Chapter 47

Hellooo janaaaaaaa 💗
Ki haal chal sohneyo?

Yaarrr my exam werre going on,& i was sick, am so so so sorry.. sachi wala dil se…. Ab jitne din exam ni hai utne mai chapter zada se zada upload krne ki kosis krugi.. uske baad to december mai firse shuru ho jayege exam…

Chlo leave it…

Ekkkk choti c news…

I am thinking of making a novelet for ayanshi and shubh… Koch koch socha hai mene…
Par mai batau gi….. Thodi…🤣🤣

Lets dive into the chapter without wasting time…. Muah.. 💋
2000+ words
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Last chapter’s glimpse

” Navvvvvv …. I can’t give you false hope …. Me, you, us.. never …. Its not possible.” she said..

” why vani? Kya kami hai mujhme?” I asked her… ” Vani I think i like you.” I said with a realising breath

” you think? You think nav? This is not a think ” she took a pause, and release a long breath, which may or maynot she was holding

” nav listen, you can get with whomever you want —“

I interrupted her

” i want to be with you. …”

“except for me. Nav i am not a good match for you… For anyone… So please….” she stood up without waiting for a reply

And she walk out of the door, leaving me alone in meeting room
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She left.
She left again. Another escape.

Itna bhi kya bhaav khana? Ya mai iske layak hi nahi hu?

(How much attitude does she need to show? Or am I simply not worth it?)

My thoughts are a mess – eyebrows drawn tight, fists clenched, spine rod straight.

Anger, stress, disappointment – everything on with a thousand unanswered questions.

I slump onto my chair in frustration and-

Dhadum!

The chair stumbles and I fall flat on my back.

“Ahhh!! Ab yehi reh gaya tha!!!”

(Ahhh!! This was the only thing left to happen!!!)

Karmo ka phal hai, Nav. Mene kaunsi Mahabharat ki thi pichhle janam mein, Bhagwan… Kabhi accident, kabhi rejection, kabhi Yash se pitvai dete ho… Kya kya karte ho…

(This is karma, Nav. What epic sins did I commit in my past life, God… Sometimes accidents, sometimes rejection, sometimes getting beaten up by Yash… What all do You keep doing…)

I hold my back as the pain shoots through both my spine and skull.
I push myself away from the fallen chair but stay on the floor.

Mafia hua to kya, dard nahi hoga?

(So what if I’m mafia? Pain doesn’t spare me.)

My hands still clutch my lower back when the meeting-room door opens. I glance up, unimpressed.

And see the last person I expected.

“Kuch hua kya?” Vani asks, eyes widening as she looks at the fallen chair… then at me.

(“Did something happen?”)

Seriously? She’s seeing everything and still asking? Must be fun for her.

“Haan na, pregnant hu main, labour pain ho raha tha…” I snap, already irritated.

(“Yes obviously, I’m pregnant and having labour pain…”)

Instead of helping, she wants entertainment.

She furrows her brows and turns her head to the side, clearly controlling her laugh.

“Vani!!!!???” My voice shifts from annoyed to questioning.

She clears her throat.

“Par tumhe pregnant kiya kisne? Aur mujhe pata nahi tha aap yeh shauk bhi rakhte hai, Mr. Brar.”

(“But who got you pregnant? And I didn’t know you were into this hobby too, Mr. Brar.”)

She suppresses another laugh while I stare at her, horrified.

Yeh bolti bhi hai?

“Aur agar tumhara boyfriend hai- I mean tha- whatever… so why did you propose to me?”

(“And if you have a boyfriend- I mean had- whatever… then why did you propose to me?”)

“Solnyshka!!! Main ladka hu yaar!!” I protest, emphasising each word.

(“Solnyshka!!! I’m a guy!!”)

“Yeh meri problem nahi hai. Go visit a good doctor.”

(“That’s not my problem. Go see a good doctor.”)

Her tone is so casual, my eyes practically jump to my forehead.

Finally, I snap back into reality.

“Vanii…!!! Yeh problem nahi hai!!!”

(“Vanii…!!! This is not the issue!!!”)

“To? Sidha bolo.” She walks closer.

(“Then? Just say it straight.”)

“Vani, main gir gaya tha yaar…” I admit softly. Maybe she’ll pity me… maybe she’ll act cute.

“Tum gire huye hi ho.”

(“You’re already a fallen case.”)

I glare at her.

“Acha??”

(“Oh really??”)

She finally chuckles.

“Suits you right… Par gire kaise? Bacche ho kya?”

(“Serves you right… But how did you fall? Are you a kid?”)

“Tum to bolo hi mat. Jab dekho meri baahon mein aati rehti ho girkar.”

(“You don’t say anything. You’re always falling straight into my arms.”)

“Main tumhari baahon mein?”

(“Into your arms?”)

