“I’m invested.”
I stand carefully before moving toward the coffee table where random pens are scattered around. “What are you doing?”
I grab another notebook. Then sit back down beside her this time instead of across from her.
“So,” I say, clicking a pen dramatically, “Operation Make Ishika Actually Live begins now.”
Her mouth twitches despite herself.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And deeply committed.”
I writeLIST OF THINGS MY GIRLFRIEND DESERVESin giant letters.
She snorts immediately. “That title is horrible.”
“It’s beautiful.”
“It’s embarrassing.”
“You love me.”
“That’s unrelated.”
I grin. Then I start copying everything from her notebook carefully. She watches me quietly for a moment before speaking again. “You don’t have to do all this.”
I pause. Then look at her properly. “I know.” That’s the thing. I know. I’m not doing it because she asked. I’m doing it because somewhere along the way, her happiness became tied so violently to mine that I don’t know how to separate them anymore. And maybe that should scare me.
Instead it just feels right. “I want to,” I say simply.
Her gaze softens instantly.
And God—That look right there could probably heal fatal injuries.
“You know,” I continue lightly, “some of these are very achievable.”
“Not all of them.”
“Yes, all of them.”
“Aryan.”
I point the pen at her dramatically. “You underestimate how obsessed I am with you.”
She laughs softly under her breath, shaking her head.
I keep reading.
Then pause again.
“Kiss someone at midnight on New Year’s?” I repeat casually.
Her ears immediately go pink.
Interesting. “I was brainstorming.”
“Oh, were you?”
