Kyra

I lean back against the kitchen counter, bare feet curling against the cold tile as I twist open an Oreo. The cream splits just right. I giggle to myself, then give it a slow, dramatic lick like it's a secret delicacy.

"Mmm," I sigh, eyes fluttering shut for a second. "Whoever invented this, I'm finding them in heaven and offering my undying devotion."

Okay... maybe not just Oreos. I need my books. My laptop—obviously. How else am I supposed to write? And Riri. Definitely Riri. Yes, these are the only things I need.

Right on cue, I feel soft fur brush against my ankle, and I look down at Riri, her fluffy tail weaving between my legs as she looks up at me with glistening orbs. Speak of the fluffball.

"Aren't you a tiny, cute thing?" I coo at her before scooping her up in my arms, smooching her head softly before scratching the spot behind her ear, which always makes her purr.

She mewls softly before snuggling in my arms, tucking herself into my chest like she's made to fit there. My heart melted at the sight. I pop the last bite of Oreo into my mouth and let my arms cradle her like something precious. Because she is.

Oh my tiny baby. She's adorable.

It's a quiet Sunday morning, everyone is out of the house, and I'm left here alone yet again. Mom and Dadi had gone to see Ipshita bhabhi's mother along with her. Kanishk was dragged, and I mean brutally pulled out of his bed by Shiv so they could go to Sunday lunch together. Which was extremely odd to me, because who the fuck keeps a company lunch on Sunday? And then Mariam called and told me she's going to have to cancel plans for today because she needs to be there for this lunch.

Of course, she does. Shivyansh literally sent her a special invite. Lovesick idiots.

Kaynaaz was at Rooh's house, who'd gotten grounded for the week because of her grades. At least Avi finally had enough courage to confess. It's hard being Cupid for these kids.

And well, my cold-hearted, angry, twenty-four-seven, never understanding father is not even in the city. Which is great, because that means I get to ignore his presence, his taunts, and his phone calls, for now, because he isn't here to scold me every single opportunity he gets.

Life is so peaceful when Dad isn't around to remind me what a huge disappointment I am to him. Because he refuses to look over the mistakes I never even had the intention to make, and look at the hard work I do try and make him proud of me. My mind tells me to scream at him, be mad, be angry because I deserve to be. But then this foolish heart asks me to let it off the hook, because he's my dad. After all, there are worse people than him in the world.

Yet now, that heart's started to change. Because someone keeps proving that I deserved to be loved and cared for despite the shortcomings in life, someone who keeps stealing my breath after I promised I'd lock my heart away. Someone who's just a stranger I talk to every night, a stranger who gets me flowers randomly, a stranger who stares at me like I'm some prize while I'm trying to focus on one of my romance novels.

Someone whose name echoes in my head a little too often to be just a stranger, but doesn't exactly feel like a friend either.

I gently set Riri down on the kitchen island, her paws immediately patting around in curious circles. Slipping a hand into the pocket of my denim skirt, I pull out my phone. A soft smile tugs at my lips as I glance at the newly received messages lighting up the screen,

"Good Morning, Señorita. You look beautiful today."

I choose to ignore the second part of his message, silently praying it was meant metaphorically—and not because he's actually peeking through my window, considering his stalking tendencies.

My gaze lingers on the nickname he's given me. I never have to turn to check if it's him, because unlike everyone else who calls me by my name, he's the only one who insists on using these stupid nicknames. And somehow, when they roll off his annoyingly deep voice, they always get my attention.

Unconsciously, I scroll through the texts we'd sent throughout the week. He'd spammed with me messages the day I'd seen him at the library, asking if I was alright and had reached home safely. And although I'd been deeply startled by Aditya's actions, I'd just lied and said I was alright.

I could understand Aditya's intentions. Inaya herself had mentioned almost a thousand times how much she misses him. It's only his way of threatening me to achieve his goal, which had me freaked, and I'd almost decided against giving that envelope to Inaya, afraid that he might hurt her only to get her back.

But I gave it to her in the end. Everyone deserves a second chance, and maybe he did, too. It wasn't my decision to make, but if he had chosen to make me the cupid, my heart couldn't deny helping him out.

The sudden ring of the doorbell startles me out of my wits, and my gaze snaps to the tall door across the living room. I tilt my head, squinting at it like staring hard enough might let me see through the wood.

