Teach Her

~Nariya Patel~ 

My days settled into a predictable routine: wake up in the morning, grab breakfast, attempt some light stretching exercises, engage in playful moments with Nyx, and then immerse myself in the library for an extended period of study. It felt almost like hibernation, though I wasn't actually sleeping during these hours. By noon, I would rouse myself, taking a brief shower while being cautious to keep my cast away from water, managing only a quick rinse. Lunchtime brought about a shared meal with the Lord of the manor.

Our lunches were silent yet enjoyable, marked by minimal and platonic conversation. The awkwardness that had initially lingered between us seemed to fade away, replaced by a sense of ease. Our discussions primarily revolved around my studies, and I appreciated that he showed no interest in prying into my past, a sentiment that I reciprocated. However, a small part of me couldn't help but wonder about his background. One day, before my cast was due to be removed, I decided to take a precautionary step to ensure the person I was living with was not hiding any criminal secrets. I created a bio sheet for the Lord.

Name: Alexie Ivanov

Gender: Male

Pronouns: Him/ he (I think)

Nationality: Russian American, with discernible Asian features

Age: Estimated to be in his mid-twenties

Languages: Fluent in English and Russian

Occupation: Currently unknown

Wealth: Affluent, though exact details are unclear

Background: Not specified

Relationship: Guardian, with a familial connection through my father, who was his mentor

Evidence: My father has frequently mentioned him in conversations

Facial Features: Boasts a sharp jawline, straight nose, ovular face shape, distinctive sharp and slightly slanted grey eyes, and firm yet plump lips

Physical Features: Tall stature, appears muscular beneath his clothing, broad shoulders, slim tapered waist, and a taut physique in other areas

Strength: Proficient in hand-to-hand combat and knife skills (based on my encounter with him), displays fast reflexes

I groaned in my stupidity as I closed my notebook. What was I doing? Was I so bored that I resorted to making up this nonsense? In fact, if I followed this sheet, he straight up felt like a criminal mafia boss from one of those Wattpad stories. Ugh, I groaned again. As if sensing my disdain, a knock brought my attention to the door. I quickly hid the notebook and opened my programming page.

"Nari? Are you alright?" he asked.

I flashed a big smile and said, "Uhuhu." There are many ways for one to catch a liar, the most common being when a person looks away while lying or looks at you all of a sudden. Apparently, I was not the best liar when caught off guard.

Sighing, he walked closer. "Tell me, moonpie."

Yup, apparently that nickname was all that it took for me to spill out. Somehow, when he said it with such conviction in his eyes, I had to cave in. However, I wasn't stupid enough to admit to my folly. So, I told him about an actual problem that was troubling me. "I... I am having a hard time with Tableau." Theoretical subjects formed 80% of our total marks, but the remaining 20% were determined by a practical in software programs, and this year it was Tableau for us. Let's just say, computers and programming are not my strongest forte.

He walked over to me, standing next to my desk, his eyes fixated on the computer screen. "What analytics are you running right now?" he inquired.

"It's nothing major, but I'm supposed to create a dashboard for a company that sells a variety of products through both physical and online stores. I need to delve into various segments to display their sales and profit trajectories."

"Hmm," he mused as he leaned in further, his upper half now over me, peering at the question on the screen. "Nari, this is very easy. You need to use features like maps, filters, and dashboards to display the data."

Yes I know that, I know but Mr teacher how can I when your hot breath was hitting the nape of my neck. I felt his presence behind me his gaze demanding me to give it a try.My sweaty hands trembled with the closeness we shared. I gulped and began inputting the commands as my hands moved towards the mouse. That's when my shivers became evident, and I moved the cursor at a snail's pace. Perhaps he thought I was stuck or unsure, so he took the initiative to gently cover my hands with his. His large hand enveloped mine instantly, and the coldness of his touch sent shivers down my spine.

