Warrior Hearts

This Is Special

"Princess, I can't do this!" Malhotra exclaims, slapping the ladle in his hand against the countertop. Furrowing my brows, I jerk away from the stray droplets of the cake batter that come flying in my direction, courtesy of Malhotra's sudden outburst. Throwing his head back, he frowns at me.

"May I just say, I told you so." Upon voicing my thoughts out loud, a satisfied smile settles itself across my lips. Utterly at ease, I lean back against the wall, my legs swinging to and fro with fresh vigour. "Malhotra, I'm well aware of my limitations, which is I why I can afford being stubborn. You, on the other hand, quite evidently overestimate yourself." Tsking, Malhotra shakes his head.

"That's not what I mean, Princess." He says, his scrunched up face quite evidently portraying the frustration that is coursing through his veins. "I'm referring to this!" Like a deranged man, Malhotra shakes his finger in the space between our bodies. "I can't work while you're staring at me in this manner." As if to prove his point, Malhotra slips his fingers into his hair, tugging at their roots. "How the hell am I supposed to successfully bake you a cake with your scrutinising gaze assessing my every move?" Well, this isn't the only factor that's barring your victory, I wish to tell Malhotra. Instead, I find my gaze loitering towards the far corner on the left wall; away from Malhotra, who's positioned on my right.

"Alright, I won't stare anymore," I grumble, as I analyse the white wall. "But I'm only doing this because I fear you'll yank out the remainder of your hair from its roots." Lord knows as well as I do that this is a blatant lie. Truth be told, I'm unsure as to why I'm easing Malhotra's discomfort.

"Thank you," he says, his voice oozing with gratitude. "Hold up, Princess!" Rolling my eyes, I release a groan. Here we go with tantrum number two. "What do you mean by the remainder of my hair?" Biting down on my lower lip, I suppress a smile. Who would've thought that Malhotra would catch onto my words?

"Has a portion of your brain evaporated in this heat, Malhotra?" I question, grateful that my face is turned away from him, or else he would've easily spotted the teasing smile on my face. "Shall I call upon a translator for you now?"

"I'll have you know, Princess, my hair is perfectly healthy and intact. Would you care to pass your fingers through it and satisfy yourself?" Although Malhotra's tone is teasing, I can't help but toss his words through my mind. How would it feel to slip my fingers into Malhotra's strands? I believe it will be like touching silk ribbons; my fingers would slip in and out with utter ease. And the smell? It would remind me of my greenhouse. Yes, Malhotra's hair will be as fragrant as the collection of plants in my greenhouse; fresh and full of life, a scent that I can't forget, not even in my sleep. Once I'd get the first whiff of his fragrance, I'd time and again wish to bury my nose in his hair and breathe it in as if it were my very own source of air.

"I can promise you, Princess, I don't have lice." Malhotra assures me, the sound of his voice drawing me back into the present. Startled, I jump in my place ever so slightly. Frowning, I glare at the wall. Where in the world am I allowing my thoughts to stray to? More importantly, why are such odd, insane thoughts infiltrating my head?

"Don't speak to me," I snap.

"What?" I don't need to glance at Malhotra to picture the confusion on his face. For the love of God, I'm confusing myself, so I can well imagine the effect I'm having on him.

"Just...don't," I repeat, without resolve. My fingers wrap around the edge of the counter I'm seated on as I try to regain control of something, anything! "Every time you speak to me," I voice my thoughts out loud. "You get into my head, Malhotra; you confuse me. You...You mess with my insides, and my thought process. I-I don't like it," I admit. My own confession jars me with such magnitude that the frown lines on my forehead send a spark of pain coursing through my forehead.

"So I get into your head and screw around with it?" Malhotra questions, his tone amused. Oh, I'm sure he's utterly pleased at this revelation.

"N-No," I lie, my stutter giving me away. "I mean, yes," I mend, in a weak attempt to save an ounce of my self-respect. I wait for Malhotra to try his hand at teasing me further, especially considering how I've handed him the perfect opportunity on a golden platter. However, silence is the only response that I receive from his end.

Puzzled, I allow myself to sneak a quick glance in Malhotra's direction through the corner of my eye. He's very much alive and engrossed in the task at hand. How odd. Since when did Malhotra grow a decent bone in his body? I'm sure he's just distracted, and that's why his tongue is reined in. After all, there's no way in the world he could've sensed that this topic of conversation is causing me great discomfort, which is why he drew it to a close. Scoffing, I shake my head at my bizarre thoughts. Malhotra can never be that considerate, and nor does he have half a brain to handle a situation with such tact.

Oddly, however, Malhotra's silence is discomforting, as it always is for me. After all, in my mind, a parrot and Malhotra are synonymous to each other.

"Why not just buy me a gift?" I ask, as I study the engraving in the wall. Sighing, I pass the back of my right hand across my brow, wiping off the sweat. However, I know my efforts are in vain. I've been repeating this same action every five minutes now, and there seems to be no putting an end to the liquid. Lord knows I could fill bucketloads with my sweat today. If only Malhotra would've used his dysfunctional brain this wouldn't be happening.

"Because that's easy," he replies, with a tone that makes me feel stupid for asking the question. "A purchased gift won't be half as valuable to either you or me. Princess, my wealth is in abundance, so what difference will it make to me if I send out a servant to purchase the most precious jewel in all the land, which I will then present to you?" Malhotra's reply is said with such simplicity and confidence that I feel as if I should've guessed this obvious answer, instead of questioning him like a fool.

"This, though, is special." Malhotra adds, and I know he's referring to his baking shenanigans. Unknowingly, I find myself nodding along to his words. He's right, this is special.