I ignore that. “What’s in the bag?”
“Breakfast.” He answers and pulls out a tiffin.
“I didn’t ask you to bring anything.” I drop my pen on the table.
“I didn’t wait for you to.”
“I’ve already eaten.”
He studies me for a moment and sighs, “That’s a lie.”
I look at him. He looks back. Completely unconvinced. He finally breaks the silence when I don’t say anything for more than a minute, “You forget to eat when you’re focused,” he says easily. “And you’ve been here since before eight.”
I narrow my eyes slightly. “That’s not your concern.”
He smirks, “It wasn’t in the past,” He shrugs, “It still didn’t stop me so what do you think will stop me from feedingmygirlfriend now?”
My breath hitches at the way his intense eyes won’t leave mine, “You’re already breaking the condition number one, Aryan,” I mutter, this is so unfair, the way he looks, the way he cares, “Go away.” I say as firmly as I can.
He exhales slowly, like he’s deciding how much patience he has today. Apparently, a lot. Because the next thing I know, he’s moved.
From standing—To kneeling beside my chair. I frown.
What is he doing?
He tilts his head slightly, looking up at me with an expression that is dangerously close to a pout. “I need to complain to my girlfriend,” he says, entirely serious.
I stare at him. “About how my interior designer is being very impolite to me.”
“That sounds like a tragic situation.” I press my lips to control my smile because he looks so adorable.
“It is. I brought her breakfast. She rejected it. I’m deeply hurt.”
“You’ll recover.” I scoff.
“I don’t know if I will.” He wipes fake tears off his cheeks and I almost laugh out loud. Him and his dramatics. I roll my eyes.
“You’re resilient.”
“I’m suffering, Sunshine.”
I look down at him. “You’re ridiculous.”
“I will take that, but please,” He drags the word please, “have your breakfast.”
Before I can say anything else, he shifts slightly—And rests his head in my lap.
My breath catches. This is not something I know how to handle. At all. My hands hover awkwardly for a second. Because I don’t know where to put them. What to do. Whether to move him. Tell him to get up. Maintain whatever version of normal this is supposed to be. He settles in like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like this is not completely new territory for me. Like he hasn’t just placed himself in the exact space I’ve spent years keeping people out of.
I look down at him. His eyes are closed. For a second, I think he’s doing it to annoy me.
Then I realize—He’s just…comfortable. He looks so peaceful. Slowly, carefully, like I’m testing something I don’t fully trust—My hand lowers.
My fingers brush through his hair. I don’t even realize I’m doing it at first. Until he shifts slightly. Not away. But closer. And something in me softens before I can stop it.
This is dangerous. I know it is.
But for a moment—I let it happen.
