Page 22 of When Love Trespassed

Shaurya’s Villa

It had been two whole days since Keshav Raichand was discharged from the hospital, and yet, Shaurya Ahuja’s mood hadn’t improved even a bit. If anything, it had only soured further.

The image of Grandpa beaming at Varun and generously promising him mangoes still played on a loop in his head.

The same Varun, who’d only just shown up and cracked a joke, was suddenly on his ‘special list.’ Meanwhile, Shaurya, who had actually carried the old man to the hospital, broken traffic rules to get him there in time, and stayed through every tense second, was treated like a piece of furniture. A very unwelcome one at that.

That was the blow Shaurya couldn’t quite digest. So he had walked out of the hospital that day without so much as a backward glance.

And since then, he hadn’t had a single glimpse of Nandini. Not even once.

Every morning since that day, Shaurya had found himself spending too much time in his garden than was necessary, pretending to water plants that didn’t need watering, inspecting leaves that didn’t need inspecting, even doing pushups by the pool, hoping he could get even the smallest glimpse of her.

..of Nandini, talking to the mango tree, adjusting her messy bun, or flashing him her signature annoyed glare that, oddly enough, he looked forward to.

But Villa No. 10 stayed silent. The curtains remained drawn. She hadn’t stepped out of the house. Not even once.

Whether she was still angry at him or was just too caught up caring for her grandfather, who had flat-out refused professional help and made Nandini his full-time nurse, Shaurya couldn’t tell. All he knew was that he missed her more than he cared to admit.

He wanted to talk to her. Wanted to clear the air about the kiss.

To explain. To say something, anything, that might make her stop looking at him like he’d committed a crime kissing a woman almost a decade younger than him.

He needed her to know he wasn’t the monster she probably thought he was.

That what happened wasn’t entirely thoughtless.

That yes, he’d been stupid but not cruel.

He should have let it go. Moved on. He wasn’t the kind of man who dwelled. And yet here he was, pacing his living room for what felt like the hundredth time that morning, like a man with nowhere to be and nothing else to think about.

But in all this, he had found a temporary solution of knowing what was going on in the Raichand house. He’d found a reluctant spy to do his bidding.

The moment Meera, his house help, returned with the groceries, he nearly pounced on her.

“What’s the update?” he asked sharply, unable to contain his curiosity.

She gave him a dry look. “Mr. Raichand is fine. Resting. Recovering. Crankier than usual, but nothing alarming.”

“That’s no surprise. Cranky should have been his second name.” Shaurya folded his arms. “And Nandini?”

“She’s taking care of everything, of course,” she paused, sighing with a trace of genuine sympathy.

“But poor Nandini... that girl hasn’t had a moment to herself these days.

She’s full time busy looking after her grandfather—feeding him, managing his medicines, running the entire house alone…

God bless her. But it’s too much for one person. ”

She set the bags down and straightened. “But let me be clear. I’m not doing this again. If you’re so concerned about their wellbeing, go and check for yourself.”

Shaurya frowned. “Why? Did something happen? In fact, what’s wrong with you? Your mood has been off for two days now. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Meera crossed her arms, clearly not in the mood to sugarcoat anything.

“I’m a part of Serene Meadows too, Shaurya. Gossip reaches my ears just as fast as mangoes fall from that blessed tree of his.”

“What gossip?” he scowled, his jaw tightening.

“The whole of Serene Meadows is still talking about the scene you and Mr. Raichand caused on New Year’s Eve. About how you humiliated him in front of everyone.”

Shaurya groaned. “Did they mention that he started it? That he humiliated me first?”

Meera raised up a hand, cutting him off. “Doesn’t matter. He’s an old man. You’re not. People expect better from you. And Nandini… poor girl. If outsiders like us felt bad watching it happen, can you even imagine what she must be feeling like, knowing how you treated her grandfather that night?”

Shaurya froze. That hit harder than it should have. He looked away, hating that he was being painted as the villain in Serene Meadows folklore. He hated it even more that Nandini might be seeing him that way too.

“I don’t care what people think,” he muttered, but he knew that wasn’t the truth.

“Then don’t,” Meera replied with a shrug. “But don’t expect me to be your spy either. And for God’s sake, stop pacing around like some heartbroken teenager and let it go.”

