Page 23 of When Love Trespassed

“Well, I’m not Daadi,” Nandini retorted, crossing her arms. “And even she would have enforced the doctor’s orders. If she were here, she’d have confiscated your spice box and locked it in a safe,” she added, stabbing a slice of pear onto a fork.

She held it up in front of him with mock sternness. “Now eat.”

That’s when the knock came.

Lakshmi stepped in reluctantly, gesturing behind her.

“Mr. Ahuja is here to see you,” she said quickly, then fled from the scene.

Nandini froze, the fork with the piece of pear still suspended mid-air.

Grandpa straightened in his seat, his brows knitting into a frown as he turned his gaze towards the door, clearly wondering what on earth was Shaurya Ahuja doing in his house uninvited, and apparently to meet him.

But even as he pondered over the question, a flicker of reluctant admiration crossed his mind.

Grudges or not, the man clearly had guts to show up here.

Grandpa had to give him a brownie point for that.

The moment Shaurya’s eyes met Nandini’s, something inside him eased. She didn’t smile, didn’t even say a word, but her mere presence settled the static in his chest. For a second, it felt like nothing else existed except the two of them.

Then Grandpa’s voice landed like a hammer.

“What are you doing here? In my house?”

Shaurya tore his gaze from Nandini and tried to steady himself. “I came to check on you.”

“Check on me?” Grandpa repeated, unimpressed. “Why? Did your internet go down? Don’t you have fancy gadgets to tinker with?”

“Daadu,” Nandini said gently, placing a calming hand on his arm. “The doctor said you need to rest, not roast everyone who walks in.”

Grandpa snapped, “How can I rest when he’s here? The person responsible for all my problems!”

Shaurya blinked, incredulous. “What?”

“Don’t act surprised,” Grandpa hissed, pointing a finger in the air like he was delivering a final verdict. “You think rushing me to the hospital buys you sainthood? That you’ve earned points for playing the hero? When the truth is that you’re the reason I fell in the first place.”

Nandini’s gasped and was about to open her mouth in protest, but before she could speak, Grandpa squeezed her wrist gently—a silent message that said, ‘Let me handle this.’ She hesitated, torn, but this was how it had always been with her grandfather.

Charm in one moment, cunning in the next, especially for the people he disliked.

Shaurya took a step forward. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” Grandpa replied, fluffing his blanket like a king settling into his throne.

“Your nasty little argument the night before—your jabs, your accusations. They were ringing in my ears the whole night and I barely slept. And the next morning, your insults still echoed in my mind, and I lost my balance on the stairs.”

Nandini looked horrified.

So did Shaurya.

Because they both knew, he was lying. Nandini knew what her grandpa said now wasn’t true. He hadn’t fallen because of Shaurya but because of the phone call from her father that had come earlier that morning.

Shaurya’s eyes flashed with anger. “You’re blaming me for your accident?”

Grandpa smirked. “Of course, if it weren’t for you, I wouldn’t be lying here with a fractured ankle.”

Shaurya clenched his jaw so tight that a faint tick was visible on his temple.

He knew Keshav Raichand was lying. The man wasn’t even trying to be subtle about it.

That smug little curve at the corner of his mouth was proof enough.

And one glance at Nandini confirmed she wasn’t buying the drama either.

Her eyes had narrowed in disbelief, her lips pressed into a flat line as if silently begging Shaurya not to escalate this any further.

Technically, Shaurya should have argued. Fought back. Called out the lie. But instead, he inhaled deeply, squared his shoulders, and did something completely unexpected.

“Fine then,” Shaurya said, nodding, his voice calm like the quiet before the storm. “If I’m the one to blame for what happened to you… then I’ll take full responsibility.”

Grandpa blinked. Nandini blinked harder.

“You will what?” Grandpa finally asked, his eyes narrowing in suspicion.

Shaurya walked a few steps closer, his demeanour cool, looking almost too casual, as he ignored the alarm flashing across the faces of both Raichands. “Until you’re fully recovered and back on your feet, I’ll make it a point to visit you daily. To check on you. Assist you, if needed.”

Nandini’s jaw nearly hit the floor. “What?” she blurted out.

Grandpa looked equally horrified. “You? Here? Every day? ”

Shaurya smiled politely, the picture of innocence. “Didn’t you just say I was responsible? This is me trying to make it right. I must atone, Mr. Raichand. Otherwise, how will my poor, tormented soul ever sleep at night?”

Grandpa scoffed, but his mouth twitched into something akin to a smirk. “Oh, so now you claim to have a soul?”

