I smirk.
“Are you completely insane?” she demands, standing up so fast her chair scrapes against the floor. She marches toward me, eyes blazing. “I don’t understand you. Are you highly stupid or do you genuinely think you need to fix all my problems because I don’t need—”
Before I even realize what I’m doing, I lift my hand and gently press a finger against her lips.
She freezes. So do I. Her skin is warm under my touch. Softer than I expected. Her eyes go wide, shock flickering across them.
“Let’s just go with I am stupid,” I say lightly, trying to keep my tone steady, “and I care for you.”
The words hang in the air. My brain catches up a second too late.
I care for you?
Did I just say that out loud? Her eyes widen even more.
Yeah. I definitely did.
“Care for me?” she whispers, like she isn’t sure she heard correctly.
My heart is beating a little too fast now, but I force my shoulders to relax. “Yeah,” I reply coolly. “We are friends after all.”
Coolly. I am absolutely not feeling cool. Inside, I am fully aware that I just crossed into dangerous territory. I am watching her process it and I am half prepared for her to shut down, build a wall, retreat.
“You care about all your friends, do you?” she challenges, though her voice is softer now.
I remove my finger from her lips, resisting the urge to linger.
“Yeah,” I say easily. “I once gifted a helicopter to Siddhant because he doesn’t like them.”
She blinks.
“Helicopter?” she shrieks, disbelief cracking through her anger.
I nod, amused. Her eyes sparkle for just a second before she can hide it. “Do you like them?” she asks, almost involuntarily.
I pause, surprised by the sudden shift. “Helicopters?”
“Yes,” she says quickly, then immediately clamps her mouth shut like she regrets asking.
I can’t help the small smile that spreads across my face. “A lot,” I admit.
For a fraction of a second, something soft passes between us.
Then she straightens. “Aryan, this is unacceptable,” she says, back to grumpy mode like she flipped a switch. “Please, I don’t really—”
“I need it,” I interrupt gently.
She frowns.
“I want you to be safe,” I say quietly.
Her expression flickers. “Like all friends do,” I add quickly, softening the weight of it.
“I—uh—I don’t…” she stutters, searching for a reason that doesn’t sound like pride.
I step closer, lowering my voice just slightly. “Please, Ishika,” I say. “This once.” There’s no joke in my tone now. No teasing. No ego. Just honesty. She looks up at me, really looks at me, like she’s trying to figure out if this is manipulation or sincerity.
“Okay,” she whispers finally. “Thank you, Aryan.”
