Oops! Bu görüntü içerik kurallarımıza uymuyor. Yayımlamaya devam etmek için görüntüyü kaldırmayı ya da başka bir görüntü yüklemeyi deneyin.
I came out of my thoughts when someone spilled a drink on my saree. "I'm sorry, Swara. I'm really sorry," she was one of my colleagues. I can't do anything there except accept her apology. The party was held on the lawn of Rathore's mansion. Today was their company's 6th anniversary. How amazing he built his own company even though his father was already a famous businessman. There is always competition between his dad and him. Nobody knows why he wanted to be independent when he can be a CEO of his father's company.
I went inside the mansion, looked around, and my jaw dropped looking at the huge living room in front of me with a large chimney just against me, royal room's door and curtains, and his own drink catering. Black Italian tiles were under my feet. I walked inside and looked at the large glass doors. There was a swimming pool there.
"Kaha room me jaungi, swimming me hi saaf kar lungi, waise bhi koi nahi dekhra," I informed myself. As I was afraid to enter any room, I quickly walked to the pool , put my handbag beside me, and sat down, pouring water on my hand, and started cleaning my new black chiffon saree.
[ T : Where will I go in the room, I would clean this in swimming pool , no one is watching anyway ]
I worried, "Hey bhagwan, mummy maregi, please madad karna." If my mother finds out that I've ruined my expensive new saree by whining, it won't be good. My bangles made noise as I rubbed my hand on the saree, but it stopped when I heard footsteps.
[ T : Hey God, please help me, mom will hit me ]
I could guess who was approaching by the rhythm of the footsteps. I had been caught. I closed my eyes and prayed to God to save me for the last time.
"Kya batana hai batao..."
His words puzzled me. I was trying to figure out the situation when he spoke again, "Miss Sharma...kyun bulaya hai mujhe yaha?" Oh, he had mistaken me as Trisha ma'am. I decided to step back and quietly leave without showing my face, so he wouldn't realize that I wasn't Trisha. As I stood up and took a few steps back, my back hit what I thought was a wall. But it wasn't a wall; it was his chest. My eyes widened in surprise. How could I be so stupid? First, I got caught cleaning my saree with his pool water, and now this.
" Are you listening? "
"Don't look back, don't look back, don't look back," I mumbled to myself.
"Turn over," his tone changed, and I was sure he had realized that I wasn't his company's model, Trisha Sharma. "Turn your face," he raised his voice, and I quickly turned my face towards him, but I was so afraid that I lost my balance in my heels and tried not to fall, clutching onto his blazer.
"Mar gayi," I said to myself in a split second. But his actions left me in shock. He pulled me by my waist, and my hand landed on his chest. Throughout, my mouth remained open, and now he gave me a solid reason for my jaw-dropping.
His hands were warm, holding my bare waist. I was looking into his eyes. I don't know where or when I found the courage to maintain eye contact with him, and perhaps this was the first time he really looked at me. He didn't break eye contact. His dark amber eyeballs, long lashes; his eyes were the most gorgeous I'd ever seen. His gaze made my heart race like a drum. I had forgotten that my ankle was still tilted. He was about to pull his hand away, but I whispered, "Don't," requesting him not to let go, fearing I would fall. He stopped and finally started blinking.
"Thank you," I said, my gaze shifted on his natural pink lips. How did I know they were natural? What if he wore pink lipstick? But I had seen those lips everywhere, in his pictures, in magazines, newspapers, while he walked to his cabin. And today, at the party, when he was giving a speech, those lips were unmistakable. "Thank Y-"
I was in the middle of thanking him when he abruptly pulled his hand from my waist, and I realized I was about to fall into the swimming pool. My eyes widened, and my mouth opened in shock. He turned his face and walked away, leaving me in a state of shock. I was too late to shout for help, and I'd forgotten that I didn't know how to swim. I began struggling for my life.
Then, I felt someone holding me. It was a guard. He helped me sit on the edge of the pool, and I was coughing, feeling the cold of the winter night settling in. I looked in the direction he had walked away, feeling downhearted by his action.
Someone came into my line of sight, and I looked up to see her face. It was Trisha ma'am. She extended her hand, and I was a bit confused. "Stand up," she said, and I realized she was offering to help me. I took her hand and got back on my feet. "Thank you," I said.
"You can go," she said to the guard, who nodded and left. I looked at her, and she was checking out me intently. "Follow me," she instructed and began walking. I followed her as we entered his house. I couldn't help but wonder how she seemed to know all the ways around here.
We went upstairs, and she opened the door to a room, leading me inside. This room also had a black theme. "Why did we come here? There were so many rooms downstairs," I asked. She went into the bathroom, took out a towel, and handed it to me. "There's some construction work going on," she explained and closed the door. I started drying off.
"What were you guys doing there?" My hands stopped at her words. "I was cleaning my saree, and he misunderstood me as you," I quickly clarified, just in case she got the wrong idea. "He was holding your waist," she responded, seeking an explanation.
Now I had to do something I really didn't want to do. I couldn't handle any more of her questions. "Um... he thought I was you, so he held my waist to tease me, and he whispered, 'What do you want to say, Trisha?" I said, and she began to smile. Thank goodness. "Okay, okay. By the way, I know so much about Rudra's house because I come and go here all the time. My family and I were here for lunch last Sunday."
I had to force a fake smile and replied, "Oh, that's great."
"Mm... did he call me by my name?" she asked, and I recalled that he never called women by their names only , he always add miss. or Mrs. She was waiting for my answer, and I found myself in an internal debate. Should I say yes or no?
"Hmm, yes," I finally agreed. She smiled again and said, "Come on, let's go back to the Party "
