72.1| The need of him.
Since Aayansh is being nice from the last few chapters (Like as a brother a husband)-I want to remind y'all that ain't
'Nice' at all. He is exactly what he was in the beginning.
—Tara’s Room—
Tasafur ke hasin lamhe, tera ahsaas karte hain
Tera jab zikr aata hai, toh Milne ko tadapte hain~
But her biggest problem? She's far too addicted to wearing Aayansh's clothes at home, even casually roaming around in them like they're her own.
Carla, who had been her nanny during childhood, stands alongside Rose and Ameline... the three women assigned to look after Tara.
And all of them look hella confused.
When finally, Ameline asks cautiously, "Is something wrong, princess?"
Tara looks at them, huffs, and says, "Get some black shirts and T-shirts for me."
"Alright-"
"Men's."
All three women blink in unison. "Men's shirts?!"
"Yeah," Tara confirms softly. "Urgently!"
Rose and Ameline exchange a bewildered look, while Carla smiles faintly.
"Um... what size?" Rose asks after a brief pause.
Biting her inner cheek, Tara imagines herself in his shirt and realises that his shirts effortlessly fall all the way to her knees.
She taps her shoulder twice, then bends slightly to tap her knees, showing them the length she wants. "This much."
Rose presses her lips together to suppress her laugh, while Ameline stiffens, trying to keep a straight face. They'd expected Tara to name her usual size, at least closer to her own measurements. But this...
Catching the faintest hint of a laugh, Tara looks up at them, her eyes narrowing. "What's so funny?"
"No. No. Nothing!" Rose says quickly.
Ameline nods along. "Just give us a few minutes. We'll get you those oversized black shirts you want."
They turn to leave and get to work when, out of nowhere, Tara blurts, "Wait."
They turn.
Tara mutters, "Leave it. You all go and rest."
Because suddenly, she has realised black shirts aren't what she wants. She wants his black shirts. His scent and the feeling of being enveloped in it.
"What happened? We'd just-"
"Nope. I can survive in these clothes," Tara cuts in.
They don't argue. They just leave.
After letting out a long-ass sigh, she finally steps out wearing a simple, loose burgundy dress.
And lets her gaze wander around her room... the soft blush of the light-pink walls, the exquisite interiors, and every corner brimming with warmth and life.
Nothing like Aayansh's world of blacks and greys.
But beyond that, this is her room. Her space. And she's back here after so long. As her gaze moves from one thing to another, memories begin surfacing... little moments suddenly coming alive again through the things around her.
Her things.
The certificates she'd earned over the years, most of them for music and singing, still adorn the walls. Around her mirror are the goals she'd written for herself as a teenager-
· Become the finest vocalist and make a name for yourself.
· Make Daddy and Bro proud.
· Help Alie get over her exes.
· Get A Goddamn Man!
And many more.
A small laugh nearly escapes Tara as she reads through the list, still surrounded by the tiny stickers she'd carefully placed around it all those years ago.
Then her gaze settles on the pictures covering the centre wall, particularly the one in the middle... her at seventeen, in her high-school uniform, with Dhairya and Arsh sitting obediently in front of her, smiling like the happiest souls alive.
And she's placing some small boxes in their hands, making them pose for the perfect capture of the moment.
That was when she won her first vocal championship, and the first thing she did with her prize money was buy gifts for her father and brother.
They had given her everything and more, so all she wanted was to give them something in return....something bought with money she had earned herself.
She had always been surrounded by big names... Dhairya Jindal, daughter of one of the world's most reputed diamond magnates; AJ's sister; and soon enough, a crowned princess herself.
But beyond all of that, she wanted an identity of her own. One that would carry her name alone... earned through her talent and hard work.
She'd never shown much interest in academics; music and glamour were the only things that truly drew her in.
Then her gaze lands on another picture... one of her at just a few months old, nestled in Arsh's arms, while he's looking down at her as though he's holding his entire world.
Another with Diva, Dhairya and Arsh gathered around tiny Tara, all of them trying to coax her into taking her first steps, while she flashes her toothless gums at them, seemingly delighted by all the trouble she's causing.
Her heart feels full with it all. She takes a deep breath, settles at her boudoir table, and finally begins her much-needed me-time.
She opens the first drawer, revealing a neat row of nail-polish bottles. Picking up a deep burgundy shade, she begins coating her nails with it.