Who could possibly be back this early?

I put my phone away before quietly padding across the living room to the door. Another ring sounds around the house, and I lift my eyebrows, curiosity getting the best of me. Kanishk probably hasn't even reached the country club. Mom and the other two ladies couldn't possibly be back this early. Dad isn't going to be back until next week...

Maybe Kaynaaz?

But she had only left thirty minutes ago...

I take a deep breath as I reach the door, softly wrapping my hand around the cold, polished surface of the handle.

Oh well, if it's a serial killer, we pick up Riri and run to my room.

With that brilliant strategy in mind, I twist the knob and pull the door open.

And then, I stop breathing.

My eyes widen. My jaw falls slack, and for a moment, I just stand there frozen, staring at the one person I never, in a million lifetimes, imagined would show up at my door.

My gaze locks onto his golden eyes, the kind I could write a thousand metaphors about and still fall short. And then I see it: the slow, infuriating smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Ansh tilts his head slightly, watching me with unmistakable amusement, like he knew this would be my exact reaction.

"As much as I'm amused to see the shock on your beautiful face, Senorita, I think you close your mouth before a bee decides to enter it." He says, reaching out to take hold of my chin, before helping me pick up my jaw off the floor like I'm not capable of it myself.

I scoff, and then my eyes suddenly catch sight of one of the guards patrolling just behind him.

Shit.

Without thinking, I reach out and grab his bicep, hissing under my breath as I yank him inside before we're spotted. He stumbles in, the sheer size of him practically swallowing up the space between us as I slam the door shut behind him. I let out a dramatic sigh before lifting my gaze, only to realise his face is much, much closer than it was a second ago.

I look up, meeting his eyes, those impossibly golden orbs that always seem to see too much. But my gaze doesn't stay there for long.

It drops.

To his lips.

They're full and plush, the kind that look far too soft for someone like him. The natural pink stands out against his otherwise sharp features, and for some reason, it's all I can focus on. Then his tongue swipes out, slow, effortless, as he wets his bottom lip, and I swear my breath catches for half a second.

Unfair. It should be illegal to look this good while being this insufferable.

"They're desperate to taste you too, my love, only if you'd give your permission," Ansh says, his voice in a whisper like someone might hear him.

"Huh?" I question, as I look at him cluelessly, his words just a blur in my head as my eyes try hard to focus anywhere except his lips.

His hand finds my waist, gentle but sure, and before I can process what's happening, he pulls me closer.

My body falls into his like it remembers how. Like it belongs there. Heat radiates off him, wrapping around me in quiet defiance of the space I was trying to keep. A sharp gasp escapes my lips, and my hand instinctively presses against his chest. His heartbeat is wild beneath my palm, and shuddering passes down my back.

"Your heart," I start, my gaze falling on the back of my palm, "Are you okay?" I question my voice as low as his was a few seconds ago.

"Perfectly fine, Baby." He answers, his heart still racing as fast as it was before.

I look at him, confused, "Then why is your heart racing like a cheetah?"

"You see," he sighs, "My heart tends to do its own thing whenever you're around, and you just happened to be staring at my lips a few seconds ago, and your soft hand is currently curled around the biceps I've built just to impress you, So I guess my heart is having it's fanboy moment."

I blink up at him, dumbfounded—until the meaning of his words finally registers. My breath catches, and I step back quickly, the moment shattering between us. His grip loosens without resistance, and he lets me slip from his hands.

"I.." I point a finger at him, "I wasn't staring at your lips, I have no intention to. You were just so close to my face," I wave a hand over my face. "That my eyes wandered everywhere, it was a reflex action. You're so delusional, oh god." I finish, staring at him accusingly, and he smirks.

He smirks. Again.

The sheer audacity of this unfortunately gorgeous, straight-out-of-a-romance-novel man. Ugh.

"I don't mind your eyes wandering, my love, let them wander all they want. All of this," he points to himself, "Is yours."

I curse under my breath before threading a hand through my hair out of frustration. My eyes fall on the door behind him, and I realise where we're standing.

"Haye Bhagwan," I mutter, horror blooming across my face. "Aap mere ghar mein kya kar rahe ho?"

(Oh god, what are you doing in my house?)

