Shades of love

Take it Slow

Naina's pov

As I strolled down the corridor with Aarav, his words became a distant hum, fading into the background noise of my thoughts. I couldn't help but fixate on those words that had invaded my mind: 'I. Can't. Stop. Thinking. About. You.' What could they possibly mean? Why would an exceptionally handsome billionaire say that to a girl he had only met once in a business meeting? It didn't make sense, and I couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this mystery than met the eye.

My mind continued to race as Aarav prattled on beside me, blissfully unaware of my preoccupation. Each step we took down the corridor only seemed to amplify the uncertainty that had taken hold of me. I tried to regain control of my wandering thoughts, but they stubbornly clung to those words, dissecting them, analyzing them, and searching for their true meaning.

Suddenly, a gentle tap on my shoulder snapped me out of my reverie. I turned to find my mother standing there, accompanied by a well-dressed woman I had never seen before. My initial confusion gave way to politeness as I greeted them with a warm smile.

"She's Lavishka's mother's friend, which makes her my friend as well," my mother explained, and both women shared a friendly chuckle. I nodded, appreciating the context.

The woman turned her attention to me and offered a sincere compliment, "Your daughter is indeed very pretty, Mrs. Kapoor." My mother beamed with pride, and I couldn't help but blush at the unexpected compliment.

Just as I began to relax, the woman continued, "There comes my son." I obediently turned to see who she was referring to, and my heart sank. It was him again- The billionaire with the enigmatic words that had haunted me since our last encounter.

"Nishaan, she's Mrs. Kapoor and her daughter," Mrs. Mehra introduced, and I couldn't escape the awkward familiarity in her tone. I then realized I finally know his name . He bent down to touch my mother's feet in a gesture of respect, and my mother offered him blessings that I couldn't quite hear, my own thoughts drowning them out.

Then, with a smirk playing on his lips, he extended his hand towards me and said, "Nice to meet you, Ms. Kapoor." Reluctantly, I shook his hand, my annoyance growing as I realized that his grip was surprisingly firm. I had to snatch my hand away from his hold, and he seemed unfazed by my obvious discomfort.

My mother gracefully concluded the encounter, "It was a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Mehra, and your son, Nishaan. Now, if you'll excuse us, we should be on our way." Mrs. Mehra hugged my mother, but Nishaan's eyes never left my face, as if he were silently daring me to unravel the mystery of his words.

As we finally turned to leave, I couldn't help but resent my fate for repeatedly entwining our paths.

Nishaan's POV

With a perplexed expression etched upon her face, she departed, leaving me bored in the midst of the gathering, despite encountering numerous old friends. I excused myself, informing my mother of pressing matters, and arranged for the driver to accompany her home, to which she acquiesced. My destination was my penthouse, a sanctuary I had meticulously tailored to my tastes, from the hues on the walls to the fixtures in the kitchen and bathroom, even the balcony. Upon parking my car, I ventured straight to the kitchen, brewed a cup of coffee, and settled on the balcony with my diary. Yes, I keep a diary, for I believe that paper listens without judgment more than people do. As I sipped my coffee, my thoughts circled back to her-her bewildered countenance, those hazel eyes, and the enigma she represented. I opened my diary to a page and began to read:

**6th July 2019**

I returned home from college that day, burdened by a storm of thoughts. My best friend, the person I had entrusted with my innermost secrets, had betrayed me with a girl who had once been the object of my affections. Yesterday, he had already shattered my self-esteem enough that facing anyone with my shattered spirit seemed impossible. Confronting him could wait; first, I needed to confront myself. I entered my room, marched straight to the bathroom, and turned on all the taps, the sound of flowing water serving as an auditory balm. I gazed into the mirror, tears trickling down my cheeks. I splashed water on my face, mingling the tears with it because I was done seeing myself as a wretched option.