Insecurities

The scent of warm spices filled the air as Aksh stirred something on the stove, his movements unhurried yet efficient. She leaned against the doorway, watching him with a mixture of curiosity and something softer—something she wouldn't name just yet.

"You cook?" she asked, tilting her head.

His smirk was subtle. "I survive."

She huffed a quiet laugh, stepping closer. "What are you making?"

"Something light." He glanced at her, his gaze lingering for a beat too long. "You'll eat without arguing, won't you?"

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a child, Aksh."

He hummed, clearly unconvinced, before turning back to the stove. "Then stop pouting and sit."

She opened her mouth to protest, but then he set a plate in front of her—a simple meal, but warm, comforting. It smelled like home.

She hesitated before picking up the spoon. The first bite melted on her tongue, and she had to fight the contented sigh threatening to escape.

Aksh leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her with an unreadable expression. "Better?"

She swallowed, nodding. "You didn't have to do this."

His smirk was slow, almost lazy. "I did."

A quiet moment stretched between them, filled only by the soft clink of her spoon against the plate. But then, just as she was about to speak, his phone vibrated again.

This time, he didn't check it immediately. Instead, his fingers tapped against the counter, his expression flickering into something unreadable.

"Who is it?" she asked.

"Doesn't matter."

But it did. She could tell.

She set her spoon down, watching him carefully. "You can tell me, Aksh."

His jaw tensed, but then he exhaled slowly, pushing off the counter. He moved toward her, leaning down just enough so that their faces were close—so close she could see the flicker of something dangerous in his dark eyes.

"I told you," he murmured, voice low. "You don't need to worry about anything."

She swallowed, but didn't back down. "And I told you—I don't want to be kept in the dark."

A slow smirk curved his lips, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Then I guess we have a problem, little one."

Before she could argue, he straightened, ruffling her hair in a way that was both affectionate and utterly infuriating.

"Finish eating," he ordered. "I need to take care of something."

She grabbed his wrist before he could walk away. "Promise me you'll be careful."

For a moment, something unreadable flickered across his face. But then, as always, the mask slid back into place.

"I don't make promises," he said lightly. "But I always come back."

And with that, he was gone, leaving behind the faintest scent of spice and gunpowder.

As the door clicked shut behind Aksh, she exhaled, staring at the half-eaten plate of food. The warmth from the moment before had faded, leaving behind a quiet unease.

She didn't know what he was keeping from her, but she knew one thing—he wasn't alone in whatever this was.

And she was about to be reminded of that.

A few minutes later, the distant hum of a car pulling up outside caught her attention. The soft click of heels against the marble floor followed. Ahana turned, expecting to see one of Aksh's guards.

Instead, she was met with something entirely unexpected.

A woman stepped inside, moving with an effortless confidence that made the air feel heavier. She wasn't just beautiful—she was striking. Her long, dark hair cascaded in perfect waves over one shoulder, and her deep red dress clung to her like it was made for her alone.

But it wasn't just her beauty that unsettled Ahana.

It was the way she carried herself. Like she belonged here. Like she had walked into this space a hundred times before.

The woman's sharp gaze swept across the room before landing on her. A slow, knowing smirk touched her lips.

"You must be Ahana," she said smoothly.

Ahana straightened. "And you are?"

Instead of answering immediately, the woman walked past her, eyes scanning the space as if searching for something—or someone.

"Where's Aksh?" she asked, ignoring Ahana's question entirely.

Ahana's fingers curled slightly at her sides. "He stepped out."

The woman hummed, as if mildly inconvenienced. Then, finally, she turned back to Ahana, tilting her head with an almost amused expression.

"I'm Meher."

The name meant nothing to Ahana, but the way she said it—as if it should—sent an uneasy shiver down her spine.

Meher.

She had never heard Aksh mention this woman before. But something about her presence, the ease with which she carried herself in his space, made Ahana feel… small.

Unimportant.

Meher's gaze flickered over her, assessing, before she gave a slow, knowing smile. "He didn't tell you about me, did he?"

Ahana's heart skipped. "Should he have?"

Meher chuckled, a soft, rich sound. "I suppose not. Aksh never explains himself to anyone." She took a step closer, lowering her voice like they were sharing a secret. "But we go way back. He trusts me."

Something twisted in Ahana's chest. She knew she had no claim over Aksh—whatever connection they had, it was unspoken, undefined. And yet, hearing those words from this woman made her stomach churn.

Meher walked past her again, stopping by the chair where Aksh had tossed his jacket earlier. With a practiced ease, she picked it up, running her fingers over the fabric like it was familiar to her.

"Interesting," Meher murmured, almost to herself. Then, looking at Ahana once more, she smirked. "Let me guess. You think you know him, don't you?"

Ahana's lips parted slightly, caught off guard by the question. "I—"

Before she could answer, the door swung open.

Aksh stepped inside, his presence immediately shifting the energy in the room. He hadn't expected Meher, that much was clear from the way his sharp gaze landed on her.

But what unsettled Ahana more was what came after.

His expression softened—just barely, but enough to make her notice.

"Meher."

That was all he said. Just her name. But the way he said it, the familiarity in his tone, made Ahana's stomach tighten.

Meher smiled, tilting her head. "Miss me?"

Aksh's lips quirked slightly, but he didn't answer. Instead, his gaze flickered between the two women. He must have sensed the tension because his smirk faded, replaced by something unreadable.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, stepping further inside.

Meher shrugged. "Business. And a little… catching up."

Ahana didn't miss the way her eyes lingered on him—like she knew him, truly knew him, in ways Ahana never could.

Aksh exhaled, rubbing his jaw. "You should've called."

Meher's smile widened. "Since when do I need permission?"

Ahana expected him to have some sharp retort, but instead, he just sighed, shaking his head.

That small exchange told her more than words ever could.

Meher wasn't just someone from his past. She was someone important. Someone Aksh allowed to cross boundaries no one else could.

And for the first time, Ahana wondered—did she even have a place in his world? Or was she just another fleeting presence in the life of a man she was starting to care about too much?