Dil Beparwah | ✔

forty one

||CHAPTER 41||
《¤》

┊A R V I K A┊

Serene tinkering of windchimes, I could swap my alarm for that.

The balcony door let pleasant morning air grace us, gently nipping on my bare arm. The clock on the nightstand indicated quarter to seven, it was unusual for me to wake up without the piercing shrill of my phone. Broad shoulders and a bare back greeted me when I turned to face the other side. I almost itched to trace the marks I'd left on his skin, but took the wiser route and tiptoed out of the sheets.

The treasure hunt of clothes concluded quickly, sparing me enough time to observe the one-bedroom house. Varun clearly hadn't put much effort into personalizing his space, and yet it felt so... him. His things were all over the place, boxing in the stereotype of a bachelor household, just more tasteful. An oak bookshelf that commanded a reader's nook in the living room, bamboo seating for the verandah, little pieces of décor that I'd have never associated with him and had to have had some female presence in them.

Right, let's not go there. Definitely the morning fuzziness talking.

While my luggage had been delivered to the guest house, travelling habits ensured that I kept my toiletries with me. So, after brushing my teeth and freshening up, the kitchen was my next acquisition.

The mugs were easy to find. A tied-up sachet of coffee powder was kept nestled behind a soy sauce bottle in the fridge, but tea leaves had two shelves reserved for them. Clear favorites.

Brewing two cups didn't take long, and I took my time scrolling through work mails. I had pulled a chair out and set my mug on the coaster when the steel pink of a book cover caught my eye. LATITUDES.

It was a new release, I'd even seen a copy on Mia's desk recently. "A non-preachy self-discovery story of a woman in her late twenties in which accidental pregnancy is not the main driver of the plot," were her star-struck words. 

Except, hers was not a signed copy. That piqued my interest and while I never possessed a reading streak in my body, it did not feel like a bad accompaniment with my morning dose of caffeine.

Well, at least until I was three pages in and a grouchy morning voice called out, "Black coffee? How typical." 

"Save that distaste for black tea."

He sniffed the mug I'd left for him on his way to the table, his eyes narrowing on the book. "What do you think you're doing with that?"

"Entertaining myself, seeing what the hype is all about."

Varun plucked it out of my hand with a sudden hostility. "I don't quite appreciate it."

"I didn't move the bookmark if that—"

"Doesn't fùçķìñģ matter. Don't touch this book. That's all."

"Hey, it's okay if you read girly-self-discoveries every once in a while, I won't tell anyone." Though I couldn't help but tease further, "What's next Malhotra? A get-ready-with-me Q and A?"

His eyes closed irritably, a hand came up to rub on his temples. His nose flared, I think I heard him swear under his breath too. Was this really so embarrassing as to tick him off?

"I don't think I can deal with this right now."

It took me a few seconds to register that I had overstayed my welcome. There was a reason I didn't stay for the awkward-morning-afters, definitely shouldn't have relied on a whiskey drizzled brain to make a decision.