Page 19 of When Love Trespassed

After storming out of Shaurya’s villa last night, Nandini hadn’t found the strength, or the nerve, to return to the community hall.

The guilt of that kiss clung to her skin like an itch, but what infuriated her more was how easily she’d melted into it.

Shaurya had asked why she hadn’t stopped him, and the worst part was…

he wasn’t wrong. He hadn’t known who he was kissing, but she had.

She knew exactly whose lips were on hers, and still, she hadn’t pulled away.

How could she have let that happen? How could she have kissed him back?

Overwhelmed and disoriented, she’d called Priya the moment she got home, muttering something about a sudden headache and the need to call it an early night.

She’d wished her a happy new year and then made the awkward request—could Priya check on her grandfather before he left the party?

Nandini hated asking anyone else to look out for Daadu’s well-being, but just this once, she needed to retreat.

Last night had been anything but ordinary, and if there was ever a time for exceptions… this was it.

“Nandu?” her grandfather called out, eyeing her with mild concern. “Why are you standing there like you’ve lost your way? Come, sit down and eat your breakfast.”

Snapping out of her thoughts, Nandini forced a bright smile and gathered herself. She walked over to the table, and wished both her grandfather and Lakshmi Aunty a cheerful, “Happy New Year.” Both of them wished her back, but only aunty was fooled by her act.

Her grandfather’s sharp eyes immediately narrowed on her. “How’s your headache now? You alright?”

She nodded, pouring herself some tea. “Better. Just needed rest.”

“Hmm,” Lakshmi Aunty muttered. “I know what brought that headache. It was that nonsense in the community hall last night, wasn’t it?”

Nandini winced. Great. Here we go again.

That one line was enough to ignite her Grandpa’s fuse.

“Exactly!” he barked, folding the newspaper he had picked up and slamming it down. “That arrogant, disrespectful man! Does he have no manners? Publicly accusing me of being abandoned by my family, like I’m some pitiful old man? What does he know about family?”

Nandini silently tore a piece of paratha, her thoughts drifting elsewhere—somewhere they had no business going. Like Shaurya’s living room. To that moment when his hand cupped her jaw and his lips found hers, fierce and overwhelming. Her chest tightened. Damn it, why couldn’t she forget?

Her grandfather continued, completely unaware of the internal war waging inside her.

“And then he had the nerve to question my parenting!” he growled, buttering his toast so vigorously it looked like the poor slice had personally offended him. “As if he has any right to speak about fatherhood. A man who couldn’t even hold on to his wife!”

Nandini nearly choked on her tea. She forced out a cough, her eyes wide as she tried to recover without visibly combusting.

“I tell you, Nandini, that man is evil. Pure evil. If he weren’t my neighbour, I’d have dragged him to court for defamation by now! Are you even listening to me?”

She blinked. “Huh? Yeah. Shaurya. Evil. Got it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, suspicious. “You look… off. You sure you are okay?”

She nodded a little too quickly. “Yup. Just... didn’t sleep well.”

Which was the truth. Sleep had been impossible.

All night, she’d tossed and turned, her body burning with flashes of his hands on her waist, the press of his body between her thighs, and the wild, breathless sound that had left him in the heat of that kiss.

Her brain kept looping the scene over and over like a never-ending reel.

And the worst part was the sting of his words afterwards.

She stabbed her fork into her paratha like it was Shaurya Ahuja’s face.

No. She wasn’t going to let this slide. Her grandfather could keep ranting all he liked about how much he hated that man, but what really haunted her wasn’t the fight from last night. It was the kiss. And the fact that it had turned her into a puddle of emotions she couldn’t explain.

God forbid but what would happen if her grandfather ever found out about that kiss?

Just the thought of it made her stomach twist into a dozen knots.

The same man who waged verbal wars over falling mango leaves would probably declare a state of emergency if he knew his precious granddaughter had lip-locked with the enemy, right under his very nose.

