Annika and Shivaay are poles apart.
Fate brings them together in the form of an arranged marriage and with the courtship, they embark on a journey of falling in love with their differences, their quirks and eventually, each other.
Genre: Romance.
Co...
Happy Deepavali, y'all 💗 It took me so long to write this chapter, and I apologise. New place, new college, it's been hectic.
I hope this chapter delivers 🥺
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Hesitance was written all over his face while he stood outside Annika's room. Why Shivaay stood there for a few seconds was something Annika did not know but on the lines of being understanding, she did not probe. She carefully took out a new shirt for him and a saree for herself from the cupboard. Amala had always held some contempt towards Annika's affiliation towards men's clothing, however this situation worked on Annika's favour. Her father's clothes would make Shivaay look like he was wearing a potato sack (not that he wouldn't pull that off,) and now Annika was there to his rescue. At least now, her mom wouldn't scowl.
She examined her room. While it might raise eyebrows of a neat freak that was Shivaay, but it wasn't blaringly messy. Annika was a clean person, but she was not particularly neat. She usually had her things randomly scattered around her room. Her idea book, or brain baby- as Annika liked to call it-, had taken a permanent home under her side table. However, she was not planning to arrange things into unassigned places just because of Shivaay's visit.
Speaking of Shivaay, he had now tailed her, and stood wordlessly. It was pretty fascinating how Shivaay's presence commanded the spotlight when he was in a room full of people, but the same man, at times, could go unnoticed- almost as if he was invisible. She was sure he had been standing behind her at least a few minutes. She held out the shirt at him, as she was still questing to unearth the courage to look in his eyes that were burning holes down her skin with every gaze. She hadn't felt that way until that very moment. She was usually very comfortable in his presence, but now it was leaving her disturbed, in a good way. She was feeling her skin heat up- due to the wet salwar kameez that clung to her body or the man whose eyes were evaporating every droplet of water that dripped down her, she'd never know.
When he took the shirt from her, she expected their fingers to brush. It did not, and it left her aching for a touch. This was new too.
She immediately saw him, and oh! Those eyes... she was drenched all over again.
