It's been two days since the party.
To say that my father is proud of me would be the biggest lie I've ever told—and that's saying something. I've lied plenty, to the world and to myself. But this... this is a different kind of silence. The kind that gnaws at your insides even when you're pretending it doesn't matter.
What surprises me most, though, is that he's mad at Aryan too. That almost never happens. Since we were kids, my father has always stood by him ,his golden boy, his only son. He'd bend backwards to support Aryan in everything he did. I was never even a variable in the equation.
But now, something has changed.
I wish I could say it didn't affect me, but it does. All of it does. The glances, the tension, the way he clenched his jaw when Aryan made the announcement. It was supposed to be a celebration. For Aryan. For me.
Instead, it's haunted me like a bitter aftertaste.
So, I do the one thing that's always helped me find some sense of peace baking. Even before I understood what stress meant, I found relief in the softness of cookie dough and the smell of melted chocolate. It was the only time the world made sense.
I set out to make a batch of chocolate chip cookies something warm and comforting. The dough comes together quickly under my fingers, the scent already beginning to fill the kitchen. I preheat the oven, slide the tray in, and set the timer for an hour.
Perfect. Just enough time for a nap.
I'm exhausted physically, mentally, emotionally. The weight of the past few days presses on me like a slow suffocation. I trudge up to my room and crash into the bed without bothering to change out of my clothes. My limbs feel like lead.
Maybe just ten minutes.
Maybe the world will be kinder when I wake up.
Two hours later
A sharp, acrid stench stabs through my nostrils.
Smoke.
My eyes shoot open, heart pounding in my chest like a war drum. My vision spins as I jump off the bed, my legs wobbling beneath me. I check the time on my phone ,two hours. Oh god.
The cookies. The oven.
Panic claws at my throat as I bolt down the stairs, stumbling through thick, curling smoke. The kitchen is ablaze. Fire licks the countertops, the curtains, the cabinets. I can't breathe.
I can't think.
The flames roar in my ears louder than my own screams.
My skin breaks out in a cold sweat, and my vision blurs. My lungs burn. My chest tightens as the smoke curls into me like a living thing.
And that's when it hits me.
The fear. The phobia.
Ever since I was little, I've been terrified of fire. I never understood why. No one ever told me. But the panic it ignites in me is primal, paralyzing.
I try to move, to scream, to grab my phone, but the room spins. My limbs are heavy. My thoughts scatter.
I somehow hit the call button for Aryan.
He picks up on the first ring. "Aish? Aishwarya?!"
But before I can speak, everything fades to black.
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Ahh—" I jolt awake, hissing as pain spikes through my skull.
My surroundings blur, then slowly sharpen. Pale walls. IV tubes. Beeping monitors.
Hospital.
The sterile scent of antiseptic makes me nauseous.
I turn my head. Aryan is pacing, talking on the phone, his back toward me.
"...yeah, she's stable now. Thank god. I don't know what I would've done if—"
"Aryan bhai?" My voice is barely a whisper, hoarse and cracked.
( Bhai means brother )
He spins around, eyes wide, and ends the call. Relief floods his face as he rushes to my side.
"Aishu!" he says, brushing hair away from my face. "Are you okay? How are you feeling?"
"Like I was baked in my own damn oven," I rasp, trying to smile through the discomfort. "What happened?"
His jaw tightens. "Your house caught on fire. You were passed out when I got there—barely breathing. If I hadn't reached in time..."
He trails off, but I see the fear in his eyes. The helplessness.
I pull him into a tight hug, tears stinging the corners of my eyes. "Thank you... thank you so much."
"Arrey pagal ho gayi ho kya?" he says with a choked laugh. "Main tumhara bada bhai hoon. Tumhari raksha nahi karunga toh aur kaun karega?"
(Have you gone mad? I'm your elder brother. If I don't protect you, then who will?)
I smirk. "Mera boyfriend."
("My boyfriend.")
Aryan pulls away, eyes bulging. "What?! You have a boyfriend?? What's his name? Where does he work? Who are his parents? What's his Instagram ID?!"
I burst into laughter. "God, are you sure you're a CEO? You're literally the most innocent person I've ever met."
His brows furrow. "It was a joke?!"
I nod, still laughing.
He huffs dramatically. "I'm going to deal with you later. But first... there's something you need to know."
I sit up straighter. "What is it?"
Aryan looks hesitant, and that worries me. "Your house... it's gone, Aish. Completely destroyed. There's nothing left to salvage."
The words sink into me like stones. My chest tightens again not from the smoke, but from the weight of loss.
That was the last place that had any trace of my mother in it. It was my mother's old apartment where she used to live before she met my father and for some reason my father who isn't particularly thrilled with me let me have it . I got it renovated after I got my first salary but kept some things which were hers like saris and cutlery with her name engraved on them but now its all gone
Her favorite mug, her perfume bottle, the old sari she once wore... gone. All of it.
"Okay," I say quietly. "I'll live with you, then."
He winces. "That's the second problem. My place is getting renovated. I'm staying with Dad for now. And... I really don't think you'd want to stay there. Not after the party. He's still pissed."
That's an understatement. The man has probably been fuming since Aryan introduced me as the face of his project. A low-born "singer girl," as he likes to call me.
I nod slowly. "What about Eloise? Or her family?"
"Gone on vacation for a month. I already checked."
My heart sinks further.
"I have one last idea," Aryan says. "But I'm not sure if the person will agree. I haven't asked yet."
"Who?" I ask warily.
He gives me a small, mysterious smile. "The doctor said you need to stay here one more day. I'll figure it out by then. Don't worry, okay? Just rest."
I nod, but my mind is already racing.
Who is this mystery person? And why does Aryan look like he knows something I don't?
Later that evening
The hospital is quiet. The lights are dimmed, casting long shadows on the walls. I lie awake, unable to sleep. Every time I close my eyes, I see flames. Hear the crackle. Feel the heat.
I pull the blanket closer.
my phone buzzes
1 new message from Aryan
aryan : he agreed
You : who is "he "
Aryan : Don't worry about that , I have to go now so good night princess.
You : good night
Princess.
He always calls me that. Mom used to too.
Although I definitely am not feeling like one but I guess it can't get worse than this so I'll just sleep
but I wonder who this "He" is
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SECOND CHAPTER FINALLY HERE GUYSSSSS HPOE YOU LIKE IT
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