13. MISSION IMPOSSIBLE
DIYA
I should have known something was wrong the moment I walked into the NGO and found Veeraj peacefully drinking coffee.
Do you know how suspicious that is?
For normal people, it's not suspicious at all. For Veeraj Singh Shekhawat? Extremely suspicious.
The man has spent the last two weeks looking mildly inconvenienced by my existence. Not annoyed enough to leave. Not interested enough to engage.
Just . . . .there. Tall. Silent. Judgmental. Like an expensive gargoyle somebody accidentally brought to life.
Which means today is the perfect day to continue Operation Make The Prince React. I smile to myself as I walk into my office.
A smile that immediately causes Manisha to narrow her eyes. "What are you planning?"
I gasp dramatically. "Mani."
"What?"
"Why does everyone assume I'm planning something?"
"Because every time you smile like that, somebody suffers."
I place a hand over my heart. "I am deeply offended."
Manisha doesn't even blink. "Poor prince."
"You're supposed to be on my side." I pout.
"I'm on the side of peace."
"Traitor."
She laughs.
I glare at her. Mostly because she's right.
A little while later I spot my target. Veeraj stands near the storage room reviewing some documents while Raj sits beside him drawing something that appears to be a dinosaur riding a tractor.
I don't ask questions anymore. I've learned my lesson. Children exist on a different plane of reality. Veeraj notices me approaching. His eyebrows furrow in suspicion immediately. Good. He should be. I stop in front of him.
He lowers the file and I smile at him, as sweetly as possible. His eyes narrow. Excellent. We're making progress.
"I need your help."
"What?"
"I need your help."
He's silent for a moment as if he didn't understand what I meant and then sighs, his gaze shifts toward the ceiling briefly as if he's preparing himself emotionally.
"I heard you the first time."
"Then why aren't you helping?"
"You haven't told me what you need."
I smile wider. Dangerously wider. His expression somehow becomes even more cautious. "I need you to organize the donation room."
His face muscles don't move a little. I am one step away from assuming they don't work at all.
"That's it?" His eyebrow rises slightly.
I frown. "Should there be more? You're not going to complain?"
"No."
"Question it?"
"No."
"Argue?"
"No."
My eye twitches. This man is ruining everything. I spent ten whole minutes coming up with this task. The donation room is a disaster. It has been for a while. None of the staff, me or Mani have any motivation or will to work on it.
Boxes everywhere. Clothes. Books. Toys. School supplies. Nothing organized.
It will take hours. Hours. And yet all he does is close the file and nod once. "Okay."
That's it. Okay. Who responds like that?
We stare at each other, more like him unbothered while I am glaring at him. The silence stretches.
Finally he gestures toward the hallway. "The donation room?"
"Yes."
He starts walking. Just like that. No suffering. No irritation. No dramatic sighs. Nothing.
I am honestly offended.
Raj watches him leave before looking at me. Then he signs. 'Good luck'
I point accusingly at him. "You're supposed to support me."
The little traitor grins, toothless.
Unbelievable.
Half an hour later I find myself standing outside the donation room. Mostly because I expected chaos. Him finally realizing what he walked into. At minimum some level of misery.
Instead . . . the sight I find shocks me a bit.
The room looks different. Boxes are stacked neatly. Books have been sorted according to age groups. School supplies are arranged into categories. Clothes are folded. Not shoved into piles. Folded. I look around in disbelief.
Keshav notices me first. "Didi!"
I glance toward the floor. Three children sit around Veeraj. They are helping sort toys. Or attempting to. Mostly they're talking. Actually, no. Mostly Keshav is talking. The others are just trapped. Including Veeraj.
"Then the alien exploded!" Keshav announces dramatically.
I frown. "What alien?"
"The one from my dream."
"Ah." That explains everything.
Veeraj nods seriously. As if this is perfectly reasonable conversation. "That seems unfortunate."
Keshav immediately launches into another explanation and Veeraj listens.
The same way he listened to Jay. The same way he listens whenever a child talks to him.
Like their stories matter. Like they're important.
They do. For me, they're my world but rarely people, especially these rich ones, genuinely care about them.
Something soft stirs in my chest. I ignore it. Obviously. Instead I focus on the fact that he still hasn't reacted to my task.
Rude.
"Prince uncle is good at folding clothes."
I look toward Laila. She holds up a perfectly folded sweater. Proud. Veeraj glances at it. "It's upside down."
She gasps and checks it. Then immediately groans. The room erupts in laughter. Even Veeraj's shoulders shake slightly. Not enough to call it a laugh. But close.Very close.
"Oh!" Keshav points dramatically. "You almost smiled!"
Veeraj immediately becomes expressionless. The transformation is terrifying. One second he is almost human. The next second the infamous reactionless prince.
Keshav looks deeply disappointed. "Come back."
"No."
Keshav sighs. "Okay."
I bite the inside of my cheek, to control the laugh bubbling in me. And because somehow these children have become completely fearless around him.
When he first arrived they treated him like royalty. Now? Now they treat him like a particularly tall jungle gym.
It's beautiful . . . and cute.
The afternoon passes surprisingly quickly. Children drift in and out. Someone brings snacks. Someone spills juice. Someone cries because another child called their drawing ugly.
Normal NGO chaos.
At one point Lucky climbs onto a chair and starts giving instructions nobody asked for. At another point Rani quietly slips a handmade paper flower into Veeraj's folder before pretending she didn't.
He notices. Of course he notices.
But instead of embarrassing her by mentioning it, he simply places it carefully inside the file. Like it's something valuable.
My chest squeezes unexpectedly. God. I hate when he does that. The thoughtful things. The kind things. The things that don't match my image of him. It's becoming increasingly difficult to fit him in my rich-people-are-the-worst agenda.
A little later the children run outside for evening playtime. Leaving the room surprisingly quiet.
I lean against the doorway.
Veeraj continues organizing supplies. Focused. Efficient. Infuriating.
I cross my arms. "You know."
He doesn't look up. "Hm?"
"I gave you this task because I thought you'd hate it."
That gets his attention. His eyes lift. Dark and steady.
"And?"
"And you were supposed to complain or be annoyed. You were supposed to suffer."
The corner of his mouth twitches. Tiny. Almost invisible. But I catch it. Victory.
"That's concerning, Diya. You spend a lot of time thinking about my facial expressions." He cocks an eyebrow.
The words are calm. Simple. And devastating. Because unfortunately . . . He's right.
My mouth opens. Closes. Then opens again. Nothing comes out.
The bastard.
He finally looks up. And for the first time all day there is unmistakable amusement in his eyes. Not a smile. Worse. Much worse. Because now he knows. And judging by the look on his face . . . He's enjoying it.
I immediately point toward the door. "Get out."
His eyebrow rises. "You asked me to be here."
"I've changed my mind."
"That's not how that works."
"It should be."
A quiet huff escapes him. Almost a laugh. Almost. Then he picks up another box and continues working. Completely unbothered. Completely calm. And completely impossible.
I watch him for another second before giving up. Because Operation Make The Prince React is proving significantly more difficult than expected.
The worst part?
I'm beginning to suspect he's enjoying the game just as much as I am. And somehow . . . That's even more dangerous.