Page 58

Technically, Shaurya should have argued. Fought back. Called out the lie. But instead, he inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders, and did something completely unexpected.

“Fine then,” Shaurya said, nodding, his voice calm like the quiet before the storm. “If I’m the one to blame for what happened to you… then I’ll take full responsibility.”

Grandpa blinked. Nandini blinked harder.

“You will what?” Grandpa finally asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Shaurya walked a few steps closer, his demeanour cool, looking almost too casual, as he ignored the alarm flashing across the faces of both Raichands. “Until you’re fully recovered and back on your feet, I’ll make it a point to visit you daily. To check on you. Assist you, if needed.”

Nandini’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “What?” she blurted out.

Grandpa looked equally horrified. “You?Here?Every day?”

Shaurya smiled politely, the picture of innocence. “Didn’t you just say I was responsible? This is me trying to make it right. I must atone, Mr. Raichand. Otherwise, how will my poor, tormented soul ever sleep at night?”

Grandpa scoffed, but his mouth twitched into something akin to a smirk. “Oh, so now you claim tohavea soul?”

Before Shaurya could respond, Nandini snapped, stepping between them both like a referee at a boxing match. “Daadu, that’s enough. Mr. Ahuja, thank you for checking on my grandfather and for everything you did at the hospital. That was more than enough.”

Shaurya opened his mouth to speak, but Grandpa beat him to it, suddenly switching sides like a man who just remembered he thrived on drama. “No, no, Nandini. He’s absolutely right. Heshouldrepay us. After all, he’s the reason I’m lying here with a fractured ankle.”

He threw Shaurya a sly glance and added, “Let him come. You’ve been handling everything alone. It’s time he shares the burden. You deserve help.”

Nandini shot her grandfather a glare so sharp it could slice mangoes. “I’m perfectly capable of managing—”

“That’s so very kind of you, Mr. Raichand,” Shaurya cut in smoothly, far too pleased with the turn of events. “I wish you showed this level of kindness all the time. You know—not just when it’s convenient for you.”

Grandpa narrowed his eyes. “Watch it. Don’t get cheeky.”

“Just saying,” Shaurya replied, placing the bouquet on the nightstand beside the bed. “Get well soon. Which you will, of course, since I’ll be here every day to personally ensure it.”

Grandpa eyed the bouquet like it was a dead rat. “You didn’t need to bring those. I don’t even like lilies.”

Shaurya smirked. “Ah. I should’ve known. What does the Majesty prefer then? A basket full of fallen mangoes from his beloved tree? I’ve got plenty rotting by my pool. I’ll bring those next time.”

Grandpa’s face turned the exact colour of a ripe mango. “Those so-called rotten fruits are worth more than these overpriced flowers.”

That was the last straw.

“Enough! Both of you!” Nandini exploded, throwing her hands up in the air. “This is not a political debate. It’s our home!”

The two men turned towards her and flinched like chastised schoolboys.

“I’ll make you some juice, Daadu,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I’llescortMr. Ahuja to the door. Personally.”

Shaurya opened his mouth to protest, probably to say he knew the way, but wisely shut it again when Nandini gave him a look that could have melted granite. He followed her quietly out of the room, hiding the smug grin stretching across his face. This was way better than he could have planned. In the name of guilt and repentance, he now had a golden excuse to walk into her villa every single day.

Behind them, Grandpa smirked and leaned back against the pillows, oddly satisfied.

Let the boy think he had scored a victory.

The boy was smart, but the old man was smarter. If Shaurya thought this ‘guilt’ strategy would win him brownie points, he was in for a long, mango-filled ride. Because Keshav Raichand wasn’t going down without a fight, and if that meant faking a few more aches, acting grumpier or stretching his recovery just a wee bit longer, so be it.

**************

Instead of heading out as Nandini had expected, Shaurya followed her into the kitchen instead. She tied up her hair in a loose bun and started slicing the oranges in half. The cold evening breeze filtered in through the half-open window, fanning a few wisps of her hair across her cheek, but she continued working, though her mind was reeling. What was wrong with these men? Having both of them under one roof, even for a second, felt like she was umpiring a high-stakes cricket match between two rival nations—with no helmet, no whistle, and absolutely no chance of a rain delay.

She reached for the juicer, about to make fresh juice for her grandfather, when she felt his presence behind her.