•| TWENTY SEVEN |•
Krish rubbed his face harshly with his palm, dragging it down slowly as a shaky breath escaped his lips. The cabin suddenly felt suffocating… too quiet… too empty.
“I should say sorry to her,” he muttered to himself, guilt gnawing at his chest. “She just wanted to give me lunch…”
His eyes shifted to the lunch box still resting on his table.
For a moment, he simply stared at it — as if it carried the weight of his mistake.
Slowly, he picked it up.
His grip around it tightened unconsciously.
Without wasting another second, he strode out of his cabin and headed in the direction you had gone, his steps fast, almost impatient — as if afraid you might disappear before he could fix what he had broken.
As soon as he stepped outside the company building, his eyes began scanning the area.
And then—
He saw you.
Sitting on a bench in the garden area…
With a man.
Krish’s steps halted instantly.
His brows furrowed.
“Who’s he?” he murmured under his breath, eyes narrowing.
Then recognition struck.
“Pratik.”
His grip on the lunch box tightened so much that the plastic slightly bent under his fingers.
He watched silently as Pratik crouched in front of you, concern written all over his face.
Watched how gently he spoke to you.
Watched how you wiped your tears while talking to him.
Something dark stirred inside Krish’s chest.
But the moment that snapped whatever patience he had left—
Was when Pratik pulled you into a hug.
Krish’s jaw clenched hard.
The muscles in his face tightened visibly.
His knuckles turned white around the lunch box.
“Is she the girl Pratik talked about…?” the thought echoed bitterly in his mind.
He remembered Pratik’s excited voice from earlier—
“Today I met my childhood best friend… and I got the best girl for myself.”
The memory replayed like poison.
A strange, unfamiliar heat of anger spread through Krish’s veins.
Possessive.
Irrational.
Unwanted.
Before he could even think logically, his feet were already moving.
Without wasting any time, he made his way toward you both — his strides long, sharp, and heavy… eyes locked on the way Pratik stood too close to you for his liking.
Each step carried tension.
Each breath carried jealousy he refused to name.
“I’m fine Pra—” your words never got the chance to finish.
Before you could even process what was happening, a strong pull yanked you from behind — your body colliding into a hard chest.
And then—
Something soft crashed onto your lips.
Your eyes widened instantly.
Your mind went blank.
Krish.
He was kissing you.
Right there.
In front of everyone.
In front of Pratik.
His grip on your arm was firm, almost possessive, while his other hand rested on your waist — the lunch box still clutched in his fingers as if he had forgotten it even existed.
The kiss wasn’t gentle… it wasn’t hesitant…
it was sudden, claiming, territorial — like he was marking something that belonged to him.
Your hands froze mid-air, your heartbeat hammering wildly against your ribs as shock coursed through your veins. You didn’t even realize when your eyes fluttered shut for a second before snapping open again in panic.
And just as abruptly as he had kissed you—
He pulled back.
But he didn’t move away.
He stayed close.
Too close.
His face inches from yours, his breath fanning over your still-trembling lips.
Then his eyes shifted sideways toward Pratik — calm… but carrying an unmistakable warning.
“You know him, Samira?” Krish asked softly, his voice low yet edged with authority.
Whereas Pratik stood frozen in pure shock, his mouth slightly open as his brain tried to register what he had just witnessed.
“H-huh?!”
His gaze darted between you and Krish.
“Bhai… you know her?”
At that moment your mind was completely blank — thoughts tangled, cheeks burning, heart still racing from the sudden kiss.
Krish didn’t wait for you to answer.
Instead, he spoke himself — voice steady, almost proud.
“Yeah. She’s my wife… Samira Krish Mehra.”
The way he said my wife made your breath hitch.
He pulled you closer by your waist — firmly this time — your side pressing against him as if it was the most natural place for you to be.
“Right, Mrs. Mehra?” he added, glancing down at you.
Your cheeks flushed deeper, embarrassment flooding your face as you gave a small, stunned nod.
“Ohhh Samira!” Pratik suddenly spoke, the shock melting into playful annoyance. “You didn’t call me to your wedding, huh? I’m so angry with you.”
Somehow…
Those words brought an invisible relief to Krish.
A few minutes ago, jealousy had been clawing inside him, ugly and uncontrollable.
But now?
Now he was calm.
Because you were standing near him.
Because Pratik’s tone held no romantic claim.
Because you were his wife.
“I-I’m sorry…” you mumbled softly, eyes lowering shyly, still unable to meet anyone’s gaze after what just happened.
Your lips still tingled.
Your heart still hadn’t slowed down.
“It’s okay,” Pratik chuckled lightly. “Fine, I should go now. Bye, bhai.”
He gave Krish a quick side hug before waving at you once and walking away, leaving the two of you standing there in an awkward silence.
The moment he disappeared from sight—
You immediately stepped back from Krish.
As if the closeness suddenly felt too loud.
Too overwhelming.
Your fingers instinctively brushed your lips.
And your eyes flickered up at him — confused… flustered… silently asking the question your voice couldn’t form.
“You know him?” he asked softly.
But the moment you stepped back again — creating that distance — something inside him tightened.
He took a slow, controlled breath before stepping forward and grabbing your arms, pulling you back toward him.
“I’m asking you something.” his voice was calm… but his hold wasn’t.
“Why do you care?” you snapped, your eyes blazing. “Yes, I know him.”
You yanked his hands off and turned to leave, your steps quick, fueled by anger and humiliation.
“Wait— I… I want to say something.” you let out a hollow scoff at his words, stopping but not turning.
“What do you want to say?” you asked bitterly, finally facing him. “Want to humiliate me again?” his jaw clenched instantly.
“I didn’t mean to say that—” he started, reaching for you again, his fingers wrapping around your wrist.
“You mean everything you say,” you cut him off, trying to pull free. “Leave me—”
“Listen to me once,” he said, his voice dropping — softer now, almost desperate. “I’m sorry… okay?” but instead of calming you — his apology only triggered you more.
You laughed sarcastically, eyes glossy.
“You think your ‘sorry’ will fix all this?” you struggled harder to free your hand, but his grip didn’t loosen — not out of anger… but fear that you’d walk away again.
“Fine then… hit me,” he said quietly.
You frowned, confused.
“Slap me… do anything.”
Before you could react, he grabbed your palm and started hitting his own cheek with it — once… twice…
Your eyes widened in shock.
“Stop it!” you yanked your hand away instantly, your anger mixing with panic.
His cheek had turned slightly red.
But he didn’t care.
He just stood there — looking at you like he was ready to accept any punishment if it meant easing your hurt.
Not wanting to stay another second — you turned and walked toward the car, your steps fast, heart heavy.
“Samira stop!” he called from behind.
You didn’t look back.
“Listen to me!! I’m sorry!” there was desperation in his voice now — raw, unfiltered — but you forced yourself to ignore it.
You got inside the car quickly, shutting the door before your tears could fall in front of him.
“Let’s go,” you told the driver, your voice tight.
“But ma’am… what about sir?” you swallowed, looking straight ahead.
“Please go.” the driver hesitated for a second before nodding and starting the engine.
As the car began to move—
Krish stood there, watching it leave.
Helpless.
Regret sitting heavy in his chest.