She adjusted the floor plan between them, widening it, creating space that did not need to exist.
He looked down. Her finger traced the curve of an arch as she explained. He followed the line. Then noticed the smallest chip on the edge of her nail.
Completely irrelevant.
Annoyingly distracting.
He frowned, more at himself than anything else.
“Timeline?” he asked.
“Two weeks if the weather holds. Three if it doesn’t.” She glanced at him, then returned to the sheet. “I’ve built a buffer into the schedule.”
He straightened, gave a single nod, and took in the work again.
They moved along the line. The engineer continued, outlining the structure, when a gust of wind swept through the site.
Meera blinked. Then again, sharper. Her left eye stung.
She turned aside, rubbing at her eye, irritation rising with each touch.
Abhinav’s hand closed around her wrist before she could do it again.
She froze.
He stood too close. Close enough that his voice was felt more than heard. “You’ll make it worse.”
Her eyes stayed shut tight, lashes damp, the sting sharper now.
“I need to rub it,” she insisted, pulling once against his hold. “It’s irritating.”
“That’s because you already rubbed it.”
Her jaw set. She tried again.
His grip tightened, not harsh, enough to stop her.
“Blink.”
“I am not…”
“Blink.”
That tone.
She gritted her teeth and blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Her eye watered, tears slipping free. She was furious. At the dust. At him. At the fact that both seemed equally responsible for her irritation at this point.
He pulled out a handkerchief from his pocket with his free hand.
She felt a light touch at the corner of her eye, wiping the tears away before they could fall further.
“I can manage,” she muttered.
