Page 165 of Wasted Grace

FORTY-EIGHT

Advik

‘Care to join me, Vik?’

Her words are still pulsing within me with every beat of my heart. It wasn’t a question. It was a choice.

A choiceshe made.And it wasme.

She left her colleagues after a quick goodbye—asking me to follow her in my car. I was in awe when I noticed she still rode her motorcycle. But it was a new one. A lower CC by the looks of it.

The moment I enter her apartment, I’m taken apart by the things that look familiar but alsonew. She’s a blend of everything coming alive through her home.

She sheepishly walks over to her open kitchen.Sheepishly—a word I never thought I’d associate with Greesha Das.

Fuck, she’s Greesha Pathan now. I wonder what made her choose that last name.

“Pathan?” I ask casually. But inside I’m burning with anticipation.

I’mwithher. In her apartment. Dammit, I can’t find a better position to fucking adjust myself in my pants. She’s watching me like a hawk.

A year later, and she’s still the only person that can make me flustered by a mere look.Fuck... her mere presence.

“It was...” Her smile softens. “My parents last name. I changed it toDaswhen I was eighteen to hide from their families. It... didn’t work.”

I frown at the sudden hardening of her expression. There’s a story there. I know it.

“One day you’ll tell me?” My question is a plea.

She nods, still smiling.

I pick up a throw pillow from her couch, watching the design etched on it. Blue and yellow stripes, with an image of a star forming with the waves in the lines. It’s soun-Greesha-likethat I find myself wondering how much she’s changed.

She seems different.

If not for her scar, I wouldn’t have thought I was talking to the same woman. She’s lighter. More expressive with her eyes. It’s almost like they’ll give away her entire life if I ask the right question.

The thought stops me short.

I don’t know her.Not entirely.

But the fact that she’s willing to share—sometime in the future—is a lifeline I’ll carry.

The fact that I’ve been invited into the life she imagines for herself—is my anchor.

Putting the pillow back, I take purposeful steps toward her. She’s casually pouring wine into a glass. The second glass still empty.

“I... won’t be drinking,” I tell her, causing her to freeze.

She frowns at me. “You don’t drink? You... you and your brother own a fucking bar!”

My eyes widen, a smile cracking through. “That is right. I still avoid it though. It interferes with my meds. But... how do you—”

She rolls her eyes. “Ohplease!I know what you’ve been up to.”

I smirk, settling my forearms on the counter. “Do you, now? And... what all do you know?”

She narrows her eyes at me. “Everything that I need to. As for me? I quit the force and rejoined SentinelOne as a senior investigator. I own a motorcycle. I own this apartment as well. I do therapy once a week.”