He’d most likely storm over to Shaurya’s villa, his shotgun raised, and demand a full-blown explanation, or worse, a marriage proposal.

Nandini nearly dropped her spoon into her tea at the thought. Nope. That couldn’t happen. That kiss had to remain locked away in the vault of things that never happened. Even if her treacherous brain refused to stop replaying it.

Nandini’s phone buzzed on the breakfast table just as she was about to dip the last morsel of her paratha into the curd. She wiped her fingers quickly, checking the screen. Her brows lifted in surprise.

The call was from her parents in London.

She glanced at the time. That was odd. They usually didn’t call at this hour. It wasn’t even morning yet back there.

“Hello?” she answered.

“Happy New Year, sweetheart!” her mother, Nivedita Raichand’s warm voice filled her ears, followed by her father, Ritesh Raichand’s slightly more distracted tone, as if he were still half-dressed in his business suit. “Happy New Year, Nandu.”

“Happy New Year to you too,” Nandini replied, her eyes flicking toward her grandpa, who was mid-rant about something Shaurya-related. “You’re up early?”

She switched the call to speaker so Grandpa could listen in.

“We just returned from a client’s New Year party,” her mother explained. “We’ll be heading to bed soon. But we wanted to wish our only daughter first.”

A slow smile curved Nandini’s lips, despite the heaviness in her chest. “That’s sweet.”

And then came the inevitable.

“So,” her father continued, slipping into that businessman mode she’d known since childhood, “any thoughts on restarting your skincare business? I’ve been asking, Nandu. How long are you going to hole up in that house with Papa?”

Her smile faded.

“I’m working on it,” she said. “I don’t need your investment, Dad. I—”

“Of course, you do,” he cut in. “That’s the least I can do for my daughter. Although I’m surprised Papa (Keshav Raichand) hasn’t offered to support you financially himself.”

The words hung in the air. Grandpa, who had caught every syllable, set his teacup down a little too loudly.

“Ritesh,” Grandpa said firmly, switching on to speaker mode. “Don’t you think if I wanted to do that, I already would have done it?”

There was a tense pause on the line.

“This is Nandini’s dream. Her business. She wants to build it from scratch and create her own identity. And I respect that. Maybe you don’t trust her capabilities, but I do. I will support her with my time, my guidance, and most importantly, my faith.”

Nandini blinked as a rush of gratitude rose inside her.

Her father chuckled awkwardly. “Fine, Papa. As you both wish. Though I still don’t understand why you’d turn down help.”

Grandpa didn’t reply. The silence between them said more than words could.

“Well,” Ritesh cleared his throat. “Happy New Year to you too, Papa.”

“Same to you both.” Grandpa’s eyes narrowed. “When are you planning to visit us?” he asked, his voice suddenly colder. “It’s been two years. Don’t you miss us?”

There was a beat of hesitation. “Work’s been hectic. We’ll try this year. But no one’s stopping you two from coming here.”

“Actually,” Nivedita chimed in, “it’d be great if you both came here. Even if not now, because of Nandini’s business setup, then in the next couple of months?”

And then Grandpa exploded.

“I can’t travel in the next couple of months!” he thundered. “That’s mango season. My wife’s tree bears fruit at that time. Who do you think plucks and distributes it to the children here? To the neighbours? You think I’ll leave her tree behind and go play houseguest in London?”

Ritesh sighed, his patience wearing thin. “Papa, come on. Someone else can do it. Let the gardener or someone else handle the mangoes this year.”

The moment he said it, Nandini winced. Wrong move, Dad.

There was a brief, heavy pause, and then it came.

Grandpa shot up from his seat, his chair scraping sharply against the floor. The clatter made Lakshmi Aunty flinch by the kitchen counter.

“I can’t believe you’re my son,” Grandpa said, his voice trembling with the force of barely restrained emotion.

“That mango tree was planted by your mother. It’s not just a tree.

It’s her presence, her memory, her love.

You, of all people, should know what that means to me.