Now, his face was next to mine, and his hot breath tangled my ear. 'Look, this is what you do,' he proceeded to direct my hands to the right place. But all I could think in that dazed situation was that if I leaned back a bit, I could feel the hardness of his chest against the back of my head. It was an absurd thought, but as if my mind was disconnected from the world, my body started moving back. In the last moment, however, he moved away, bringing me back to my senses. Gulp. I looked down. What the hell is wrong with me?!

'Did you understand?' he asked.

The foolish smile returned as I looked at him and replied, 'Uhuhu.'

His brows quirked up, disbelief evident on his face, so I hurriedly demonstrated what he had taught me. Satisfied, we moved on to the next question, but this time with a sliver of distance between us.

What felt like eternity we were finally finished with all the questions, I had a pretty good grasp on the possibility of questions that could come in the exam. He sat down gulping down a glass of water his mood seemed relaxed so I ventured and asked "You are very good at programming huh?"

He shifted a bit a train of thoughts running in his head, finally he said "Yes, I have learned programming.So what would you like for dinner?"

And apparently he was also very good at avoiding questions, huh. Nodding I said "Anything is fine." With that he took his leave when the door was shut I waited any any surprise attacks and when their were none I pulled out the note book adding to to it.

Occupation: Developer, Maybe? 

The dinner was casual, a quiet affair where conversation lingered in the background, scarcely filling the spaces between bites. He had prepared the meal with care, the aroma of freshly cooked dishes wafting through the air. The ambiance held a comfortable silence, punctuated only by the clinking of utensils against plates.

As the sky darkened with each passing hour, I found myself contemplating whether I should wash my hair before heading to the doctor's appointment. I assumed she had encountered people in their most challenging states, including myself. Nevertheless, it had been a while, and there seemed to be no harm in presenting a somewhat polished appearance. This would mark my first venture outside since taking residence in this place, the initial outing post that incident in the alley. The only lingering reminder of that day was the lingering scent in my hair, refusing to fade away.

In the days that ensued, I diligently combed and braided my hair, but the prospect of washing them felt like an uncharted territory I wasn't quite ready to explore. The issue of keeping the bandages dry and the difficulty of maneuvering my hand due to the cast made the task seem daunting. So, I chose to postpone it, thinking just one more day would make the difference. However, with the onset of winter and a hint of grime in my hair, the itchiness became too bothersome to ignore.

Turning to the wisdom passed down by my grandmother, the key to maintaining long and lustrous hair was a concoction of hot coconut oil with Neem leaves—a tradition cherished among the women of the Patel family for generations.

With the intention of preparing this time-tested remedy, I made my way to the kitchen, hoping to find the necessary ingredients in our well-stocked pantry. I held optimism, knowing that the household's chef, also humorously referred to as the 'Lord' for his culinary experiments, had recently dabbled in various Indian dishes. Today's creation was a Kerala Style Malabar Chicken Curry, incorporating neem or curry leaves. A thorough search seemed promising.

Rummaging through cabinets and the dry pantry, my efforts proved futile. Frustration mounted, and just as I let out a groan, a voice behind me inquired, "Do you need something?" I found myself sprawled on the floor amidst an assortment of items.

"Um..." I stammered, flustered as I surveyed the mess. "I'll clean it!" I assured, meeting his gaze.

"That'll be alright, but what are you searching for?" he asked, crouching beside me, helping to organize the scattered items.

"Well, actually, I was wondering if we had any Neem or curry leaves left. I noticed you used some in the curry tonight..." I trailed off, hopeful for a positive response.

"Hmm, yes, we do. I store my leafy goods in a damp towel in a container in the refrigerator," he informed me, rising to retrieve the container and placing it on the kitchen island. "But what do you need it for? Hungry again? Want me to cook you something?"

"No, no..." I protested, shaking my head as I attempted to get up, using a nearby ledge for support. His hand reached for mine, effortlessly pulling me up and helping me balance—something he had been doing frequently lately. Flustered, I continued, "I needed it for my hair oil."

