Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
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It had been a week since I last saw him, and the days stretched endlessly without his presence. The aching void in my chest grew with each passing hour. I missed him—his grumpiness, his stubbornness, even the way his eyes would soften when he looked at me, though he tried hard to hide it. Rakshit kept me updated, but the reports only made my heart yearn for him more. Rakshit told me Yash was missing me as if he needed me to breathe, but out of respect for my boundaries, he kept his distance. But now… now I know I am ready. Ready to see him, to be with him, and to tell him that I didn’t care if he was a mafia king or anything else. To me, he was just Yash. My Yash. My grumpy, overprotective, possessive and sometimes infuriating Yash.
I sat in our café, waiting for Rakshit. Nitu had gone out to get some supplies, leaving me alone to sip my smoothie and mull over my thoughts. The café was empty, the quiet only amplifying the nervous excitement building inside me. I hadn’t planned on seeing Yash today, but the thought of finally confronting my feelings had me on edge.
The bell above the door chimed, and Rakshit entered, his usual cheerful demeanor lighting up the room. But the moment he saw me, he paused, putting on an exaggeratedly shy expression before approaching me with arms outstretched.
“Queen Nandini!” he cried dramatically, pulling me into a loose hug . I chuckled, patting his back as he mock-sobbed into my shoulder.
“There, there, Rakshit,” I teased, “You’ve survived a whole week without Yash breathing down your neck. You should be proud.”
He pulled back, wiping away fake tears with an overly dramatic flourish. “You have no idea how hard it’s been, Queenie,” he said, slipping into the chair across from me. He ordered a ridiculous amount of food. I raised an eyebrow at him.
“Really, Rakshit? All of that?”
He grinned sheepishly. “What can I say? I haven’t been eating properly this week. Your Yash has been making everyone’s life difficult, and I didn’t even have breakfast this morning.”
I couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. Rakshit had become like a best friend to me, the kind of friend who’d do anything for you and treat you like a little sister. Even Yash enjoyed our bond, once teasing us by calling us the “perfect mental duo.”
As Rakshit dug into his breakfast, I sipped my smoothie, waiting for him to get to the point of our meeting. But he seemed in no hurry, enjoying his food while occasionally shooting me a mischievous look. Finally, after what felt like forever, he finished his last bite and wiped his mouth with a napkin.
“You really shook things up at the Mafia Ball, you know,” he began, his tone casual but with an undercurrent of admiration. “You’ve got the entire mafia world buzzing.”
I rolled my eyes, a smile tugging at my lips. “Really, Rakshit? The entire mafia world?”
He nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, and you know what? Mr. Roy—one of the elders—wants to meet you. But he’s asking for your permission first, since you ordered our Mafia King, aka Angry Bird, aka your Yash, to keep your life perfectly separate from the mafia.”
