Chapter 30
Reyansh
Leaning against the kitchen doorway with my arms crossed, I can’t help but smile as I watch Kavya move effortlessly around the kitchen. She’s still in her jeans and tank top from last night, bare feet tapping lightly on the floor. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun, with stray curls framing her face, making her look effortlessly beautiful and incredibly sexy.
She opens the fridge and begins pulling out green chilies, tomatoes, and other vegetables. There’s something mesmerising about watching her in my kitchen —so natural and at ease . I have no words to describe the joy and warmth that fills my heart as I watch her cook for me. Certainly, it’s something simple, but to me, it’s incredibly precious and adds a whole new depth of meaning. Now I understand why they say that food is the key to a man’s heart. It’s moments like these that remind me that choosing her was the best decision I’ve made, and I feel truly blessed to have her in my life.
“Are you just going to stand there and gawk at me like some creepy stalker, or are you going to help chop the vegetables for the omelette?” she teases, setting the vegetables on the counter before returning to the refrigerator to grab the eggs.
“I’ll help, but I must admit, I was just enjoying the view,” I reply with a wink as I step into the kitchen and stand next to her, where she has the vegetables neatly arranged on the counter.
She chuckles softly, “Well, I’m glad I could provide some entertainment. But the show is over, mister. Now, it’s time for you to get to work while I get the egg batter ready.”
“At your service, ma’am,” I say with a bow.
She throws her head back and laughs, “Oh, how chivalrous of you! I surely appreciate the assistance.”
“Anything for you,” I say with a grin as I open the cupboard above and pull out the cutting board and knife. Just as I’m about to start chopping the vegetables, she stops me with a tap on the shoulder.
“You need to wash the vegetables first.”
“Does it really matter? They look clean to me. Also, it seems unnecessary, like a waste of time,” I remark casually, raising an eyebrow.
She gives me an incredulous look. “It’s not unnecessary; it’s important for ensuring the vegetables are clean and safe to eat.”
“If you say so, but I still think it’s a waste of time,” I shrug and make my way to the washbasin to start washing the vegetables.
“It’s not,” she huffs, placing her hands on her hips.
“Tell me one thing, how sure are you that people in restaurants follow the same procedure or don’t use dirty water?” I ask, bringing the vegetables back to the counter. I then start chopping them awkwardly.
Her nose crunches up slightly, “Please don’t ruin my enjoyment of eating out. I want to believe that restaurants follow all healthy norms.”
“Fair enough, I’ll let you live in ignorance,” I reply with a chuckle, trying to focus on cutting the damn vegetables, which are proving to be more challenging than I anticipated. Cooking was never my forte, nor was it something I particularly enjoyed, but I wanted to do this just to see her smile. Love truly pushes us to step out of our comfort zones and do things we never thought we would.
Seeing my awkward attempts at cutting, her lips twitch with amusement. “Please don’t tell me you’ve never cooked before?”
“If I admit I’ve never even boiled eggs, would it diminish my hero status in your eyes?” I grin sheepishly.
“Not at all! Your heroic status remains secure, despite your lack of culinary prowess,” she says, cracking the eggs into the bowl and sprinkling in some salt and pepper. Then, she nudges me out of the way. “I’ll take care of the chopping. You can either keep me company, or you can go catch up on your work. I’ll call you when the breakfast is ready.”
I cross my arms and lean against the counter, my grin widening as I watch her deftly chop and mince the ingredients. “Nah, I think I’ll just stand here and enjoy the show.”
“Be my guest. I’ll make sure to put on a good show!” she winks as she adds all the chopped ingredients into the egg batter and starts to whisk.
I wink back at her. “That’s my girl.”
She shakes her head silently and continues working. I watch her with admiration as she heats the pan with oil, then pours the batter in and effortlessly flips the omelette after a few seconds. God, this woman never fails to impress me.
“Wow, you look like a pro. I don’t know how you do it. I wish I was half as good at cooking as you are.”
She turns to me and smiles. “ It’s really not that hard. It’s just practice .”
“You sure make it seem so easy, as if it were the most natural thing, but it seems quite complicated to me. I doubt I could ever cook like that.”
She reduces the flame of the stove, carefully removes the omelette from the pan, and slides it onto a plate. “You know, my dad used to make breakfast for my mom every Sunday,” she says, holding the plate out to me, her voice soft with nostalgia.
I raise an eyebrow, “Really?”
“Yup,” she says with a smile as she pours another batch of omelette batter onto the pan. Pausing to flip it, she glances at me, and then continues. “ Cooking for Mom was his way of showing how much he loved and cherished her . He always went that extra mile to make it special. Like he used to add these lovely little touches — placing fresh flowers on the table and playing their favourite songs softly in the background. He’d even write these adorable notes and leave them next to her plate.”
I don’t miss how her eyes light up as she speaks. Absorbing her words, I make a mental note that I will learn how to cook, not only to replicate the joy her dad brought to her mom but also to bring her the same happiness she brings me.
I nod. “He sounds like a wonderful man.”
Turning off the stove, she places the omelette on a plate for herself before looking at me. “He truly was,” she murmurs softly, her eyes distant with longing. “Whenever I looked at him, I couldn’t help but wish for a man just like my dad to be by my side.”
