Chapter 14
If I can’t handle normal Kiara, then there’s no way I can deal with drunk Kiara.
Why? Great question.
Drunk Kiara has no filter.
Zero. Nada. Zilch.
She’ll ask me to teach her how to kiss—seriously—and then she’ll make that ridiculously cute pout, the one that makes me forget how mad I was at Justin five minutes ago.
And if that isn’t enough to completely wreck my focus, she’ll start talking, and it takes everything in me—everything—to not pull her into my arms.
But I don’t. Because I have one simple rule. No girls. Not in any form or kind.
I’m a thirty-three-year-old real estate businessman. And for the record, I don’t buy or sell continents, planets, or galaxies, despite what Kiara’s wild imagination keeps insisting.
Tonight is shaping up to be yet another test of my patience and sanity. It’s been nearly two hours since drunk Kiara made her grand entrance, and let’s just say she’s been nothing short of a full-blown hurricane.
First, the chair wasn’t good enough, so the table somehow became her new throne. A very unsteady throne—and don’t even get me started on her hilarious dance floor performance.
Then there was the karaoke. Rest in peace, karaoke mic. You deserved better. I had to carry her off stage, as her fingers—so soft it was distracting, kept lightly tracing my neck.
And her hair. What is that scent? Vanilla? Whatever it is, it’s enough to drive a man insane.
By the time we got back to the car, I was half-expecting her to pass out from exhaustion.
But no, she was just getting started. She sang—loudly—the entire ride home. And she’s still at it. Non-stop. Not missing a beat.
We’re back home, and she hasn’t quieted down one bit. She’s sitting cross-legged on the couch, humming some song she clearly doesn’t remember the words to, while I try—try—to act like I’m not two seconds away from losing my mind.
This woman is chaos.
Beautiful, intoxicating chaos.
The singing isn’t the problem. Her smile? Not a problem either. But her fingers gently brushing my neck as she rambles on? A huge problem.
I carefully laid her down on the bed—my bed. She wore a black dress that hugged her body in ways I was desperately trying to ignore. I had to give myself a mental pep talk: Stop. Don’t even think about putting the words ‘body’ and ‘hug’ in the same sentence. You’re better than this.
But tonight? Tonight wasn’t exactly playing out in my favor.
As I gently slipped off her sandals, her eyes fluttered open, and she grabbed my hand. She sat up slowly, still holding my hand. “You need to decide something tonight, Mr. Oberoi.”
I swallowed hard. “What?”
“Either you get to be grumpy or cute… I can't handle two Manavs.”
“Which one do you prefer?” The question slipped out before I could overthink it.
“Ummm…” She tapped her chin, her expression thoughtful. “The grumpy one.”
“Yeah?” I asked, leaning back slightly.
Her head tilted slightly, her breathing already slowing, her eyes fluttering shut as sleep began to claim her.
I stood there for a moment, just watching her. She was unpredictable. Chaotic. But somehow, in this room, under this roof, with her wrapped up in my blanket like she’d always belonged there… It felt right.
I took a step back. This girl had managed to do the impossible—make herself at home in a place I’d always kept locked away, not just physically but emotionally.
I’ve resisted everything in my life—temptations, losses, pressure.
But with her? I’m not sure I’ll win that one.
____________
After a cold shower, I returned to the room to find her still awake, staring at the ceiling as if lost in a labyrinth of her thoughts.
“Can’t sleep?” I asked, turning off the side lamps.
She didn’t respond.
I took a sip of water and slid into bed, scrolling through my phone to deal with the never-ending stream of emails. Between us stood a wall of pillows—a ridiculous fortress she’d built and hugged as if they were her lifeline. Despite the king-size bed, it felt unexpectedly cramped.
Absentmindedly, I reached for one of the pillows, trying to reclaim some space, but froze the instant my fingers grazed the bare skin of her arm.
Warm. Soft.
The breath caught in my throat. My entire body went still, hyper-aware of the proximity—the absolute lack of space between us. Her presence—so quiet just moments ago—now pulsed through the air like a current I couldn’t ignore.
I swallowed hard, eyes flickering back to the glowing screen of my phone, pretending to focus.
I couldn’t.
“Happy Birthday,” her voice came—soft, unsure, slicing straight through the stillness.
I turned, just slightly. And in the dim light, I felt her fingers reach for mine, gently, like a whisper that needed permission to exist.
I put my phone down.
“I don’t do birthdays,” I said, voice quiet.
“Why not?”
“Get some sleep,” I said. “It’s late.”