If anyone walks in through that door, I'm doomed. I do not have an explanation of why this man — who can't even call my friend — is standing in the middle of our living room, nor do I have an explanation of how I met him. Because what am I supposed to do? March up to my mom and brother and say—

"Yeah, I kind of got curious because he was my stalker and I couldn't help but find out who he is, so I met him and he's been following me around like a lost cat since then."

Before I can spiral further, his voice cuts through the chaos in my head—smooth, confident, annoyingly composed.

"I knew you'd be home alone," he says, shrugging like this is the most casual thing in the world. "Socha dekha jaaye, hone waale sasural ka mahaul kaisa hai."

(I thought, I'll go see how my future in-laws' house is)

"You're literally crazy," I hiss, "Aapko pata hai, idhar koi aagaya toh mujhko kitna kuch explain karna padega? Aur abhi toh, papa idhar pe nhi hai, woh agar aaj jaate toh?" I question him, a sudden worry lacing my voice. Does he not understand the seriousness of the situation?

(Do you realise if someone comes here, how much I'd have to explain? And right now, dad isn't here, but if he had been, then?)

He steps a little closer, reaching out like he's about to comfort me.

"Hey," he says, voice steady and sure, "stop worrying. I already know your dad isn't home, and I've got eyes on everyone else outside the house. I'd never risk you getting hurt, Kyra."

His voice is confident—too confident. Like he's stating some kind of unshakable truth.

I blink at him, stunned. "What do you mean, 'I've got eyes on everyone'? Don't tell me you're stalking my family, too. You do realise how creepy that is, right?"

He lets out a soft sigh, like I've completely missed the point, and then—without another word—sidesteps me.

My eyes follow him as he starts casually strolling around the house, trailing his fingers along surfaces like he belongs here. He brushes past a photo frame on the wall, grazes the edge of the sofa, then pauses by the kitchen counter.

"I don't stalk them because I want to," he says, almost like he's bored of explaining. "And it's not stalking, anyway. It's me making sure you don't get caught."

His hand rests on the counter for a moment, and then his gaze drops.

Riri. Still perched on the island like a princess, blinking up at him with those wide, curious eyes. Ansh stares back, the corners of his mouth twitching upward.

I step forward, hovering near the kitchen island, one eye on Riri as she tilts her head at Ansh. She's going to jump him. Scratch his smug face. Just wait. But before his hand even lifts to pet her, Riri moves. Not away.

Closer.

She brushes her fluffy body against his arm, tail flicking in satisfaction as if she's the one who invited him in. Ansh lets out a soft chuckle, amused and—God help me—fond.

My jaw drops.

"Traitor," I mutter under my breath. "I considered you my kid."

Riri purrs louder. Ansh glances at me, that stupid smirk forming again. "Looks like your kid likes me."

"Oh please," I scoff, folding my arms across my chest. "She also licks the floor and tries to eat plastic. She doesn't have great judgment."

He leans his elbow on the counter, eyes still on Riri but voice dropping just a little enough to stir something unfamiliar in my chest.

"She knows who's safe."

I open my mouth, ready with some half-baked comeback about how Riri also once trusted a dying mouse and tried to adopt it—

But I pause.

Because Ansh has picked her up. Just like that. Softly taking hold of her small body to pull her closer. And Riri lets him. Worse, she nuzzles into his chest, her eyes half-closed in bliss, purring like he's some kind of human furnace sent from heaven.

"Unbelievable," I mutter, throwing my hands in the air. "Next thing I know, you'll have her wearing a collar with your name on it."

"She might," Ansh says, utterly unfazed. "She's got taste." He snorts and then, casually, starts walking toward the stairs.

My heart lurches. "Wait—where are you going?"

He glances over his shoulder, a glint in his eyes that makes something flutter and panic in my chest at the same time.

"To your room," he says simply. "Riri clearly wants a tour."

"That is not—Riri doesn't—Ansh!"

But he's already halfway up the stairs, cradling my cat like some damn Disney prince while I'm left chasing after them.

. . .

It's been an hour since this handsome maniac has been in my room, on my bed, with my cat, relaxing like it's the most normal thing to barge into someone's house and play with their cat.

"When are you going to leave?" I cross my arms before leaning back into the stairs I had settled in after Ansh decided to invade my room with his presence and hulky vanilla scent. God, I hate to admit it, but he does smell heavenly.