I don’t say anything. I just remain silent, unable to find the right words. Placing my plate on the counter, I take hers and set it beside mine. She looks at me quizzically, but her expression quickly changes to surprise when my hands find her hips, lifting her onto the counter. Cupping her face in my hands, I stroke her cheeks tenderly.
“I promise I’ll learn to cook,” I say earnestly, locking eyes with her. “I don’t know if I’ll be as good, but I’ll give it my best shot. I want to make breakfast for you, just like your dad did for your mom. I want to create those special moments for us.”
Her eyes glisten with unshed tears as she places her hands on mine, giving them a gentle squeeze. “You don’t have to,” she murmurs softly. “I didn’t tell you that because I wanted you to, but because I wanted to share a part of myself with you.”
“I know I don’t have to, but I want to,” I say with a smile, gently kissing her nose. “And I’m grateful that you shared that with me. I can’t express how much it means to be a part of your life. It makes me feel incredibly special.”
“You are special, and your willingness to do this for me means a lot,” she breathes softly, her voice filled with awe and love.
“I’d do anything to make you happy,” I say softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. “Seeing you smile is all I need.”
Her smile grows, eyes still glistening with tears. “You already make me so happy,” she whispers, squeezing my hand again. “Thank you for being you.”
“Don’t thank me just yet,” I grin, trying to lighten the mood. “You might want to try my cooking first—it might not even be edible!”
She laughs, her eyes sparkling now. “I’ll take my chances,” she says before adding, “I get the feeling you’re good with your hands.”
The moment the words leave her mouth, I smirk, raising my eyebrows, while her eyes widen and her face turns beet red as she realises what she just said.
“I... I didn’t...” she trails off, dropping her head down , too flustered to continue.
I grin, leaning in a bit closer. “Oh, really?” I tease, lifting her chin gently with my finger.
She blushes, her gaze flickering up to meet mine. “I... I didn’t mean it like that,” she stammers, her cheeks flushing deeper. “I meant cooking, you know... in the kitchen.”
I chuckle softly, loving the sight of her cheeks tinted with a deeper shade of red. “I know exactly what you meant,” I say. “But I must confess, I find myself captivated by the way your blush adds an extra touch of beauty to you. It’s a sight I never tire of.”
She wraps her hands around my neck, gently playing with my hair, a shy smile still dancing on her lips. “I have a feeling, that with you, blushing might just become a permanent part of my expression.”
I smile back, tracing my fingers along her jawline. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” I reply and watch her bite her lip, which only deepens the desire burning within me. As if she can read my thoughts, she shakes her head, sensing where this might lead. I smirk, telling her she’s not wrong. Indeed, my mind is filled with wild thoughts, especially with her sitting on the counter like this.
“If we keep this up, our breakfast will get cold,” she says, trying to free herself from my hold.
Leaning in closer, I notice a sharp intake of breath. “I don’t care for breakfast. I want you,” I whisper.
Her eyes widen at my words, and she blinks up at me . “You want to do it again?”
“It’s all you, sweetheart. You make me crave more every damn time. I just can’t resist you,” I murmur , placing my lips to her neck and gently nipping it, feeling her pulse quicken beneath my touch.
“Reyansh, we can’t,” she whispers, her breaths coming in pants as her hands clutch my hair. “We have to have breakfast, and I need to get home and work.”
“We can,” I whisper, trailing my lips up her neck. “And you can do all of it, but before that, I just need a few minutes, sweetheart,” I lean in, ready to capture her lips when, suddenly, my phone rings, breaking the magic of the moment.
“I’ll kill whoever it is,” I curse in frustration, pulling back as Kavya lets out a giggle. I glare at her, but the sound of her laughter makes it hard to stay annoyed. Reluctantly, I reach for my mobile, pulling it from my pocket. My heart lurches, and Kavya tenses as we both see Sidharth’s name flash on the screen. Pressing her hands in mine, I answer the call, putting it on loudspeaker.
“Hello,” I say, my voice tight.
“We’ve got a lead,” Sidharth’s voice crackles through the line. “The person in the video is wearing a limited-edition Rolex watch. It’s pretty exclusive, and we’ve identified only four people in India who own that particular watch .”
My mind races as I process the information “I’m sending you the image of the watch. If you know anything about it, let me know,” Sidharth’s voice continues over the phone.
“Got it,” I reply before hanging up. A moment later, the image of a gold Rolex watch pops up on the screen.
I look at Kavya, who’s also staring intently at the screen.
“Do you remember anyone wearing this watch?” I ask her, and she lifts her head to meet my eyes.
“No,” she replies dejectedly, shaking her head. Tears begin to well in her eyes, and I can see how hard she’s trying to think, to recall something, anything that might help. But there’s nothing.
I put the phone away and slip it into my pocket before wrapping my arms around her and kissing her forehead. “Don’t worry, we’ll find out. We’re getting there, sweetheart.”
It’s so damn difficult having to share updates that constantly reopen her wounds. I wish I could manage everything independently, but I understand how important it is to keep her informed. I close my eyes and send a silent prayer to God, wishing for this torment to end soon so that I can see her radiant face smiling again, free from all this trauma, instead of witnessing her pain every time we receive news that isn’t what she hoped for.