My mother is brushing my hair while I sit cross-legged on the floor, her perched on the couch behind me. My father bought me a bow hair clip last night,apparently still convinced I’m a child who needs cutesy accessories like I’m headed to kindergarten.
My mother, on the other hand, adores my hair and takes meticulous care of it. She lives for moments like this, styling it however she pleases while I sit there, obedient enough to let her. I’m too busy munching on hot bajji to care.
It’s been three days since I last stepped foot on campus. After my phone started blowing up with calls and messages, I switched it off and handed it to my father. The look he gave me said everything, equal parts judgment and you’re impossible.
My toxic trait is working overtime, but it’s not like I’m cutting my friends out of my life. I just need to clear my head and throw all thoughts of Axel into the mental trash so I can face Leah without flinching.
“Don’t eat too much, Diya. You’ll get acidity,” my mother warns. Her fingers move through my hair in gentle strokes, almost like a scalp massage. It’s dangerously close to putting me to sleep, and it tickles just enough to make me squirm.
She’s never been happy with my body. According to her, I’m not slim but I’m thin as a broomstick. In her perfect world, I’d eat more, gain weight, and turn “adorably chubby.” That’s not happening, but she still doesn’t like it when I eat junk food… even if she’s the one who made it. I love bajji with coconut chutney, but my father and I already wiped the chutney bowl clean, so I’m eating them plain.
“I won’t get anything,” I mutter, taking another bite.
“If you come knocking at my door in the middle of the night crying that your stomach hurts and your throat is burning, I’ll slam it in your face.”
I snort. “How motherly of you. You should change your surname to Mother Teresa, Mom.”
She cuffs the back of my head.
“Ow!”
When she finally secures my hair with the big bow, I twist around to face her and wipe my mouth on the edge of her saree’s anchal.
“I’m going to my room,” I say, getting to my feet. I take my plate to the kitchen, rinse it, and set it on the shelf before heading to my room and closing the door behind me.
That bastard’s smug face is lodged in my brain, gnawing at my patience. How the hell did he know I had a crush on Axel? He claimed it was just a hunch, but no one reads a scene that well unless they know something. He knows something I don’t and I hate that.
“Diya,” my father’s voice comes from the other side of the door, accompanied by a knock. “Logan called. He says he wants to talk to you.”
“Why did you even answer the call, Dad? I’ll talk to him when I go back to campus,” I reply, without opening the door.
“You should—” he starts.
“I’m going to sleep,” I cut him off.
Silence follows. Blessed silence.
Leah should’ve told me earlier. If she had, I’d have stepped away without making a scene. But to do this behind my back…that hurts more than I want to admit.
My gaze drifts up to the ceiling as my fingers absently tug at the blanket. My eyes sting, a faint burn creeping in, and I force myself to blink rapidly, holding back the tears. I’ve already cried enough for a lifetime or at least for this week.
Everything feels wrong. I want to pack up and run to India. Or better yet, Arjun should just get on the next flight here. I need new faces or something to replace the suffocating weight in my chest.
I let out a loud, frustrated sigh and roll from side to side on the bed, my mind refusing to shut up. Finally, I snatch the TV remote and hurl it against the wall. It shatters, the pieces raining down onto the floor.
Why is this happening to me? And why am I acting like this is some shocking new plot twist in my life? My love life has been a disaster since birth, hell, even when I’m not in a relationship, it still manages to suck. Was I cursed the second I took my first breath?
I look up again. “Pa, are you playing games with me? Did I do something to provoke you? I don’t think I did. I’ve prayed to you every morning, lit the clay lamps every Wednesday. But now I’m starting to doubt you even glance my way, let alone toss me a blessing.”
It’s my usual ritual. When life feels like it’s chewing me up, I rant to the sky, tossing questions at Lord Ganesh, the only god I’ve ever truly believed in out of the thousands the Hindu pantheon offers.
I reach for the vase on my nightstand, but before my fingers even brush it, there’s a knock at the door.
“Dad, I told you I don’t want—”
He cuts me off. “You have a visitor,” he announces. “Can you open the door now, Diya?”
A visitor? If it’s Leah, I swear I’m punching her in the face. Still, I’m in no mood to see anyone. “I’ll meet them later, Dad. I’m tired.”
“Open the door, Puppy!”
Another voice filters in, smooth and annoyingly familiar. Hunter? What the hell is he doing here? And what’s with the ridiculous nickname?
I push myself off the bed, stride over, and yank the door open. Hunter stands there, wearing the laziest expression I’ve ever seen. My dad, on the other hand, is practically radiating fury, no doubt from the nickname.
Then, without warning, Dad’s whole demeanor shifts. “Oh! The bow looks good on you, sweetheart,” he exclaims warmly. How does he switch moods that fast? Someone needs to study this man.
“I ate all the bajjis,” I say casually, and he just nods. Then I turn to Hunter. “What do you want? Who gave you my address?”
He just shrugs. “I need to talk to you about something.”
I narrow my eyes at him, weighing whether this is worth the energy. Finally, I step aside, silently letting him pass.
“Who’s that?” Dad asks once Hunter’s inside.
I lean closer and whisper. “Logan’s friend. And I have no clue why he’s here. I’ll explain later.”
Dad nods, and I close the door, only to find Hunter sitting on my bed. My bed.
The audacity.
My brows knit together. “You didn’t answer my question.”
He glances at me. “Which one?”
“Who told you my address?”
“Logan.”
“Why are you here?”
“To talk, of course. About Leah and Axel.”
I almost roll my eyes. “I have nothing to say about them.”
Hunter chuckles. “Your anger towards Axel is complete nonsense.”