"Okay, you go sit down and instruct me on what to do," he directed, leaving me bewildered. Protesting, I said, "But... no need."

He shrugged his shoulders, looking at me. "Well, I can't have you fumbling with your arm right before the removal, can I?" he stated matter-of-factly. That silenced me, and I clenched my lips, settling onto the kitchen island.

"So, what do we need to do?" he asked again.

I gazed at him, offering instructions reminiscent of my grandmother's teachings from years ago. "Yes, get some coconut oil heated, and once it's warm, add in the leaves," I directed. Diligently, he followed my guidance, presenting the infused oil in a crystal bowl. "Now what?" he inquired.

"Um, now we wait for it to cool down, and I'll leave it overnight. I'll wash my hair tomorrow," I explained. A sudden realization prompted me to add, "You can use it too if you wish; it's really good for your roots." I trailed off.

"Hmm..." His eyes locked onto mine, and I swallowed nervously. "Sure," I heard him say as he approached from behind. Uncertain, I fumbled to turn back, but a gentle grip on my shoulder stopped me. "Let me help you, moonpie," he cooed into my ears. "I know you can't stretch your arms up a lot." A crimson flush burned my ears as I nodded, my gaze falling to my lap.

With that, he began to untangle my braids, running his fingers through them with care. Taking the crystal bowl, he poured some oil into his hands, rubbing them together. A shiver coursed through my core as his fingers worked their way through my strands, massaging the roots and scalp. The right amount of pressure and rhythmic strokes provided a relaxing sensation that destressed my entire body. The massage lasted for ten minutes, leaving me thoroughly flustered from my scalp to my toes. Grateful for the curtain of my luscious hair shielding my state from his gaze, I stole a glance and caught the brimming smirk on his face. He seemed thoroughly amused by my disheveled condition. What a mischievous man!

I bit the insides of my cheeks, observing him walking in front with his arrogant smirk. That was it—this man had dared to fluster the heart of a maiden such as mine! So, I did what one should in such situations: give the person a taste of their own medicine. Pointing at the floor in front of me, I commanded him, mimicking his tone, "Sit."

The smirk slowly faded as his brows quirked up, and he asked, "What...?"

This time, I looked him in the eye as I confidently stated, "I said sit here. I'll help you put some oil as well." Flashing a smile, I encouraged him, my intentions seemingly innocent. Humored, his eyes sparkled with glee, and he proceeded to follow my command. Squatting down, he settled on the floor, handing me the crystal bowl. Taking it from him, I placed it on the table, then scooped some oil into my palm and began the process on his canvas.

A gulp caught in my throat as I faced the lustrous strands in front of me. Jet black and straight, they looked luxurious in their own accord. There was an inexplicable desire within me to run my fingers through them, rest my head on top, and revel in the softness while indulging in his scent. Perhaps, at that moment, I realized what a terrible idea this was. I pondered how absurdly frequent I found myself in such situations lately.

Initially hesitant, the tips of my fingers were quickly engulfed as soon as I touched his hair—silky and smooth, he could easily be the next Pantene model. His parted hair, longer on the bangs, made any lingering hesitation melt away. A beam of happiness blossomed in my heart; this felt strangely nostalgic, even though I had never done this with any man before. Perhaps overconfident, after a while, I noticed his head slumping a bit. That's when my trance broke, and I realized the man in front of me was napping.

I had heard that massages had relaxing effects, yet I had never imagined a stoic man like him to fall under such a spell. I relished the moment as I slowly brought his drowsy head onto my thigh for support, watching him relax next to me. Even Nyx, who had curiously maintained her distance until then, nestled next to his foot. A bubble of happiness filled my heart, and I teared up as I reflected on the experience.

It had been forever since I'd experienced such a wholesome moment, and some part of me, even though I knew it was a ridiculous thought, wished for it to last forever.