Page 28 of When Love Trespassed

Raichand Villa

Shaurya stepped back into the guest bedroom of Raichand Villa, holding the small brown bottle of Ayurvedic oil in his hand.

Ever since Grandpa fell down the stairs a few days ago, his room had been moved to the guest bedroom on the ground floor.

It was more accessible this way—no risky steps, just smooth wheeling from one part of the house to another.

Easier for him, and easier for everyone else too.

He was still slightly flustered, his thoughts tangled from the kitchen exchange with Nandini. That hadn’t been a regular conversation. It had been a slow, sultry sparring match, laced with heat and tension that had left him breathless and very much aroused.

Inside the room, Grandpa and Varun were laughing loudly over something. Varun had just cracked a joke, probably one of his stupid puns, and Grandpa was holding his stomach as he cackled, his cheeks red and his eyes twinkling.

“There he is,” Grandpa called out, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “What took you so long to bring a bottle of my oil from the kitchen?”

Varun looked up, grinning. His eyes flicked to Shaurya’s face and narrowed slightly, just enough to notice the faint blush creeping up his ears, the dazed look in his eyes, and the tension behind his jaw.

“Maybe it wasn’t the oil bottle that slowed him down,” Varun said, eyeing Shaurya with mock innocence. And then, leaning closer, he lowered his voice so only Shaurya could hear. “Maybe it was someone else in the kitchen. Someone wearing lime green today, right?”

Shaurya shot him a hard glare. “Shut it,” he muttered under his breath, slamming the bottle onto the side table next to Grandpa.

Grandpa raised a brow. “I didn’t ask you to just bring the bottle,” he said, stretching out his arm with an exaggerated groan. “I want you to apply it. This arm’s been aching ever since I fell.”

Shaurya blinked. “Your arm ? I thought it was your ankle that got twisted in the fall.”

“Everything hurts when an old man tumbles down a staircase,” Grandpa grumbled, adjusting his shawl with dramatic flair.

“Especially the pride,” Varun added with a smirk.

Shaurya turned to him again, bottle in hand, his brows raised.

“Don’t look at me,” Varun said quickly, throwing his hands up. “This one’s on you. You were the one who volunteered to be Grandpa’s full-time unpaid personal nurse. Time to prove your worth, buddy.”

Shaurya sighed heavily and uncapped the bottle with a loud click. He poured a small amount of oil into his palm and began rubbing it onto Grandpa’s forearm, perhaps with a bit more pressure than was absolutely necessary.

“Ow! Go gentler,” Grandpa yelped, flinching dramatically. “That’s my arm, not a roti dough! My bones are not supposed to be rolled and kneaded.”

Shaurya didn’t reply. He just kept rubbing the oil into Grandpa’s arm, adjusting the pressure of his fingers just enough to make the old man grunt, not in pain, but in reluctant relief. But inside, there was a storm brewing.

His thoughts drifted to the woman in the kitchen. To her. The reason he was here in the first place.

Nandini.

He hadn’t signed up for this. For wheeling around a grumpy old man who hated him. For oil massages. For tolerating petty taunts. And yet, he was bearing it all.

Because of her.

She hadn’t asked. She didn’t have to. But he could see how exhausted she was, running around the house, managing everything on her own. Her world revolved around Grandpa, and the least he could do, after what happened, was help her lift even a fraction of that weight.

And maybe it had started as guilt. Maybe his offer to help had been his way of making amends for that night, that kiss, and the storm of confusion he’d left behind.

But somewhere along the way… it had become something else now.

He wanted to be here. He wanted to do this.

And that was new.

Rhea had once told him that he didn’t have it in him to care for anyone but himself. That he was emotionally unavailable, a hollow man wrapped in charm and ambition. And maybe she had been right back then.

But right now? Now, he was sitting on a creaky bed, rubbing oil into an old man’s aching arm, holding back every smart-ass remark that came to his mind, and all the while, still thinking about the woman two rooms away with hair that smelled like vanilla shampoo and a mouth that knew exactly how to drive him crazy.

He glanced up and caught Varun watching him, a smirk playing on his lips, like a man who knew every thought swirling behind his best friend’s calm mask.

Shaurya sighed inwardly.

Maybe he wasn’t beyond repair.

And maybe Nandini Raichand, sunshine-wrapped-in-stubbornness and smart mouth, was the reason he might start believing it.

That maybe, somewhere deep down, there was something in him still worth saving.

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

Next Day

Shaurya strolled into Raichand Villa the next morning like it was just another wing of his own house. Dressed in a grey Henley and worn jeans, phone pressed to his ear, he was deep in conversation with Alex, his assistant.

