Chapter 22
“Block her…” Dadi said with determination as we lay side by side on her bed.
“What…?” I couldn’t help but laugh. “She’s your sister! And it’s just Instagram, Dadi. You don’t need to take it seriously.”
“She’s my nosy sister,” Dadi retorted with a cute pout, holding her iPad like a weapon of mass destruction. “And I have every right to block her after she had stolen my coat.”
“Dadi… that was seventy-five years ago. She stole your coat when you were both fifteen,” I reminded her, trying not to burst out laughing again as she dramatically waved her hand in faux anger.
“Whatever.” She dismissed me with a flick of her wrist, then squinted at the screen.
“Now, show me that boyfriend of yours again. The one who looks like a Hollywood star. What’s his name?
And what did you say he does? Real estate manager?
” Her eyes narrowed suspiciously, as if she were interrogating me.
“Manav Oberoi,” I corrected her with a sigh. “And he’s a businessman, Dadi.”
“Hmm… When am I going to meet him?” She set aside her poor iPad, which looked like it had just been through a war.
“He will come to your birthday dinner,” I said, trying to sound casual while silently praying Manav wouldn’t spontaneously combust under her scrutiny.
“He better…” She mumbled before drinking a glass of water and setting her alarm for 4 a.m. Yes, you heard that right—4 a.m. Holy God.
By 10 p.m., she was already fast asleep.
I stayed in her room, surrounded by the familiar warmth and nostalgia it always brings.
Whenever I visit her, I stay in her room.
It feels like a time capsule of all the stories and love she’s shared with me over the years.
It makes me nostalgic, but it’s worth it. Always.
After back-to-back calls with editors and publishers, followed by a rapid-fire questionnaire session with Dadi, I was drained.
A huge shout-out to the kind souls who had tagged my photo featuring Manav on every social media platform—because, of course, Dadi had spent a good ten minutes staring at his picture as if she could summon his entire personality just by analyzing those pixels.
I collapsed onto the bed, my eyes closed, mentally planning my packed schedule for the next day—a meeting with producers about movie rights, followed by finalizing plans for Dadi’s birthday. My phone chimed. I was too tired even to pick it up from the side table. But finally, I did.
It was a message from Manav.
Manav: Are you still alive?
Me: Looks like I am.
Manav: Dadi didn't murder you?
Me: Not yet…
Manav: Let me know if she needs some help.
Me: She thinks you’re some Hollywood star.
Manav: Why?
Me: Because she found you on Instagram. Checked your profile… and your abs.
Manav: Should I be worried?
Me: And she thinks you don’t love me.
The typing indicator appeared immediately, and his next message popped up so fast it almost made me jump.
Manav: But I do…
I froze, staring at the screen as if it had just revealed the winning lottery numbers. He’s kidding. Obviously. But reading those words from him felt like an electric jolt straight to my heart.
I don’t know how long I stared at my phone, trying to figure out how to respond. Another chime broke my trance.
Manav: Don’t tell me you’re sleeping with Dadi.
I burst out laughing before typing back.
Me: I am…
Manav: Wearing that ridiculous piece of nightwear that you call clothes?
I stifled a laugh. Thankfully, Dadi slept like the dead.
Me: Mr. Oberoi, are you trying to find out what I’m wearing?
The typing dots appeared, paused, disappeared, and reappeared, playing a game with my already anxious heart. Finally, the message landed in my inbox,
Manav: Maybe… Am I allowed to ask?
Me: We’re… friends.
Manav: Friends?
Me: With… benefits.
Okay, I’ve officially lost my mind. But teasing him is just too much fun.
Manav: Stop calling us that.
Me: Why?
Manav: I don’t like it.
Me: What don’t you like? Being friends… or the benefits?
There was a pause. My lips twitched, waiting for his response.
Manav: I think you know the answer.
My heart did an actual flip. Why does this man have to be so infuriatingly addictive?
Me: How was work? Did you fire any people today?
He didn’t reply for a few seconds. Then his message came through.
Manav: Not yet. How was your day? Was the meeting good?
Me: Great… and yes… Publishers have finally stopped threatening to sue me, and my manager has not murdered me after ditching her five hundred calls. I got the email confirming the same cottage I stayed at in France. It's so… so… beautiful. You know… There are flowers I can’t even imagine counting.
Manav: Sounds interesting. When are you… leaving?
Me: After the book launch… Probably fifteen days max.
Manav: Okay…
Me: What are your plans for the week?
Manav: I will be leaving for Mumbai the day after tomorrow. It is a four-day business event. Will be back Friday evening. Any plans?
Me: It’s Dadi’s birthday dinner on Saturday, and you are coming.
Manav: Done.
Me: Also, please don’t come shirtless.
Manav: Why?
Me: Your abs are very distracting. And you should get rid of them
Manav: Are you sure? You might want to rethink that. The way you cling to them—even in your sleep, says otherwise.
Me: Noted. Have you had dinner?
Manav: Not yet. Just wrapped up a meeting.
Me: Are you in the office?
Manav: Yes.
Me: At midnight? When are you going home?
Manav: Staying in the office tonight.
Me: What happened to your planet-sized bungalow?
Manav: You are not there.
Me: You’re hallucinating.
Manav: Am I?
I paused mid-typing, confused but smiling like an idiot.
Me: You need to sleep.
Manav: I need to see you.
Me: We’re meeting on Saturday for Dadi’s birthday.
Manav: I can’t wait that long. Tomorrow?
Me: I have meetings until noon. Is it urgent?
Manav: See you in the evening?
Me: Place?
Manav: Come home.
I stared at the screen before my fingers finally typed back.
Me: Okay. Tomorrow. Evening. Home.
Manav: Don’t eat. I’ll cook dinner.
Me: Alright. I’ve got an early meeting tomorrow. Gotta go.
Manav: Good night, cheeseball.
Me: Good night.
I lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying our conversation in my head. Tomorrow would bring its chaos, and for once, I wasn’t dreading it.