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“Everything hurts when an old man tumbles down a staircase,” Grandpa grumbled, adjusting his shawl with dramatic flair.

“Especially the pride,” Varun added with a smirk.

Shaurya turned to him again, bottle in hand, his brows raised.

“Don’t look at me,” Varun said quickly, throwing his hands up. “This one’s on you. You were the one who volunteered to be Grandpa’s full-time unpaid personal nurse. Time to prove your worth, buddy.”

Shaurya sighed heavily and uncapped the bottle with a loud click. He poured a small amount of oil into his palm and began rubbing it onto Grandpa’s forearm, perhaps with a bit more pressure than was absolutely necessary.

“Ow! Go gentler,” Grandpa yelped, flinching dramatically. “That’s my arm, not a roti dough! My bones are not supposed to be rolled and kneaded.”

Shaurya didn’t reply. He just kept rubbing the oil into Grandpa’s arm, adjusting the pressure of his fingers just enough to make the old man grunt, not in pain, but in reluctant relief. But inside, there was a storm brewing.

His thoughts drifted to the woman in the kitchen. To her. The reason he was here in the first place.

Nandini.

He hadn’t signed up for this. For wheeling around a grumpy old man who hated him. For oil massages. For tolerating petty taunts. And yet, he was bearing it all.

Because of her.

She hadn’t asked. She didn’t have to. But he could see how exhausted she was, running around the house, managing everything on her own. Her world revolved around Grandpa, and the least he could do, after what happened, was help her lift even a fraction of that weight.

And maybe it had started as guilt. Maybe his offer to help had been his way of making amends for that night, that kiss, and the storm of confusion he’d left behind.

But somewhere along the way… it had become something else now.

He wanted to be here. He wanted to do this.

And that was new.

Rhea had once told him that he didn’t have it in him to care for anyone but himself. That he was emotionally unavailable, a hollow man wrapped in charm and ambition. And maybe she had been right back then.

But right now? Now, he was sitting on a creaky bed, rubbing oil into an old man’s aching arm, holding back every smart-ass remark that came to his mind, and all the while, still thinking about the woman two rooms away with hair that smelled like vanilla shampoo and a mouth that knew exactly how to drive him crazy.

He glanced up and caught Varun watching him, a smirk playing on his lips, like a man who knew every thought swirling behind his best friend’s calm mask.

Shaurya sighed inwardly.

Maybe he wasn’t beyond repair.

And maybe Nandini Raichand, sunshine-wrapped-in-stubbornness and smart mouth, was the reason he might start believing it.

That maybe, somewhere deep down, there was something in him still worth saving.

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

Next Day

Shaurya strolled into Raichand Villa the next morning like it was just another wing of his own house. Dressed in a grey Henley and worn jeans, phone pressed to his ear, he was deep in conversation with Alex, his assistant.

“Alex, I don’t care what the preliminary report says. Recheck the Q4 numbers. Line by line. And fix the formatting on page six. It’s a mess. Send me the corrected version before lunch.”

He walked confidently through the sliding doors with that easy swagger, annoyingly comfortable with himself, like Raichand Villa had quietly merged with his schedule and soul. His gaze swept across the hall with familiarity and then landed on Lakshmi in the corridor.

He opened his mouth to ask,“Where’s Nandini?”but caught himself just in time. That wouldn’t look right. He was here for Grandpa, or at least, that’s what the official story was.

He ended the call. “Good morning,” he said.