He looks at me, Riri lying across his lap like a baby, while he caresses the fur on her back. She purrs once in a while when he stops, like she's complaining to him. It's so cute that I might've forgotten that he's practically stealing my cat away from me.

"Can I see your writings?" he asks randomly, completely dodging the question I asked.

"Will you go then?" I bargain.

"Maybe, maybe not," he grins, tilting his head to the side, which I've come to notice is a habit now.

I shake my head before contemplating whether or not to give him access to my writings. They were something which held a lot of value, and although I loved to recite my poems and prose to my friends and even post them on my socials, I wasn't sure if I wanted him to look at something so private to me. But then, even if I denied, He'd find a way to read them anyway. Plus, it's not like he can hurt me more than the people I wrote these poems for.

I nod, give him a small nod before reaching over to my desk and grabbing my pink diary. I've had it since I was nine. Every small, big, relevant, and irrelevant thought of mine is etched in it. It'll stay that way until I get old, and for all I know, if there's one habit I want to pass down to my kids, is this one. Because when u have no friend or family to talk to about how you feel, you talk to your diary, which is always better than holding everything inside until it kills you.

I flip through the pages of the little pink notebook, each of them covered with ink or lead, little scribbles and underlines, little doodles of stars and my signature.

Couldn't risk it, at least if anyone ever finds my diary and decides to publish it as an artefact, my signatures might stay.

I finally landed on a poem I'd written a long time ago, tucked quietly between messy drafts and forgotten thoughts. Before I even think about giving him the liberty to read it, I skim through it myself, remind myself of the exact moment I wrote it.

A Presence in the Shadows

My presence only there

When everyone else disappears

Sitting in the corner

Waiting for my chance quietly

Feeling nebulochaotic

Heartbeat in race

Against my chest

Every emotion pouring out

It never stops

I feel like an eccedentist

Don't wanna feel alone

Don't wanna stand here

just being a shadow

just to be another bus stop

Every bit of my heart breaks

Every single faith fades

The way no one cares

The way no one stays

— P. L.

I let out a shaking breath as my fingers softly hover over the tear marks that stain the page along with ink. I'd written this right after I'd graduated from high school and told my dad I didn't want to follow the path he'd laid out for me. He'd screamed, cursed, swore at me for being disappointed and forbade everyone in the house to even glance my way. It had been hell, like I was suffocating in my very own house.

I look at Ansh for a moment, his gaze lingering on me subtly as if he wanted to look at me, but still wanted to give me a moment to myself. I lock away the part of me which wrote this piece before holding out the diary to him.

He reaches out and gently takes the page from my hand, but before reading it, he looks at me, really looks at me. His eyes drop to the words, then flicker back up, searching mine with a silent question.

Can I?

I give a small nod, granting permission without saying a word. Then I tuck my knees up onto the chair, wrapping my arms around them like a shield, bracing myself for the weight of being known.

I follow his gaze as he reads the delicate words etched on the page. I tried to read him, his expressions, the way he held himself, but nothing gave away what he was feeling as he absorbed what I had written.

"It's beautiful," He whispers. And something about those two words leaving his lips so softly makes my heart pound a bit faster.

I expect him to turn the page and read the next poem, but he hands the diary back to him, forcing me to look at him in confusion.

"You don't want to read more?" I question, a disappointment lacing my words.

He shakes his head, before placing the diary in my hands, "I do, I just don't want to pry into something which is personal to you and you only. I want to read more, so show me the one you want to."

I look at him strangely, as if he'd just said something completely alien, which he had. Because had anyone else ever been in his place, they'd flip through the diary left, right and centre. Without even seeking permission. And although I never minded people reading what I wrote, something about the way he'd just said those words brought warmth to my heart.

"Alright," I whisper, before passing him a small smile. Next, I pull out a happier poem, one I'd written after my break-up with Tanmay, when I'd finally gotten the courage to write again.

Moon

Seasons passed, years passed

Wars broke, unity came,

Everything changed

But the moon remained the same.

Under the same sky,

It tells us folklore

Of our bloodshed past.

And like people

It changes its,

Sometimes round

Sometimes a crescent-like smile.

And sometimes it's just half of something.

But it glows full again,

Reminding us, "even if we have scars,

We can always brighten up the dark"

— P. L.