“Haan. Mere saamne girti ho, to mujhe hi aake thamna padta hai.”

(“Yes. You fall in front of me, so I have to catch you.”)

“To kisne kaha hai? Mat thamo na!!” she snaps.

(“Who asked you to? Then don’t catch me!!”)

“Par main thamna chahta hu.” I say seriously.

(“But I want to catch you.”)

She scoffs.

“Pade raho wahin. Shayad tumhari akal theekane aa jaye.”

(“Stay there on the floor. Maybe your brain will reset.”)

She turns to leave.

I lower my head. Fine. I’m on my own.
I try getting up-
And then I see a hand appear in front of my face.

Her hand.

I look up.

“Pakdo ab.”

(“Take it.”)

She stayed. She actually stayed.

She bends down, grabs my bicep, pulls me up carefully, and settles me onto the chair.

Itni bhi buri nahi hai yaar yeh.
(She’s not that bad, honestly.)

She stands near my chair, busy typing on her phone.

After a few minutes, her assistant arrives and hands her a paper bag.
Medicines. Ointment.

She hands me the tube.

“Yeh pakdo. Laga lena.”

(“Take this. Apply it.”)

I stare at the ointment, unimpressed, rolling it between my fingers.

She snaps,

“Khelne ke liye mangvai hai?”

(“Did I order it for you to play with?”)

Honestly, I’m surprised she hasn’t left yet.

“Par main yeh kaise lagaun?”

(“But how do I apply this?”)

It’s my back – obviously, I can’t reach.

She rolls her eyes hard.

“Ek kaam karo. Pair upar karlo aur sir neeche.”

(“Do one thing. Put your feet up and your head down.”)

“What?? This makes no sense!” I protest.

“Nav, jaise lagate hain waise lagao na!”

(“Nav, apply it the way people normally do!”)

Oh, she’s getting sarcastic now.

“It’s on my back yaaaar, I can’t apply it myself.” I mutter, embarrassed, staring at the tube in my hand..

“So should I call someone?”
Her voice is innocent but sincere.

“Vaani, it’s 5 o’clock. Sab ghar chale gaye hain. Koi nahi aaega. It’s Paris, baby.”

(“Everyone has gone home. No one will come. It’s Paris, baby.”)

“Yah! ‘Baby’ mat bulao mujhe.” she snaps.

(“Don’t call me ‘baby’.”)

I shut up immediately, eyes still glued to the ointment tube.

She goes quiet. I go quiet.
The silence is so thick even a pin dropping would sound like a gunshot.

“Umm… main help- nahi, wait- rehne do. Nurse hai na? Woh karegi help. Call her.”

(“Umm… I’ll help- no wait- leave it. There’s a nurse, right? She’ll help. Call her.”)

Aab isse kese btau ki use to mene pehle hi nikal diya tha, voh to sirf vani ko jealous karvane ke liye ajj ai thi

( How do I tell her I fired the nurse earlier? She was only came to make Vani jealous.)

I clear my throat, embarrassed.

“Uske irade mujhe lekar kuch theek nahi hai.”

(“Her intentions toward me weren’t… appropriate.”)

“Hummh…”
She presses a hand to her mouth, squeezing her eyes shut.

“Vaani???”

A full laugh finally bursts out of her.
I stare, shocked.

She doesn’t stop laughing.
I look away and glare at the tube again.

“Achcha achcha- sorry sorry…” she tries to control herself, but another chuckle breaks through.

“Help nahi karni to mazak mat udaao. Varna get out!”

(“If you won’t help, then don’t make fun of me. Otherwise get out!”)

She instantly stops laughing and glares at me.

“Achcha… zyada dard ho raha hai kya?”

(“Okay… is it hurting a lot?”)

I don’t reply.

“Achcha suno… main help karti hoon. Shirt utaro.”

(“Okay listen… I’ll help. Take off your shirt.”)

My eyes widen immediately.
I cross my arms over my chest like she’s about to rob me of my dignity.

“Sharm nahi aati? Meri ijjat lutte?”

(“Aren’t you ashamed? Attacking my honour?”)

“Navvv!!!!”

“Ointment lagane ke liye bol rahi hoon. Shirt utaro.”

(“I’m telling you to apply the ointment. Take off your shirt.”)

I stare at her, full judgement mode.

“Ladkiyon ki ijjat ijjat… aur hamari ijjat ka kya?”

(“Girls’ dignity is dignity… and what about ours?”)

She scoffs.

“To whatever. I’m done. I’m going.”

(“Whatever. I’m done. I’m leaving.”)

She starts walking toward the door.

“Ay- wait!”

She stops but doesn’t turn around.

I swallow my pride – painfully.

“Help me.”

My voice betrays me.

She turns around.

“‘Please’ bolo pehle.”

(“Say ‘please’ first.”)

“You!!” I point at her, annoyed.