“I’m not angry at Axel. It’s just… Leah.”
“Why?” He raises a brow calmly. Why is he so maddeningly composed? And sitting on my bed like it’s a public bench. God, he is so goddamn infuriating.
I draw in a breath. “She should’ve told me. It’s not like I’m going to rip her head off over something that involves a man. I’m not here to start a war with my best friend over a… man.”
I don’t know what expression I make when I say the word man, but apparently, it’s offensive enough to wipe the lazy look off Hunter’s face. Because he's glaring at me now.
He doesn’t speak for nearly a minute. Fine. I’m not breaking the silence either.
Finally, he clicks his tongue. “You know, you’re not as easygoing as you think you are. You’ve been avoiding everyone for three days and haven’t even shown up at campus. She might’ve been scared to talk to you. You’re clearly trying to shut people out of your life, even temporarily. For what? Because they kissed? Axel loves her. Leah’s been holding back for ages because you have a crush on him. You won’t make a move, and you won’t let her act on her feelings. Doesn’t that seem… hypocritical?”
“You’re here to be mean to me?” I snap.
“In a heartbeat. Yes.” His mocking smile makes my fingers itch to throw something at his head. “And to answer your earlier question, why am I here? My friends and your friends sent me to talk to you. I told them what you saw, and Axel is still blissfully clueless about your crush on him. Leah was literally terrified when I suggested she talk to you.”
Am I really like that? I mean… yeah. But if I’d known Leah had feelings for Axel, I would’ve stepped aside without hesitation. So why does this suddenly feel like I’m the villain?
“I don’t know,” I mutter.
“You don’t know what?” He leans forward, elbows resting on his knees.
“I didn’t know Leah had feelings for Axel. And you…get your ass up and sit over there.” I point to the armchair in the corner.
He ignores me entirely. “What are you going to do about it?”
“I have nothing to do about them right now. Get up, Hunter!”
Instead of moving, he leans back, stretches out his legs and arms, and lies down on my bed. The audacity.
The fucking audacity.
“What’s with the weird nickname earlier?” I demand, don’t even bother to hide the scowl on my face.
“Ah! It suits you. You looked exactly like that when you saw Axel and Leah kiss at the gym. All teary and lost just like a puppy that’s lost its owner.” He laughs.
“Get the fuck up.”
He blatantly ignores me and lets his gaze wander around my room.
“Hunter!” I snap.
“Yes, pup?” He tilts his head, grinning.
“Stop calling me that.”
Every word out of his mouth seems perfectly designed to push my buttons, and I want to slap that smug expression right off his face.
And why is he so damn talkative today? The Hunter I know barely says a word unless necessary. He usually walks around acting like the entire world bores him to death. So what’s with this constant smirk?
I stomp over to the bed and grab his hand, yanking—or at least trying to yank—him off. He doesn’t budge an inch. Instead, his fingers clamp around my wrist and, in one swift tug, I’m pulled forward.
Within a blink, I’m on him.
My heart hammers against my ribs. His body radiates heat, his arms locked around me, holding me firmly in place. His hot and slow breath brushes against my cheek.
What the hell is this? Why does it… feel strange? My palms rest on his chest, and I can feel the steady rise and fall of his breathing, the firm muscle beneath my fingertips.
God, it’s too much.
Too much to handle in one day.
“Let me go,” I finally manage to mutter.
He chuckles. “Why? You were in dreamland a moment ago.”
He noticed. I want to smack myself in the face.
“Let me go, Hunter!” My fist lands on his chest as I squirm, desperate to get away from him.
“You know…” he drawls lazily, “…no one ever says my name so casually. But I kinda like it.”
His expression shifts, something shadowy crossing his face, like he’s drowning in thoughts I can’t read. Why is he suddenly so quiet? My head tilts instinctively as I study him.
He notices my gaze and smirks. “Nothing. Just thinking about how you’d scream my name.”
Just like that, my face bursts into flames. In a frantic attempt to put some distance between us, I slap his chest a few times. He only laughs mockingly, dark amusement flickering in his eyes as my efforts to free myself prove useless.
Then his eyes dip lower.
I follow his gaze and freeze. My loose T-shirt has fallen generously low at the neckline, offering far more of a view than I’d ever want him to see.
I slap the fabric back against my chest.
He laughs again. “You don’t have to cover yourself. I’ve already seen everything.”
My eyes widen. “Wh—what? When?”
“At Axel’s party. You should pay more attention to your surroundings when you change your clothes, Pup. And by the way, you have one killer body.” His voice drops as his arms tighten around me. “But that face of yours… it’s irritating as hell.”
Finally, he releases me. I leap off the bed like it’s on fire. “Get out.”
“Just say you’ll talk to Leah, and I’ll leave without another word.” He mimes zipping his mouth.
“I won’t.”
He sighs, motioning me closer with a flick of his fingers. “Come here.”
“Why?”
“I have a way of making people say yes.”
Heat rushes to my cheeks again. This time, I’m convinced my face might actually explode. “I won’t talk to her.”
“I said, come here.”
“Fine!” I snap. “I’ll talk to her. Now leave.”
I storm to the door, hand on the knob, ready to fling it open. But his hand slides over mine, holding it firmly in place.
I turn my head, and the smirk on his face back. “Now I know why Logan calls you Shortie.”
I glare at him, twisting my hand against his grip, but the knob refuses to turn under my fingers. His body leans in, closing the space between us, and a jolt runs down my spine.
“Why are you so fucking infuriating all the time?” His words are barbed, but his tone is low, velvety, and dangerously intimate,that makes my head spin.
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