52| The Cottage of Secrets
"Did you call emergency?" Iresh inquires as his fingers work feverishly over Samhita's hands and feet. They're stone cold.
"Did you call emergency?" Iresh inquires as his fingers work feverishly over Samhita's hands and feet. They're stone cold.
Love, when it takes root in a woman's heart, is not a gentle thing. It is not the wispy, delicate waltz of petals on a spring breeze.
"What the hell are you doing, you insufferable hunk of metal? Just obey my command, damn it!" Iresh barks.
(The following scene depicts the execution of the time machine experiment)
I scroll through the endless sea of options on my phone. Not a single dress catches my eye.
Her hands frame my face, and she tilts my head so I'm looking straight into her eyes. But this time, what stares back at me isn't mischief or teasing.
"Priye," I call out to Samhita as she strides ahead of me, face set in an angry scowl, muttering something I can barely catch.
Samhita sets the hair spray down. She smooths the lapel of Vikram's blazer, eyes tracing the fabric with a kind of nervous affection.
"In all my twenty-five years, I've never found myself this distracted or thoroughly irritated during my morning ritual," Veer groans, pushing himself up to stretch, neck cracks audibly and muscles tense from the strain.
"Rayan, for heaven's sake, it's barely eight in the morning. Can't you take your energy somewhere else? Go pester your girlfriend instead.
"What did you just say?" Vikramaditya rises from his chair slowly, eyes dark, almost black.
"Here," Liza extends a cup of coffee towards Rayan.
The air is crisp, carrying that bite of freshness, like the world has scrubbed itself clean overnight.
"Maa," I call out, but the silence swallows my voice whole.
I knock on the wall to let Samhita know I'm about to enter.
(This scene takes place before Vikramaditya's time travel to the 25th century. It's a recollection from the past)
I drop my bag onto the cushion and sink into it, resting my head against the plush surface. The day at university was a chaotic mess.
I slam the books and piles of papers onto the table, letting out a groan of frustration. Nothing is making sense.
The air in the room is thick with a mix of scents from the piles of stuff everywhere. Ornate golden plates are crammed into every corner.
Books have always been a refuge for me, a source of endless fascination regardless of the genre—be it science, technology, the business world, or the latest fashion trends.