CHAPTER 55
ISHIKA
My phone buzzes on the side table when I am almost asleep. I groan, irritated by the noise but reach out to my phone anyways.
GoldenBoy : Come to my room.
I stare at the screen for a long second, my brain slow to catch up, still foggy from sleep and the lingering dull ache behind my eyes. My first instinct is frustration. Who just texts like that?
I type back—
Me: Why?
The reply comes instantly.
GoldenBoy : It’s a surprise.
I narrow my eyes at my phone, So Aryan coded, no context, only demands. I should ignore it. I should turn my phone on silent, roll over, and go back to sleep like a sane person who values her peace. Instead, I’m already pushing the blanket off and sitting up.
Idiot.
The house is quiet. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that only exists late at night, when even the walls seem to settle and breathe slower.
I step out of the room carefully, instinctively avoiding the spots on the floor that creak, even though I don’t need to.
Everyone’s asleep. The corridor is dimly lit, a soft spill of warm light coming from under his door.
I pause for a second. My hand hovers over the handle.
What is he doing? Before I can overthink it into something bigger than it is, I push the door open and my steps falter.
The room doesn’t look like his room anymore.
For a second, I genuinely think I’ve walked into the wrong place.
Soft yellow light flickers across the walls—candles, placed carefully around the room, their glow steady and warm.
Not too many. Not overwhelming. Just enough to shift the entire space into something quieter, softer.
There are flowers. Not arranged in some over-the-top, suffocating display—but scattered, intentional.
A small arrangement on the side table. A few loose petals near the bed.
The curtains are drawn. The world outside shut out completely.
And in the middle of it—Him. Leaning back against the edge of the bed, arms loosely crossed, watching me like he’s been waiting.
Which he probably has. For a moment, I don’t say anything.
I just…take it in. “This is…” I start, then stop, because I don’t actually have a word for it.
He straightens slightly, suddenly looking almost—almost—uncertain.
“It’s not too much, right?” he asks, scratching the back of his neck in a way that feels so out of place with everything else. That’s what gets me. The fact that he’s standing here, after doing all this, and still asking if it’s too much because he wants to respect my boundaries.
Something in my chest shifts. “It’s…” I exhale slowly, stepping inside and closing the door behind me. “You’re unbelievable.”
His mouth twitches. “That bad?”
I shake my head. “No,” I say quietly. “Not bad.”
I take a few steps further into the room, my fingers brushing lightly over the back of a chair, grounding myself in something real because this—this feels dangerously close to something I don’t know how to handle. “You didn’t have to do this,” I add.
“I know.” I let out a quiet breath, glancing around once more before my eyes settle back on him.
“You’re very extra.”
“I prefer ‘thoughtful.’” I huff softly and walk over to him. Close enough that the distance between us feels…intentional.
“Is this your way of apologizing again for force feeding me?” I ask, raising a brow.
His expression softens slightly. “No, you have very concerning appetite for someone who’s a grown adult so I am not saying sorry for that,” he mumbles. “This is me not wanting to wait for a reason to do something for you.”
My eyes widen a bit and I feel my heart warming. I don’t respond right away. Because I don’t trust my voice. He reaches out slowly, taking my hand in his. The movement is gentle. Like he’s giving me time to pull away. I don’t. His thumb brushes lightly over my knuckles.
“Ishika…” I look up. He lets go of my hand only to reach into his pocket and pulls out a small box. As he opens it the ruby catches the candlelight, deep red, glowing softly like it holds its own warmth.
My breath stills. “Aryan…”
“I know,” he says quietly. “Before you start—just listen, okay?”
I swallow. “I’m not giving you this because you need it,” he continues, stepping closer. “And I’m not giving it to you because I expect something back.”
His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “I’m giving it to you because I saw it and thought of you.”
My chest tightens. “It felt like you,” he adds, softer now. “Strong. Quiet. Not trying to be noticed but impossible to ignore once you do.” My fingers curl slightly at my sides. “And I wanted to give you something that stays,” he finishes.
“This is too much,” I whisper, even though my voice doesn’t hold the same resistance it usually does.
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It’s not,” he repeats gently. “But if it makes you feel better, you can pretend it is and still keep it.”
I almost laugh. God. He takes my hand again. This time, when he slides the ring onto my finger, I don’t stop him. It fits perfectly. Of course it does. I stare at it for a second. Then back at him. Unable to understand what to say I exhale softly. “Don’t make a habit of this.”
“Can’t promise that.” He shrugs and I shake my head, but I don’t take it off.
That’s answer enough for him because his hand slides up, fingers brushing lightly along my jaw, tilting my face just enough.
There’s a question in his eyes, as if asking for permission to kiss me, I don’t hesitate this time.
I close the distance first. The kiss starts soft.
Slow. But there’s something underneath it—something that’s been building, waiting, stretching across every almost moment we’ve had.
His hand moves to my waist, pulling me closer.
My fingers curl into his shirt. His forehead rests against mine when we finally pause.
Breath uneven. Close enough to feel everything. “You’re dangerous,” I whisper.
His lips brush the corner of my mouth. “Only for you.”