"He's so lucky to have me," she murmurs to herself, gently blowing on her freshly painted nails to keep the polish from smudging. "I mean, come on! If I were a man and had a woman like me, I'd literally kiss her feet."
"Though Aayansh has kissed every inch of me... uh-devoured. My thighs, my ankles, my-! Leave it."
"But... let him feel my absence!"
Her gaze lifts to her reflection in the mirror. "Gorgeous," she murmurs, admiring herself.
Then her gaze falls on the bite marks scattered across her skin, barely concealed beneath the concealer, instantly bringing last night's moments rushing back to her.
And recollecting those moments is enough to send a flush of heat creeping up her neck and across her cheeks.
?????????????
I don't even know how long I've been tossing and turning in bed, but sleep is nowhere near.
I blink, now staring at the ceiling. The ceiling in Aayansh's and my room was automated... it would transform into a mirror whenever we wanted. But here, it's completely useless! I mean, why would I want to watch myself sleeping?
I'd scare the hell out of myself.
I let out a bored sigh, trying to coax sleep into blessing me with at least a few hours of rest. Another while passes like that.
Honestly, I'm more used to sleeping on him than on the bed.
So, maybe that's why...
I push myself upright, resting my back against the headboard, frustration gnawing at me more than I care to admit.
But then-a realisation hits so hard, my eyes fly wide open.
Am I developing insomnia in love?
No. What the fuck. That's serious!
I quickly get out of bed, slip my feet into my crocs, and make my way to the boudoir.
Staring at my reflection in the grand mirror for a while, I exhale in relief. No dark circles... yet. And my face still looks as pretty as ever.
Ten minutes later...
Who'd believe she roams around her own mansion at midnight like a ghost? And her ass is so damn timid that the mere feeling of being alone in the dark is enough to make her throat go dry. But she'd roam anyway.
Yeah, she is me. Simply because sleep and I seem to have gone our separate ways tonight.
I pace quietly through the hallway, back and forth, trying to make it through the night.
If I were with him, either I'd be sleeping on him, or we'd be doing our personal workout. Mostly with me pinned beneath him, sometimes straddling him or on top. At times, he'd just break the rhythm without warning, mid-thrust, lifting me up and commanding-'Start,'
Our room is already sound proof, because the way I scream and cry, if anyone hears me by any chance...
Wait! what the hell? Where is my mind going?
I change direction, my feet carrying me forward almost absentmindedly.
I swear, I was never this filthy-minded. I mean, like any girl, I used to imagine all sorts of unholy scenarios with my future man. But who knew the man I'd end up with would turn out to be even filthier?
Only For Me.
I sigh at the thoughts.
But what must Aayansh be doing at this hour? Is he even missing me?
While I'm lost in my thoughts, the sound of approaching footsteps catches me off guard, making my eyes widen. I turn toward the sound. "Who the f-"
At that exact moment, the lights flood the hallway.
"Daddy?" I hiss, relief washing over me.
Don't call me mad if I say I thought it was my husband.
Well, my father stands before me, dressed in his night suit, his glasses perched on his nose. He looks at me for a moment before placing a hand on my head. "You're roaming around here like this..." he murmurs softly. "Can't sleep, hmm?"
I shake my head.
He smiles, stretching one arm toward me. "Come." I reach for him without wasting a moment, slipping straight into his embrace.
My head settles beneath his chin, his fingers gently caressing my hair as I tell him, "I think I've developed insomnia!"
"Oh, is it?"
"Yes," I confirm, looking up at him. "But why are you still up this late?"
Dad looks down at me, his expression soft. "Well... I thought my daughter hadn't gotten enough love from her father all these months. So, just like when she was a tiny doll, she'd come looking for the honey cakes I made for her... at midnight."
Honey cakes! Just hearing the name makes my mouth water.
"How did you know?" I ask, genuinely surprised.
"If not me, who would?" he chuckles.
Oh, of course! He's known you since you were born. Stupid!
"But it's too late." I blink. "You should be resting..."
Dad simply takes my hand, and together, we make our way to the kitchen. At this hour, the entire place is quiet... no chef, no servants, no one around.
"Now sit and watch how talented your father still is, even at this age," he says, gesturing for me to take a seat on the cushioned chair as he puts on the apron.
"No!" I protest, "I'll help you."
Dad nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. I can't help but watch it. He opens the glass-fronted crockery cabinet and takes out a bowl. Then, he brings over a packet of flour, pours some into the bowl, and begins preparing the batter.