Page 167 of Wasted Grace

Advik

TWO MONTHS LATER

“Oh and—uh—my girlfriend is also coming for the party,” I add casually, just before the call wraps up.

Vikram has been understandably excited for his daughter’s first ever New Year’s party and the family is having a huge one at my parents’ house.

What they don’t know is that I’m bringing Greesha. We’ve been dating again for almost two months now and I still can’t believe the level of love we’ve been able to share. The communication between us is new, butnatural.

She’s been staying over at my place for the most part. And since my woman demanded the mattress change, I’d done it evenbeforeshe set foot in my apartment this time around.

You know what Ididn’tdo? Change the mattress in the guest bedroom. Her old room during her “Aadya” days. She had rolled her eyes way too dramatically when she realized my ploy to get her to spend the night inmyroom.

“Why would I stay in the guest room, you idiot?” she’d said, causing my heart to race at an uncomfortable speed.

Turns out—I didn’t need to do any of that. She had wholeheartedly accepted our relationship. Sometimes I stillcan’t believe she’s here. Withme. Sharing a life she had so painstakingly created.

We had talked about everything related to our past, without the restraint of our complicated circumstances during the mission last year. We effectively communicated every single detail.

We listened. We hurt. Wehealed. We’restillhealing—together.

And all that led me to understand so much more about her. How her loving parents were taken from her. How her, reclaiming the last name wasn’t about a mere name change—it was a declaration of acceptance. Of becoming the woman she had promised to the fifteen-year old version of herself.

I am so damn proud of her.

But I hadn’t told anyone in my family who she was. Just that I had started dating. No one knew who I was seeing.

At first, it had quelled the questions from my relatives about finding “the one”. I was almost thirty-four. And they’d been getting antsy. So when they learned about me dating again, they were happy.

Then a month and a half in—they thought I was lying because they’d never met this elusive woman who had stolen my heart.

Then came the harmless jokes at my expense. I had laughed them off. But lately, I had been wondering why I was procrastinating Greesha meeting them.

And it took me less than an hour of thinking to understand that my family is nosey as fuck. So they’d bombard my woman with endless—maybe even uncomfortable—personal questions.

My main concern—I realized—was that the most common question around her family might cause issues. I didn’t want her to feel obligated to share anything that might upset her. And the very prominent scar on her face—that might raise questions too.

Which was why I had been spending the last week prepping my parents, their siblings, and a few family friends, to be respectful of her past. I hadn’t shared much—but I did tell them that my girlfriend’s parents had died a long time ago. That her life had been hard. And neither her family or her scar was a proper topic of conversation with her.

They understood. Of course they did. I knew my family wouldn’t have any issue with that. But I’d rather prevent the intrusive interrogation before it even happened.

I want Greesha to have a wonderful time with my family. Because... they’ll be hers too. One day.

“Yaar!Viko! Enough. Tell me who she is.” I could hear his eye roll on the other end of the line. “I can’t believe you’re hiding her from me and Ishi.”

I chuckle at his impatience. There’s a reason I haven’t told them. Since they don’t need to be prepared—having already known Greesha—I wanted to surprise them.

“Bhai!You’re meeting her tomorrow. You can’t waitoneday?”

He grumbles. “Fine. You talk about her like she’ll be Lavanya’sChachione day. I’d rather have Ishi stalk her beforehand, you know?” (Chachi = your father’s younger brother’s wife)

I laugh. “Don’t worry. She’s amazing. I promise you that.”

“Secretive asshole,” he groans. “Fine. And—oh—I’m gettingchhole, so don’t bring that. Maybe like... bring snacks for the party.”

“Snacks? What the fuck—no!My girl is making this amazingmasala gobhi.Trust me... you’d sell your first born for that,” I counter, eyeing the clock in my office that reads 5:26 p.m.

My GenVault hours have lowered down significantly in the past month. I’m only here for three days out of the week. Which helps becauseHigh on Happyneeds me more often.