And you want me to abandon it? Leave it behind for a trip disguised as a family visit? ”

“Daadu…” Nandini stood quickly, rushing to his side. “Please calm down. Don’t let this ruin your morning.”

“I’m done!” Grandpa snapped, brushing past her and storming toward the stairs. “First, he questions why I haven’t funded your business, as if you’re incapable on your own, and now this. He wants me to forget my wife. Treat her tree like it’s just another plant.”

Nandini’s phone was still in her hand, her parents still on the line, but her eyes stayed fixed on her grandfather, who was already halfway up the stairs, his whole demeanour that of a man hurt and disappointed by his own flesh and blood.

She quickly lifted the phone back to her ear, switching off speaker mode. “Dad, that’s enough for now,” she said firmly, trying to keep her voice calm. “This isn’t the time. We can talk about everything else later. You both should rest.”

There was hesitation on the other end. Then her mother’s voice came softly, “Okay, sweetheart. Happy New Year again. We’ll call later.”

Nandini forced a small smile. “Goodnight, Mom. Dad.”

Her father grunted something unintelligible, and the call ended.

She exhaled deeply and turned back toward the stairs.

“Daadu, just finish your breakfast at least,” she pleaded, following him, her slippers padding quickly behind him.

But Keshav Raichand wasn’t listening. His foot landed on the staircase with too much force, and in his fury and hurt, he misjudged the step.

It all happened too fast.

His foot slipped.

His balance faltered.

“Daadu!” Nandini’s scream tore through the villa like a jagged crack of thunder.

She watched in frozen horror as his body pitched backwards. The sound of his slipper scraping the edge of the marble step was followed by a heart-stopping thud as his frame slammed into the staircase, then rolled—limp and lifeless—down the remaining steps.

The air left her lungs.

Time slowed down.

Her knees hit the floor before her mind could register the fear. Her trembling hands reached for him, her fingers curling around his shoulder, his arm, anywhere she could touch him.

“Daadu?” she choked out, her voice breaking as fear overtook the initial shock. “Daadu, can you hear me? Please... say something!”

His eyes fluttered shut.

His shallow, staggered breathing sent fresh rush of terror down her spine. Behind her, Lakshmi Aunty screamed in panic, dropping the tray of curd and parathas she was holding. It hit the floor with a loud crash, porcelain shattering in all directions.

“Call the doctor! Call someone!” Nandini cried in panic, tears streaming down her face as Lakshmi Aunty hurried to grab her phone.

Nandini knelt beside her grandfather’s slumped form, her one hand holding his, her other stroking his head gently, her own body shaking uncontrollably.

“Daadu, please open your eyes,” she sobbed.

The new year had just begun. But within the walls of Raichand Villa, it already felt cursed.

And just then, she felt it. A sudden shift in the air. She looked up through her tear-blurred vision and saw a shadow moving fast across the foyer—tall, purposeful, his eyes wide with alarm.

Shaurya.

He was already through the door, his strides long and urgent, as their eyes locked across the chaos.

“Help.” That was all Nandini could manage to say.

Shaurya dropped to his knees beside them, taking in the sight of the unconscious old man.

“Call an ambulance,” he ordered Lakshmi Aunty, who was already fumbling with her phone, her hand shaking.

His hand reached for Keshav Raichand’s wrist, checking for a pulse. Relief flickered in his expression as he found it, though it was faint.

Then his gaze turned to Nandini’s pale face and teary eyes.

“Is he breathing?” she asked, barely able to speak.

“Yes,” Shaurya replied quickly. “But we need to move him carefully. He could have hit his spine or leg.”

Nandini nodded, but the tears didn’t stop.

She couldn’t.

All she could do was kneel there, clutching her grandfather’s fragile hand as everything around her felt like it was spiralling out of control. But in that chaos, she wasn’t entirely alone.

Unexpectedly and ironically, it was her grumpy, rude, impossible neighbour who was right there beside her, offering his quiet strength, helping her through a moment she never imagined facing.