Ansh lets out a satisfied sigh, and a gorgeous smile slowly curves across his face, one of those rare, unguarded ones that makes my heart skip before I can stop it. He glances at me, eyes warm, then looks back down to the poem and reads it again, slower this time, like he's savouring it.

"You really have a way with words, Señorita," he says, voice soft, sincere.

A shy smile tugs at my lips, uninvited but impossible to suppress. I hug my knees a little tighter and murmur a quiet, "Thank you."

"These are beautiful, but I can't help but say, I thought you'd be a romantic at heart." His gaze set on me, more intense than it had been before, like he was trying to figure me out.

"I am," I say, holding out my hand for the diary again. He places it in my palm gently, and I skip through the poems, which feel like mistakes. Which I wrote for the wrong person. Once I find what I'm looking for, I hand my diary back to him eagerly, like it's something I'd been carving to show him, "Here, read this one."

To My Soulmate

A random smile appears

It's at the thought of you

But you don't even exist

You are somewhere there

The other end of my red thread

The one bound to me

The one written in my destiny

I'm tired of trying for love

So I'll wait.

Wait for the love

I know I deserve

And once the wait is done

I'll only love YOU

In all my lifetimes to come.

— K

I rest my chin on my knees, watching him. He's completely still, like the moment has folded in around him. His eyes move slowly across the page, tracing every word with the kind of focus that feels almost sacred. There's a softness in his expression. I see it in the way his brows draw ever so slightly together. In the way his lips part like he's holding his breath.

As if each line is something he's waited years to hear. His thumb brushes the edge of the paper like it's fragile. And then something flickers across his face. A shift. Barely there. But this time, I caught it.

Pain? Longing? Recognition?

I can't tell.

All I know is that he's reading a poem I wrote for someone I haven't even met, and somehow, it feels like he's the one finding pieces of himself in it.

Like he already knows.

Like he's always known.

Ansh's fingers linger on the last word of the poem before he finally speaks.

"Who's it for?" he asks, casually. His eyes stay on the page, but his voice dips just a little, like the answer matters more than it should.

I shrug, curling my fingers around the edge of the chair. "No one. I mean... someone, eventually. I wrote it for whoever ends up being mine."

He hums. It's soft, almost inaudible.

"That's lucky," he says, turning the page over like he's not trying to hide the faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "For him, I mean."

I tilt my head. "Why?"

Ansh glances up — just for a second, "Because not everyone gets a poem written for them before they even arrive." And like that, he hands the notebook back.

I look at him, confused, but before I can ask what he meant, his phone rings, slicing through the softness of the moment like a blade. He holds my gaze for a heartbeat longer, unreadable, before pulling the phone out of his pocket.

"Yes?" he says, his voice low, calm. He listens. Silent. Still. The call barely lasts five seconds before he hangs up without a word.

"Looks like it's time for me to go," he says, voice light, almost playful. He scoops Riri from his lap, gentle as ever, and lays her down atop my fluffy comforter like she's something precious he's afraid to wake.

He stands to leave. But before he can take a step, I reach out on instinct and wrap my fingers around his wrist.

"Suddenly? Why?" My voice is soft. But I feel like the question lands harder than I intended.

He freezes. Just... freezes. Not dramatically. Not in a way most people would notice. But I do. The way his arm stills beneath my touch. The faint pause in his breath. Like he wasn't expecting me to ask. Or care.

And in that moment, I think I see something flicker across his face — something hesitant, something that wants to stay. But I let go of his hand.

And almost as if the universe itself wants to answer for him, the doorbell rings downstairs.

Oh shit. How am I supposed to get him out?

Before I start to panic and figure out how to get him out of my house unnoticed, He turns toward the window and gives me a lopsided smile.

I blink. "What are you...?"

But he's already pushing it open, stepping out with the ease of someone who's done this before. Like, climbing out of my bedroom window is just part of the routine. Like this isn't strange at all.

He pauses on the ledge for a moment, glancing back at me with a hint of mischief in his eyes, "Take care, princess, don't miss me too much, and don't forget to dream of me tonight." He snickers before sliding down from my roof and disappearing out of sight.

I feel a strange sense of disappointment and emptiness as I stare out the window.

Can he get anymore strange than this?