Eclipse of Heart

17 | Worlds Collide

Turning my attention back to the task at hand, I start to map out the sequence of events, waiting for my assistant to return with more information. When he enters, he places a stack of papers on my desk and pushes them toward me.

"His mother and uncle died in a car accident around ten years ago. After that, he relocated to New York and never returned," he explains succinctly. I click my pen open and shut, absorbing the new information.

"Never returned?" I echo, flipping through the stack of documents containing photographs, case details, and forensic evidence.

"Yeah, I guess," my assistant replies uncertainly, sensing my growing frustration.

"What do you mean, 'I guess'?" I press, my tone sharper than intended.

He stutters, clearly rattled by my tone. "I mean-" Before he can respond, my phone rings, and I pick it up and answer distracted. "Hello?"

"Hi there, grumpy," a teasing soft voice comes through, instantly calming my nerves. Closing my eyes briefly, I take a deep breath, grateful for her presence, even if it's just over the phone for a few minutes.

"Hey," I answer, clearing my throat to soften the tone. Amaira laughs, a sound that does something to my heart, and I motion for my assistant to leave, glad to be free of his curious gaze.

"Did we switch roles today?" she teases, and it takes me a moment to grasp her meaning. Then I sigh and reply, "Maybe." Since the engagement, I've been the one initiating calls to Amaira, teasing her when she answers grumpily. Now, the first time she calls, I'm the one in a foul mood.

Fantastic.

"What's wrong, Aryan?" she asks softly as if she senses something isn't right.

A small smile tugs at my lips as I answer, "Nothing. Just some case stuff," I tell her, and she hums in response. "Do... do you want to talk about it?" she asks hesitantly.

Her gesture warms my heart. The last time we talked openly, she promised to try, and now, seeing her take steps forward fills me with happiness.

"It's about criminals. Do you really want to talk about it?" I ask, chuckling. "Oh, I'd love a crime story now. Hit me with it," she says, all excited, and I can't help but chuckle at her enthusiasm.

"But I can't share it," I say, realizing I shouldn't divulge confidential information. "Why?" Aira's disappointment is palpable, as if she was ready for a bedtime story, and my refusal has spoiled her mood.

"It's not that I don't trust you. But it's kind of confidential," I explain, trying to choose my words carefully, though it still feels wrong. I hear a dramatic gasp followed by an offended voice, "You don't trust me!" she accuses, her voice rising in pitch.

Her response makes me burst out laughing. What's gotten into her today? "Aira, are you drunk?" I ask between chuckles.

Her reply comes swiftly, as if she's been waiting to say it. "Maybe," she says playfully, and my laughter fades. I swear I hear a sound, unmistakably her slurping on something, before she lets out a content sigh.

"Aira?" I press, my voice firm with concern as I glance at my watch, which reads past 11.

"I'm at home. Relax," she says, chuckling softly. I ease back into my chair. "What are you doing-wait, you said maybe you're drunk. Are you drinking at home?" I ask, a hint of worry in my tone.

"Hmm. No and yes. I just tried a spontaneous recipe I saw on Pinterest with vodka. And damn, it's delicious," Aira explains.

"Alcohol in food?" I ask, confused. She responds, "Sounds incredible, right? But the dish is fantastic," punctuating her words with a smooch sound. I can't help but smile at her.