“Alex, I don’t care what the preliminary report says. Recheck the Q4 numbers. Line by line. And fix the formatting on page six. It’s a mess. Send me the corrected version before lunch.”

He walked confidently through the sliding doors with that easy swagger, annoyingly comfortable with himself, like Raichand Villa had quietly merged with his schedule and soul. His gaze swept across the hall with familiarity and then landed on Lakshmi in the corridor.

He opened his mouth to ask, “Where’s Nandini?” but caught himself just in time. That wouldn’t look right. He was here for Grandpa, or at least, that’s what the official story was.

He ended the call. “Good morning,” he said.

Lakshmi smiled. “You are on time today. Grandpa has been rehearsing his list of complaints since breakfast.”

Shaurya rolled his eyes and gave a wry smile. “Of course he is.”

Mentally bracing himself for another round of Grandpa’s theatrical drama, he made his way towards the guest bedroom. He hadn’t seen Nandini yet, and that fact irked him more than he cared to admit.

As if reading his thoughts, Lakshmi added casually, “Nandini’s out with Priya. You know… shopping for the pizza party this weekend.”

Shaurya instantly remembered. The infamous party Nandini had to host because she lost a bet during the New Year’s Eve event—the one where she had confidently declared that he wouldn’t show up.

He had, of course. She’d lost. And now, the weekend celebration was her penalty.

“Everyone’s coming,” Lakshmi went on. “Even Varun.”

That did it. A frown darkened Shaurya’s face like thunderclouds rolling in as he stopped at Grandpa’s door and turned behind. So, the old man could hand out invitations like ladoos at the wedding, but not to the person massaging his joints and managing his tantrums?

“Varun?” he repeated.

Lakshmi nodded. Inside the room, Grandpa was waiting—perched dramatically in his recliner. One look at Shaurya’s expression and the old man smirked.

“Why do you sound surprised?” he asked, pretending to inspect his fingernails. “He’s charming, entertaining, and so respectful. Obviously, he’s invited.”

Shaurya’s jaw flexed. “Interesting guest list,” he muttered.

Grandpa narrowed his eyes. “Are you… jealous, Mr. Ahuja? That the invite is not extended to you.”

Shaurya narrowed his eyes.

“Why do I need an invite? I’m your full-time male nurse who pushes your wheelchair and sacrifices his dignity daily until you fully recover, which obviously you won’t be until this weekend. That means I’m part of this party, whether you like it or not.”

Grandpa waved him off, but at that very moment, Nandini walked in.

Her hair was a little windblown, and her cheeks were flushed with a rosy glow from the afternoon sun.

Also, something about the way the light caught her eyes made Shaurya forget everything— Grandpa’s endless sarcasm, his annoyance that Varun was on the pizza party guest list and he wasn’t, and even the mental checklist of things he’d come here to do today.

It all blurred into nothingness, irrelevant.

He looked up… and stared.

Just stared.

And Nandini, catching that look, immediately felt her heart do that annoying flip-flop thing again.

Why did he have to look like that?

Relaxed and maddeningly handsome in his rolled-up sleeves and half-smirk, like he’d walked straight out of a romance novel and into her already complicated life.

Or maybe he was putting in extra effort lately, ever since he’d started showing up at the villa every day.

Was that why he looked so… unfairly irresistible?

As her gaze met his, her cheeks betrayed her again, warming instantly.

And he noticed. Of course he did.

Grandpa, oblivious to the charged silence, asked her, “Did you get everything for the party? Cheese? Toppings? That fancy sauce with a name I can’t ever remember?”

Nandini blinked, turning her attention to her grandpa. “Actually, no. I didn’t get time to go to the store today. I’ll go this evening with Lakshmi Aunty or maybe tomorrow.”

“You’re not planning to make all those pizzas at home, right?” Shaurya cut in, crossing his arms.

“Well, that was the plan—”

“No,” Shaurya interrupted firmly. “You’re not baking those pizzas at home. Order them.”

Nandini stared. Grandpa looked equally baffled.

“You’ve been doing everything on your own—running this house, managing your grandfather, chasing around his tantrums. You don’t need to spend another six hours rolling dough. Just order the damn pizza.”

Grandpa huffed. “My tantrums? What do you mean by my tantrums?”

Shaurya turned towards him, saying sharply, “This isn’t about you right now, but your granddaughter. She is doing enough already and needs a goddamn break.”

Grandpa sighed and turned to Nandini.

“For once, I agree with the grumpy neighbour. He is right. We should order the pizzas.”

Before Nandini could reply, Lakshmi entered with a tray of hot samosas.