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Vayran
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The sting of the wound didn’t bother me; it was the audacity of this girl that did. I had been walking out of the kitchen, trying to avoid her irritating presence, when Aaravika called out to me. Her voice carried an urgency I couldn’t ignore, even though I wanted to. Turning to face her, I was greeted by her concerned expression—so genuine it almost startled me.

How can someone’s mood flip faster than the weather in the mountains? Such a vichitra praani she is.

“What now?” I asked, my voice clipped, my patience thinner than the blood-soaked shirt clinging to my waist.

She hesitated, eyes darting to the crimson trail marking my skin. “You need to be treated,” she said firmly.

I scoffed, irritated—not by her words but by the way my heart slammed against my chest at her concern. “I told you—it’s not my blood. Now why don’t you just piss off?”

Her sarcasm came like a whip. “Oh, really? And why is blood flowing from your waist like a river, then? Care to explain?”

I sighed, tired of the argument. “Why do you care so much? You’re wasting your energy on someone who’s temporary in your life. You’d do well to focus on people who matter.” My voice dripped with sarcasm, masking the truth behind it. She shouldn’t care—not for me, not for someone who would only leave her with scars worse than this wound.

Her face fell slightly, but she didn’t back down. Typical. This girl, who should be cowering, dared to hold her ground. Was I failing at making her regret crossing me? Or worse—was I letting her slip past the walls I’d built?

I was pulled out of my thoughts as she waved a hand in front of my face. I snapped back, glaring. “What now, little kiddo?”

Her mouth dropped open in disbelief. “Do I look like a kid to you?”

I smirked, the taunt coming easy. “Tumhari height aur harkate toh yahi ishara kar rahi hai, bachci”.
(Your height and your antics suggest otherwise, bachchi)

“Excuse me?” she retorted, indignant.

“You’re excused,” I quipped instantly, turning to leave. But then she did something that caught me completely off guard—she grabbed my hand.

My gaze dropped to where her fingers encircled my wrist, then rose to her face, disbelief etched into my features. Did she really not fear me? This girl needed to be taught a lesson.

Yet, instead of lashing out, I followed her silently. She led me to the sofa in the grand hall, her steps purposeful. I slumped onto the plush seat, watching her as she disappeared upstairs. What now? This penthouse may have been massive, but her audacity was larger.

I leaned back, rolling my eyes at my own thoughts. Why was I letting her lead? Staying around her was dangerous—not just for her, but for me. If I didn’t stay in control, this girl would unravel everything I’d worked to maintain.

When she returned, a med kit in hand, something in me softened—momentarily. But as soon as she caught my gaze, the cold mask slid back into place.

“Take off your shirt,” she instructed, trying to sound stern but failing to hide her nervousness.

I leaned forward, my voice dropping a notch. “Don’t you think it’s a little early for all this, Aaravika? But I don’t mind if you don’t.”

Her face flamed with embarrassment before she snapped, “I didn’t mean that, you tharkulla!”

I stared at her, silently letting the weight of my glare sink in. Her confidence wavered; she gulped and sat down beside me without another word. I pulled off my shirt, wincing slightly at the movement. The pain was dull—a familiar ache—but her reaction wasn’t.

Her eyes widened, horror flooding her face as she took in the gash across my waist. It was almost amusing.

“What do you think?” I mocked, tilting my head. “Should I try the knife on you too? Or would a gun be better?”

Her head snapped up, her expression priceless as she stuttered, “Y-you won’t do that, right?”

I leaned in slightly, enjoying the way she shrank back. “I might.”

Then, as if snapping out of it, I said in a low voice, “If you don’t want that, maybe you should learn to leave me alone.”

“But you’re injured,” she shot back, stubborn as ever.

I sighed, leaning against the sofa. “Then do something about it, or I’ll leave.”

She snapped into action, her hands shaking as she worked. I watched her, my mind a storm. She shouldn’t be here. This girl was a distraction—a dangerous one. But she was also the most stubborn person I’d ever met.

She shouldn’t care for me. She shouldn’t even be near me. This was supposed to be a punishment, a lesson. Yet, here she was, tending to me with a determination that made my chest ache.

As she worked, I smirked to myself. This girl needed a reality check. If she thought I was softening, she was wrong. I had just the person in mind to remind her who she was dealing with. By the time I was done, she wouldn’t dare to look me in the eye again, let alone touch me.

For now, though, I let her have her moment. It wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. Not in this dangerous game we were playing.

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