She gave him a pointed look and added, “First, you humiliate someone in front of half the community, then rush him to the hospital like nothing ever happened, and now you want daily updates on their wellbeing? Seriously?” She scoffed, shaking her head. “Make up your mind, Shaurya.”

Shaurya frowned, very well knowing that Meera was right. He really had to make up his mind and think wisely. He needed to decide what he wanted and stop hiding behind stupid excuses.

The moment Meera turned to walk away, he called out to her.

“Buy some flowers.”

She paused mid-step and turned. “I don’t want your flowers.”

He let out a slow breath and smirked. “The flowers are not for you. They are for Mr. Raichand.”

She looked stunned. “You want me to give flowers to him?”

“No. I’ll take them myself.”

“Why?” She stared at him for a beat.

“It’s just a neighbourly gesture,” he said too quickly. “I don’t want Serene Meadows to think I’m still holding a grudge over a mango tree while the old man is stuck in bed with a fractured ankle.”

“But just a few minutes ago, you said you don’t care about what people think.”

He gave a tight-lipped smile. “Well, even I have my PR days.”

But the truth was something else entirely. It curled low in his stomach like… like something he refused to name.

The flowers were for Keshav Raichand.

But his visit wasn’t for that old man or for the Serene Meadows’ resident gossips.

It was about her. He was going because he needed to see Nandini. Desperately .

Because ever since that goddamn kiss, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her. Not for a single second. Not while brushing his teeth. Not when he attended office meetings from home. Not even when he tried to sleep.

She was his neighbour. His opponent in a silent suburban war over tree roots and property feuds, supporting her grandfather like a warrior.

She wasn’t supposed to mean anything more.

But she did. Somehow, somewhere between that stupid cake stand argument and the night he kissed her, thinking it was someone else, she had slipped under his skin.

And now, every minute of her silence and disappearance was clawing at him. He needed to see her. Alone. Away from her grandfather’s disapproving glare and his own stupid pride getting in the way.

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

The good thing about the two villas was that they didn’t need to use the main entrances to cross over. A narrow stone pathway curved between them, lined with soft moss and tufts of grass, leading straight to the old mango tree.

Shaurya approached the sliding French door of the Raichand Villa, a bouquet of fresh lilies in hand. He hesitated for a moment, adjusting his shirt collar before knocking gently.

Inside, Lakshmi, the ever-watchful housekeeper, looked up from where she was peeling peas in a silver bowl. The moment she saw him, she nearly dropped the bowl.

She blinked. “You? You here?”

“Good evening, Lakshmi. I just came to check on Mr. Raichand,” Shaurya replied, offering a polite smile.

Lakshmi narrowed her eyes. “Oh. He’s resting in his room.”

“I won’t stay long,” he added quickly, already glancing around the room, searching for someone. Nandini . But she wasn’t there.

Lakshmi couldn’t reject his request of seeing Grandpa.

“Okay. Follow me.”

As they walked through the living room, Shaurya couldn’t help but notice the numerous family photographs everywhere.

Adorning the walls, on the side tables, on shelves like tiny altars to a family that had once been whole.

There were photos of a young Keshav with his late wife, Nandini as a child, and that of a tall, stern-looking man bearing a striking resemblance to Keshav—likely Nandini’s father.

Shaurya walked past them, bouquet still clutched in one hand, trying not to stare too long at a smiling Nandini in her school uniform, her face lit with mischief and innocence.

This house, unlike his, felt lived-in. Worn but warm. Filled with love in every corner, with soft amber lighting and cosy rugs. The faint scent of turmeric and cardamom wafted through the air, wrapping him in comfort and nostalgia.

He drew in a slow breath. Was this a mistake? Coming to Raichand house in the pretext of meeting Keshav Raichand—a man who hated him—but looking for Nandini instead? Shaking his head, he put that thought aside as he was already halfway to the old man’s room with Lakshmi.

Inside Grandpa’s room, he finally saw her. Nandini was seated beside her grandfather, coaxing him to eat a bowl of fruit.

“These fruits are so tasteless,” Grandpa grumbled, pushing the bowl away. “I want real food. Not these sad slices of apple and pear! I crave something spicy. Like samosa chaat or aloo papdi chaat.”

Nandini rolled her eyes. “Daadu, you know the doctor specifically said no spicy food until you recover as they pain meds can trigger your acidity.”

“You sound just like your Daadi,” he muttered with mock despair. “Only worse. At least your Daadi understood my cravings. She used to make the best chaats in the world.”