Hate Tastes Like Honey.

Project Part 3

Reyaansh.

I lay sprawled across my bed, mind restless, flooded with thoughts of her.

I could still hear every insult she threw at me today.
Should I feel offended? Probably.
But honestly... I'm not. Not even a little.
Because the way she complained-like an annoyed little kid throwing harmless punches-God. It was something else. Today isn't just a memory-it's etched into my brain.

I've seen her fierce side. Those dagger-like glares. That razor-sharp tongue. The way she snaps back like she's ready for war.
But today?
Today I saw something I hadn't before.

Innocence.

Not weakness. Just... a raw, unfiltered side of her that she hides too well. And for the first time, she wasn't just reacting-she was expressing. Sharing. Talking like a person instead of a firecracker.

I've watched her presentation before-impressive as hell-but never heard her irritated little confessions like I did today.
And the way she mimicked me? Scarily accurate.
I'll admit it-I do wear that so-called 'poker face' a little too well.

I smiled to myself in the stillness of my room. No one was around. Just me... and the memory of her.

Suddenly sat up on the bed and tossed the pillow to the floor.
Seriously, Reyaansh Shrivastav... you're smiling after eleven damn years?

After turning eighteen, when the weight of an entire household was dropped on my shoulders, I'd locked every emotion away without looking back. I had no time to feel-only function. I became distant, reserved, untouchable.

But somehow... she pulled it all out. Just like that.

The same girl who once slapped me across the face... is now the reason I'm smiling like an idiot.
Infuriating.

Even more frustrating? The fact that Abhi was right there while I cracked-like a front-row spectator soaking in every rare flicker of emotion I let slip.

Which means... by tomorrow's breakfast, I'll be the hot topic at the dining table.
Lovely.
I should probably start prepping now for all the smug stares and dramatic gasps.
Kill me.

But I needed to pull myself together.
This wasn't me.
This-smiling like a fool over a girl I've sworn I can't stand-wasn't Reyaansh Shrivastav.
I had to draw the line. Rein it in. Set boundaries.

The next morning, I left home without touching breakfast-partly to avoid the avalanche of teasing I knew was coming. My family had been waiting for a reason to start shipping me with her, and I didn't have the patience to deal with their nonsense today. I hate it when they get like that-too nosey, too loud, too hopeful.

She was already in the cabin when I walked in.
Without even sparing her a glance, I removed my coat and said in a clipped, cold tone,
"Don't get used to that behavior."

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her frown. Probably mentally cursing me in seven different languages.
Good.

Let her.
She needed the reminder-I'm not the soft kind.

And just like that, we slipped back into project mode - all formalities, business talk, and deep discussions.
It was strictly professional. No room for anything else.

She was focused and sharp, fully immersed in the work.
So was I.
Or at least, that's what I kept telling myself.

The days passed in a blur of meetings, reports, and deadlines-calm, structured... professional.
Just the way I wanted it.