In her kitchen, my hands are trembling. Just slightly. But enough to make me grip the counter for a second.
That car. We were just in that car.
She could’ve—
I close my eyes and push the thought away.
When I return, she’s still staring blankly at the wall, the flowers beside her now forgotten. Her eyes find mine when I sit beside her and hand her the glass.
She doesn’t drink it.
She sets it down and throws her arms around my torso instead. It’s sudden. Fierce. Her grip was like a vise.
“If you hadn’t come up with me…” she whispers. “You would’ve died.”
I don’t know what to say. So I just hold her back.
Tighter.
I inhale the scent of her hair—floral and warm. She smells like safety. Like something I was never supposed to have but now can’t let go of.
I try to lighten the mood. “Lesson for me, I guess. Always obey Aditi.”
She pulls back and glares at me, though her eyes are glassy.
“I’m serious.”
“I know.”
She stands then, pacing the room, hands fluttering around her temples.
“How can a car catch fire like that? It’s not even hot outside. It wasn’t overheating—right? You checked before we left?”
“I did,” I say quietly.
She turns to me, eyes narrowing. “Abhimaan…”
I nod.
I have to tell her.
Now.
Before something worse happens. Before she gets hurt.
“I know why it happened,” I say, standing. “And I need to tell you.”
She stops moving.
I run a hand through my hair, suddenly nervous in a way I’m not used to. This is the woman who managed to somehow break all the walls I had around my heart, the only person I have ever let in in my entire life, and I am about to tell her things that may change her entire perspective about me.
I am scared, and I don’t like this feeling.
“I didn’t grow up in a family like most people,” I begin. “I was raised in an orphanage in Byculla. One of the bad ones.” She nods, because she already knows that; almost everyone does.
“I ran away when I was fifteen. I thought I’d die on the streets. Until I met Anil.”
I take a breath, not wanting to visit any of my past memories.
“He was a small-time gangster back then. But rising fast. He saw me stealing food outside a temple and said if I wanted to eat, I’d have to work. I was starving. Angry. Desperate to matter to someone. So I said yes.”
Her eyes don’t leave my face. “I did bad things. I don’t want to sugarcoat it. But Anil made me feel like I had value. Like I was someone.” I pause, trying to see her reaction, but I get none.
“But there were lines I couldn’t cross.” I sigh, “When he started trafficking children and women… I couldn’t do it. I didn’t even know I still had a conscience left after everything, but somehow, I did.” I lower my voice.
“I went to the cops. Told them everything I knew. Enough to put him away for years.”
I meet her eyes again. “He got out around the same time when you joined the company.”
Her breath catches. "The taxi imbalance," I exhale deeply, fear gripping my heart.
She will know now what she had to go through because of me; she will leave now, and no amount of strength can make me ready for that.
Because for the first time, I am thinking of a future with her, and I want to live it.
“The auto formatting of the laptop,” I reach out and grab her hand, to ground myself, to feel her still being here. “It was all him.”
“He promised revenge before he went in. Said I’d never know when or how—but he’d make me pay.” I add and inhale, “I think today was him making good on that promise.”
Aditi raises my chin, using her index finger. “So… I’ve been dragged into a gangster’s vendetta?”
“I’m sorry,” I say, voice cracking. “It’s too late for me to back out now.”
I reach up and tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear. She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t pull away. “I can’t let you go,” I whisper. “I tried. God knows I tried. But I have the willpower of diamond, and I still lost the moment you walked into my life.”
She stares at me, unreadable. And then smiles. “I’m glad you lost,” she murmurs, kissing my nose, my eyes fluttering closed. “I’m fire, and fire can destroy diamond, Abhimaan.”
It’s the most ridiculous thing she’s ever said. And it makes me laugh. Loud. Free.
She looks smug. Victorious. And heartbreakingly beautiful.
“Will you hold me tonight?” she whispers after a pause, drawing little patterns on my palm. “I… I won’t be able to sleep alone.”
I nod.
How could I ever say no? She leans into me, and I wrap my arms around her, this time not to shield her from a blast but from everything else that still might come.
And for tonight, at least—she’s safe.