“‘Please’ bol rahe ho ya main jaaun?” she asks, pointing toward the door.

(“Are you saying ‘please’ or should I leave?”)

Unbelievable.

I exhale sharply.

“Please, Vani. Help me.”

She smiles, victorious.

“Okay.” She shrugs. “Shirt utaro ab.”

(“Okay. Now take your shirt off.”)

Vani POV

He takes off his blazer… then the vest… then the cufflinks… and then hi shirt.
I immediately look away while he’s unbuttoning.

Kya zarurat thi tujhe, chapli… “I’ll help,” I mimic myself

(What was the need, idiot… You just had to say “I’ll help.” Brilliant, Vani.)

“Vaani?” he calls me.

“Haan?” I answer, walking toward the table, still refusing to look at him.

(“Yes?”)

“Should I stand?” he asks – and before I can reply, he’s already standing, his back facing me.

Vani, lagani to padegi ab tujhe… Jaldi se laga deti hu.

(Vani, now you HAVE to apply it… Just do it quickly.)

I finally look up.

“Oh my god!”

The words slip out before I can stop them.
I instantly slap my hands over my mouth.

He turns his head slightly.

“Kya hua?” he asks, brows furrowing.

(“What happened?”)

“Ko…och nahi… woh tube haath se girne wali thi. Bus…”

(“No… nothing… the tube almost slipped from my hand. That’s all…”)

A lie. A very obvious lie.

“Oh. Okay.”

He turns back again.

How much does this man work out?
Main ise dhamkati hu?

(And I keep threatening him?)

Vani… aage se no dhamkana to Nav…

(Vani… no more threatening Nav from now.)

For reference, I think something like this, par jo sochte hai voh milta thodi na hai… But this is similar

Iska ek bicep mere muh jitna hoga kya?

(Is one of his biceps the size of my entire face?)

“Kuch hai kya meri pith pe?” he asks, dragging me out of my thoughts.

(“Is something on my back?”)

“Kya?? Haan… woh red ho gayi na… so that’s…”

(“What?? Yes… it’s red… so that’s…”)

I quickly open the tube, take a little ointment on my fingers, and start applying it gently.

His head tilts slightly to the side – I KNOW he’s watching me from the corner of his eye.

His skin is… surprisingly soft.

“Dard to nahi ho raha?” I ask, because my brain is spinning out of control.

(“It’s not hurting, right?”)

Why the hell do I love his back so much?

He shakes his head slightly – no pain.

“Done.”

I step back, grab a tissue from the box, and wipe my fingers.

I do it slowly – intentionally – to give him time to put his shirt back on.

Clothes rustle behind me.

“Vese ladkiyan marti hain meri body dekhne ke liye, Vani ji… par aap hain ki meri taraf dekhte hi nahi.”

(“Girls die to look at my body, Ms. Vani… but you don’t even look at me.”)

Of course he’d say that.
I roll my eyes.

“Correction – woh tumhe dekh kar marti hongi, na ki tumhe dekhne ke liye.”

(“Correction – they probably die because they saw you, not to see you.”)

“Achaaaa… matlab tumhe koi farq nahi pada meri body dekh kar?” he asks.

(“Ohhh… so you felt nothing seeing my body?”)

“Pagal hu main? Aur aisi bodies har movie mein hoti hain, Mr. Brar. Kuch khaas nahi hai aapki.”

(“Am I crazy? And bodies like this appear in every movie, Mr. Brar. Nothing special about yours.”)

“To meri taraf dekhti kyu nahi ho, Miss Rathore?”

(“Then why don’t you look at me, Miss Rathore?”)

He’s such a tease.

Kya matlab hai iska ab? Kyun? Zaroori hai yeh?

I turn and look straight into his eyes.

“Lo dekh liya. Ab bolo.”

(“Here. I looked. Now speak.”)

His shirt was back on, but the buttons were still undone.

Our eyes lock.
Neither of us moves.
Not a blink. Not a breath.

I don’t know how long we stand there like that – seconds, minutes – everything blurs.

Then his phone rings, slicing through the silence.

I instantly turn my face away, embarrassed, staring at my fingernails like they suddenly became the most interesting thing in Paris.

He answers.

“Hello? Bol.”

(“Hello? Speak.”)

I pretend to stay busy with my hands.

“Teri girlfriend hai? But I thought…”

(“You have a girlfriend? But I thought…”)

He glances at me – freezes mid-sentence – then stops talking.
His eyes avoid mine completely now, like looking at me is dangerous.

He exhales.

“Acha, koi baat nahi. Mai maa se baat karta hu… Aur kuch?”

(“Okay, no problem. I’ll speak to Mom… Anything else?”)

A pause.

“Theek hai… bye.”

(“Alright… bye.”)

He hangs up and starts rolling his phone between his palms – the way people fidget when they’re either nervous or hiding something.
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