Before Shaurya could respond, Nandini snapped, stepping between them both like a referee at a boxing match. “Daadu, that’s enough. Mr. Ahuja, thank you for checking on my grandfather and for everything you did at the hospital. That was more than enough.”

Shaurya opened his mouth to speak, but Grandpa beat him to it, suddenly switching sides like a man who just remembered he thrived on drama. “No, no, Nandini. He’s absolutely right. He should repay us. After all, he’s the reason I’m lying here with a fractured ankle.”

He threw Shaurya a sly glance and added, “Let him come. You’ve been handling everything alone. It’s time he shares the burden. You deserve help.”

Nandini shot her grandfather a glare so sharp it could slice mangoes. “I’m perfectly capable of managing—”

“That’s so very kind of you, Mr. Raichand,” Shaurya cut in smoothly, far too pleased with the turn of events. “I wish you showed this level of kindness all the time. You know—not just when it’s convenient for you.”

Grandpa narrowed his eyes. “Watch it. Don’t get cheeky.”

“Just saying,” Shaurya replied, placing the bouquet on the nightstand beside the bed. “Get well soon. Which you will, of course, since I’ll be here every day to personally ensure it.”

Grandpa eyed the bouquet like it was a dead rat. “You didn’t need to bring those. I don’t even like lilies.”

Shaurya smirked. “Ah. I should’ve known. What does the Majesty prefer then? A basket full of fallen mangoes from his beloved tree? I’ve got plenty rotting by my pool. I’ll bring those next time.”

Grandpa’s face turned the exact colour of a ripe mango. “Those so-called rotten fruits are worth more than these overpriced flowers.”

That was the last straw.

“Enough! Both of you!” Nandini exploded, throwing her hands up in the air. “This is not a political debate. It’s our home!”

The two men turned towards her and flinched like chastised schoolboys.

“I’ll make you some juice, Daadu,” she said through gritted teeth. “And I’ll escort Mr. Ahuja to the door. Personally.”

Shaurya opened his mouth to protest, probably to say he knew the way, but wisely shut it again when Nandini gave him a look that could have melted granite.

He followed her quietly out of the room, hiding the smug grin stretching across his face.

This was way better than he could have planned.

In the name of guilt and repentance, he now had a golden excuse to walk into her villa every single day.

Behind them, Grandpa smirked and leaned back against the pillows, oddly satisfied.

Let the boy think he had scored a victory.

The boy was smart, but the old man was smarter.

If Shaurya thought this ‘guilt’ strategy would win him brownie points, he was in for a long, mango-filled ride.

Because Keshav Raichand wasn’t going down without a fight, and if that meant faking a few more aches, acting grumpier or stretching his recovery just a wee bit longer, so be it.

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

Instead of heading out as Nandini had expected, Shaurya followed her into the kitchen instead.

She tied up her hair in a loose bun and started slicing the oranges in half.

The cold evening breeze filtered in through the half-open window, fanning a few wisps of her hair across her cheek, but she continued working, though her mind was reeling.

What was wrong with these men? Having both of them under one roof, even for a second, felt like she was umpiring a high-stakes cricket match between two rival nations—with no helmet, no whistle, and absolutely no chance of a rain delay.

She reached for the juicer, about to make fresh juice for her grandfather, when she felt his presence behind her.

“You should leave,” she said quietly. “And please don’t mind Grandpa not accepting your flowers. He hasn’t slept properly in two nights.”

She didn’t turn around. Her fingers tightened around the knob of the juicer as he was inside now, closer.

“It’s fine,” he said, standing by the edge of the kitchen counter, hands in his pockets, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and his eyes watching her like she was the only thing worth seeing in the whole room. “Actually… I wanted to—”

Before he could finish, her hand accidentally turned on the juicer knob.

The sudden roar of the machine echoed through the kitchen like an explosion.

Nandini jerked, flustered, and Shaurya was infuriated by the intrusion.

He immediately held his hand over hers on the knob and turned it off.

Her cheeks burned, and so did his touch on her skin.

She met his gaze finally, still breathless. “Sorry, I—”

He took a step closer. “I wanted to talk to you about our… kiss… that night.”

At the mention of the word ‘kiss,’ her hand shot out, and she grabbed his wrist. “Shh!!” she hissed. “You’re going to get me killed. If Daadu hears this, forget me, he’ll strangle you first.”

“Strangle me?” Shaurya rolled his eyes. “He can’t even get out of bed without help.”