Sacchiyan mohabbatan nibhawanga

Ranjheyaa main tera kehlawanga

Ik vaari dil lag jaane de

Dil da qaraar ban jawanga

Ilteja dil di hai

Ik pehal ishq ki, hone de..

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Riya

Saturdays were good. They gave me a chance to catch up on the life that seemed to be slipping away from my fingers a lot. The assignments kept piling up, and the only way I could catch up was if the earth stopped spinning for approximately seven and a half days.

But I was sacrificing this Saturday because I was stupid. Yesterday, I went to Abhay's place, but the chaos made me forget I had to take my bowl from the pottery workshop.

Now, here I was standing in front of that wooden gate, astonished to find that it was just ten minutes away from Abhay's place.

I closed Google Maps, which I was using to see how far his home was from this place.

Yesterday, Dhruv's reaction wasn't as volatile as I expected. His look of embarrassment was too clear on his face, and it soon turned into disbelief when his eyes fell on Angie.

I was not poking around in that one. Maybe I could ask Angie.

Okay, I was nosy. Sue me.

Dragging Dhruv home turned me into a hero of sorts in our parents' eyes. But I didn't feel like it. I shook my head to get rid of the upcoming negative thoughts.

I opened the door expecting to see Sameer, but the one who greeted me was someone else. 

Abhay stood behind the counter wearing an apron covered in some dried and wet clay spots. He was wearing his blue t-shirt. Again.

Didn't he have other colors?

I took a deep breath. I was not in the mood to hear his insults today because it was Saturday, and Saturdays were good.

"How long are you going to stand there like a ghost?" He said, inspecting a bowl.

I expected that. His words didn't sound cutting for some reason.

I walked towards the counter, the shop's silence enveloping me in a calm space. This place had magic or something. Too bad this person ruined it.

"Where's Sameer?" I asked.

His hands stopped mid-air, and his eyes turned to me. With his annoying one eyebrow up, he said, "Why don't you go search for him?"

What?

Fine, if he was going to behave like this, then I could also find him on my own.

I looked around a bit, then hesitantly stepped ahead, the distinct earthy smell enveloping me. I tried not to get distracted by the beautiful pieces in red kept in the back. The urge to ask whose creation were these was on the tip of my tongue. But I squashed it down. I didn't want to stroke his ego if they turned out to be his.

My feet took me to the pottery wheel room and the firing room. Still, I couldn't find him.

I wandered through the rooms, finding nothing, while Abhay watched from the counter with that insufferable smirk. I gritted my teeth, thinking about the ways I could strangle this human who was casually wiping the bowl after sending me on a goose chase.

Seeing no other choice, I started walking towards the counter—a crushing defeat on my part.

"Where is he?" I asked, folding my hand in front of me.

"He fled the country when he knew you were coming." He said, carefully putting the bowl down.

This piece of shit.

"So, he's not even here, and you made me search around for nothing."

"It wasn't for nothing. I got a free show on stupidity." He was looking at me, his bowl forgotten.

"Yeah, I got a free lesson on not to trust you." I gritted out.

"Little Miss Saviour is getting smarter. Maybe there's hope for you." A smirk played on his lips as he picked up another bowl, this time not even pretending to clean it. Was he stalling?

"Yeah, sadly I can not say the same for you."

"Touche," he replied, the smile on his face gone now.

A bitter feeling spread through me, and I didn't like it.

"Look, I'm not here for your attitude. Just give me my bowl so I can leave."

"My apologies for stalling the grand exit of our precious little miss Savior." He said as he kept the beautiful bowl down, his piercing eyes back on me.

"Why do you always have to be like this?" Irritation spread through me.

"Why do you always have to make it easy?" He said, walking away from the counter.

"I don't have time for your games, Abhay." His feet stopped when he heard his name.

"Got another date with some footballer." He asked, the lightness of his voice gone.

"That footballer has a better personality than you."

A slow smirk crept across his lips, dangerously confident. "I doubt it," he said, voice low, almost teasing.

My throat went dry, and suddenly, the air around us seemed heavier. What was this? Why was my heart racing like I'd run a marathon when all he did was smirk?

I glanced at the AC, hoping the cool air would save me from the sudden flush creeping up my neck. But no, the machine hummed quietly.

Was it him? Was I just imagining things? My skin was hyperaware of his presence, of the way his eyes hadn't left me for a second. I didn't want to look at him, but against my better judgment, my eyes flicked to his.

He was watching me, amusement dancing in his eyes as he knew something that I didn't. 

With a stupid smirk on his face, he walked towards the back and opened the door of the room that I hadn't checked, the one that he disappeared into last time.

As he disappeared behind the door, I stood there, rooted in place, trying to steady my breathing. My mind raced with questions I didn't want to answer. I shook my head, trying to clear my thoughts, but I couldn't. I needed to leave to clear my head.

Why did he always manage to make me feel like this – off balance? This was Abhay, Abhay Raichand. The guy I thought to be the bane of my existence and the root of all my problems.

As I struggled with my thoughts, he came out with my red bowl, which he held with utmost softness as if it would break if he didn't.

Why did he do that? Be so crass and rude, then care for things as if they were the most delicate things in the world.

It wasn't my job to figure out this man who most certainly hated me from his core, but for the first time in my life, I wanted to figure him out.

The realization crept in slowly with each step he took, somehow in synch with my heartbeat that I could hear in my ear.

As he handed me the bowl, our fingers brushed, and warmth shot through me. I immediately pulled back, clutching the bowl tighter than necessary and focusing my attention on it as if my world revolved around that red, uneven bowl.

He noticed, of course—his eyes flickered briefly, and the mocking look in his eyes changed into something else. Something softer.

"Careful," he said, putting his hands in his pocket and a soft look covering his face. "You don't wanna drop this after all the efforts."

What?

I opened my mouth to respond, but no words came out. Since when did he care about my efforts? My throat somehow felt drier. The room felt smaller, the air thicker, and I was suddenly very aware of how close he was standing.

"I...I won't."

His lips parted, and I thought he might say something. I braced myself as if waiting for a collision with an ongoing vehicle.

Before he could speak, the door opened, and the soft look on his face disappeared. It was replaced with the perpetual narrowed eyes he carried as if the world had offended him just by existing.

"Is that Riya?" Sameer's voice called out as I gulped.

He didn't reply, his eyes looking into mine.

I broke eye contact to turn and smile at Sameer as if my world wasn't shaken for a moment.

As he approached us, Abhay walked back to the counter.

I should've been relieved. But the realization hit me like a punch in the stomach.

After a year or so of cursing him, I didn't hate Abhay Raichand. Not anymore.

And that terrified me.

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