Chapter 11: The Messy Present

The next morning, I was woken by my phone.

As soon as I opened my eyes, I saw Arjun’s ghostly face.

He was very close—so close I could see his pupils contract and his lashes tremble.

He hadn’t expected the phone to ring, nor for me to suddenly open my eyes.

A hint of panic flashed in his eyes.

Then he jerked back, averted his gaze, and spoke awkwardly.

"Meera, you grind your teeth in your sleep."

"Grind my teeth?"

After all these years, it was the first time I’d seen Arjun look almost shy.

I couldn’t help but laugh.

Then I lifted the quilt, got up, and walked barefoot toward him.

Deliberately, I let my gaze travel slowly from his eyes to his lips.

"If you don’t explain, I’d think you were about to kiss me just now."

Sure enough, he couldn’t take being teased at seventeen.

With one sentence, his eyes widened and he backed away repeatedly.

Luckily, the second round of ringing came just in time. He was relieved. "Phone’s ringing. Answer it."

After that, he didn’t dare stay a second longer and escaped through the wall.

Seeing Arjun so lively, I wanted to laugh.

But I couldn’t.

Because the call was from my mom.

As expected, as soon as I answered, her scolding came in waves.

"Meera, what was wrong with you last night? You didn’t answer my calls or reply to messages."

"I finally got young President Rohan to check on you, and you made him angry?"

"Your Uncle Singh’s project still depends on the Rohan family. Don’t you know how to behave?"

"I heard young President Rohan has a gathering the day after tomorrow. Go too, apologise, you hear?"

See?

That’s my mom.

Where I go, what I do—she doesn’t know, doesn’t care.

But she knows Rohan’s every move.

I wanted to say I wouldn’t go.

I didn’t want to marry, either.

But thinking of the endless nagging I’d face if I said it—

I swallowed the words.

"Okay."

Looking in the direction where Arjun disappeared,

I thought,

Some things are better said to Rohan himself.

The smell of wet earth drifted in through the window, mixing with the familiar scent of chai from a neighbour’s kitchen. The city outside was waking up, another ordinary day. But for me, something had shifted—quietly, finally. And in that silence, I whispered a prayer, hoping the courage from my past would guide me forward, no matter what waited on the other side of the door.

Somewhere, behind the closed door, I thought I heard a familiar voice—soft, teasing, and just out of reach.