I pulled my hand back, trying to reestablish a line neither of us should cross.
But she wasn’t done.
“You should never reject birthday wishes,” she murmured, her voice muffled by the fortress of pillows she hugged like old friends. “I’m going to wish you again. And this time, you’re going to accept it.”
And just like that, she began gathering the pillows between us, one by one, removing the only things left keeping me sane.
“Kiara…” I warned, or maybe begged.
But before I could say another word, she leaned forward—arms wrapping softly around my neck, warm and disarming, her scent brushing against every last thread of restraint I had left.
Vanilla.
And something heartbreakingly her.
“Happy birthday, handsome,” she whispered, her lips near my ear, the words brushing against my skin like a secret never meant to be spoken aloud.
I froze.
My thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, half of them screaming to step back, to stop this before it spiraled, and the other half—
The other half wanted to stay.
To hold.
To feel.
Her head came to rest against my chest as if it belonged there. Like this wasn’t just chaos—it was something natural. Something right.
My arms—traitorous things—moved on their own, sliding around her waist, as if they'd been waiting for this moment longer than I was willing to admit.
I closed my eyes.
One hand drifted to her hair, fingers moving slowly through silk strands I could no longer pretend I hadn’t wanted to touch. My heart beat in defiance of everything I told myself about control, about boundaries.
The moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting shadows across the room. Her bracelet glinted faintly, catching the light as her hand rested gently over my chest.
Without thinking, I covered her hand with mine. Fingers wrapping around hers. Like a reflex. Like a truth.
She was already looking at me when I opened my eyes.
“Thank you…” I whispered.
She smiled. Then closed her eyes again, nuzzling into the side of my neck.
That was it.
That was the crack in the dam.
Her breath was soft and steady against my throat. Her body curled into mine like she’d always belonged there. Everything inside me burned with restraint; I was moments from losing.
I should’ve let go.
I didn’t.
My pulse betrayed me—loud and rapid in my chest—and she must’ve felt it.
“Manav…” Her voice, drowsy and fragile, reached me like a feather drifting across a minefield.
“Hmm…”
“For how long can I hold you?”
God.
I swallowed hard.
“For as long as birthday hugs are supposed to last,” I managed, each word more unsteady than the last.
She smiled faintly, murmuring, “Drunk Kiara likes you…”
My breath caught in my throat.
She was drunk, but the words still lodged deep inside me.
“Okay…” I whispered, unsure if I was agreeing with her or pleading with myself to remember this meant nothing.
“You know… I always wanted someone to give me birthday hugs…” Her voice was as quiet as silk fraying at the edges. Then came her whisper again, floating somewhere between sleep and sadness. “Why don’t you celebrate your birthday?”
“It’s late,” I said, my hand still resting on hers. “You should sleep.”
“Is it because of balloons?” she asked gently. “Are you… scared of them?”
A soft laugh escaped me. But the lump in my throat was already rising.
She wanted honesty.
But honesty with Kiara meant exposure. And if I said too much, I wouldn’t be able to undo what came after.
The words slipped out before I could pull them back.
“My mom died on this day.”
She stilled.
No gasp. No apology. Just… a soft shift of her body as she pressed closer, her arms tightening around me, grounding me with a silence more comforting than anything I’d ever been offered.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, the words cradling the hollow space inside me.
I shook my head. “It was a long time ago.”
But it wasn’t.
Not really.
Her thumb brushed gently over the back of my hand. “You don’t talk about her much, do you?”
“No.” I paused. “She… she had a tumor. Found out when I was born.”
Kiara didn’t move, didn’t speak—just listened.
“She could’ve gone through with surgery, but there was a one percent risk she wouldn’t make it. So she… stayed. She chose to live with it. To spend a few more years with me.”
“She loved you so much,” Kiara whispered, as if she could feel the ache I’d buried for years.
“So did I,” I said quietly. “But no one told me how bad it was until the end. And then… it was just too late.”
Her hand moved to cup my cheek, her eyes wide and brimming.
“In her last days, she wrote me letters—ones she never got to explain in person,” I added, voice nearly breaking.
“Did you read them?”
“I didn’t want the letters. I wanted her.”
“Do you still have them?” she asked.
“They’re at The Cape House.” The place I hadn’t stepped into in years. The place that still smelled like her.
Kiara didn’t say anything. She just pulled me closer, like she was trying to hold together every broken part of me without demanding I put it back together all at once. And in that silence—wrapped in the scent of vanilla, grief, and something dangerously close to hope, I let her.
I didn’t sleep.
But for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I had to stay awake just to survive the night.