♕Jhanvi ♕

          "I knew you'd love it here."

I turn to face him with a huge grin on my face. He's right about that. He brought me to the Naviglio Pavese. I love it because even though it's crowded, being a public place, it's close to nature. I love standing here and looking out at the canal. Just then, a canoe arrives.

He takes my hand, "Come on," and walks up to it. He gets in and then asks for my other hand. I place it in his and he carefully helps me in. My feet wobble at first, bringing me closer to him than I was comfortable with, but he holds me safely and then allows me to step aside.

We take a sit and wait till the canoe is full. The ride down is amazing. I take in a deep breath, enthralled by the sweet smell of river mixed in with the different cuisine restaurants alongside the place and the soft breeze kissing my face. It is afternoon, so a bit warm, but i know for sure the place would be charming during mornings and evenings. That would be when you could enjoy the riverside the best. It would be the perfect weather. I imagine how the place would look even prettier at night time.

We get off at the other side, and we have lunch at one of the restaurants, having mostly small talk about this city and all the things it has to offer. It could be a normal city for one who has lived here their whole life, but there are many of the bigger places that sets it apart and those small places that people would usually ignore and tourists wouldn't count it under major attraction spots. But just walking around, you could find many of those places that would be forever marked into one's memory, making the place special, making the journey memorable.

It surprises me how much he knows about this place. He must have traveled often. Then, I remind myself. Ofcourse, he must have. Unlike me, he was born into this wealth and has always known. He must have travelled to many places with his family growing up.

He asks if I want to go see the Opera, and my original thought is that it would be very boring, but I still said yes just to see how it would be. I have never been to an Opera show. I have plenty of time to visit the cathedrals and museums and art galleries in this culturally rich city.

We got the tickets, and though I kept on telling him it wasn't necessary, he got the balcony view. "I don't get why people want balcony seats. It's so high up and distant from the stage. How can you see things clearly? Isn't it all tiny and you can't even see the people's face because you're just that far away."

He chuckles, amused at my rant, and still goes on to nudge me forward to our seats. I huff and take the empty seat, crossing hands over my chest and crisscrossing legs.

"It's not as hot up here." He points out. I roll my eyes. That doesn't matter to me. He tries again, "And it's peaceful. You don't have to deal with people blocking your view, especially the tall people sitting in front of you. Kind of private too."

He got me when he mentioned the people. I so agree with that. "It does irritate me when their heads get in the way." I say, agreeing along.

He relaxes, having found a common ground to compromise and seeing that I am not as upset with him for paying extra to get these seats. I am not completely over it, because I say it's a waste of money, no matter how much of a rich person you are.

I know he can buy out all the seats and still not run out of his day's income. I probably wouldn't either. Still, fact that he doesn't much care where his money goes bothers me a bit, but I try not to raise an argument on that because it's his money, and as long as it's not overly spent on me, I am going to let him do whatever he wants with that money of his. He works for it. I suppose he has the right to decide what to do with it.

I still have to work on the fact that I have an inheritance too.

The lights dim eventually and the curtain raises. My eyes widen at the set being used. It is one location, but it still looks very beautiful. Sometime within the first five minutes of the show starting, the air kicks in. Majority of the day passed by and it is now that I regret wearing shorts. I look at Aarav's lap to see he put his suit coat there. He isn't wearing it, so I try to stealthily steal it though I know he would notice eventually.

And he does. He lifts his hand, and I look at his face. He isn't looking at me, but the smile he is trying to hide on his face tells me he knew all along what I was trying to do.

Hiding my embarrassment with a scowl, I take it, dropping my act of trying to be sneaky. I cover my legs, and it instantly warms me. I let out a sigh, grateful to not be shivering, and sink a bit into my seat.

Did I mention how comfortable these seats are?

My head rests where my neck should be, but I don't care. The opera is somewhat interesting. It amazes me how well these people can sing the high notes and with such intensity. How do they even remember what the lines are, given that it's in French? Unless you speak the language, you'd have a hard time remembering everything. Years of work must go into perfecting each note.

Before tonight, Opera was just another boring thing to me. After tonight, there is a newly found respect and admiration. It surely cannot be easy to manage emotions, the singing, and the lines of what those lyrics means, that too in a different language, having to worry not about your part, but keeping up with others' parts as well so you know when yours comes.

It's like a play, but I feel this would be harder.

His low voice makes me shudder. "You okay?"

Coming out of my gazing state, I blink up to realize my head isn't where it was before. It happens to have slid down to his shoulder. I stiffen and think of pulling away, when he seems to know what I was thinking.

"You don't have to..."

The way his voice trails off, it pulls a string within. It makes me want to stay the way I am, head on his shoulder and cuddled to him.

Why does he always give me the sense of protection? Why does he make me feel safe?

I have only known him for short time and yet, why do I feel like I can trust him?

I shouldn't be feeling like this. I barely know the guy, but still, I know him. He takes care of me the way no one else has before, and that leaves an impression on my heart separate from others.

It makes me want to hold on to him.

But it makes me feel selfish too.

I want to hold on to him not because of what he gives me, but because of what I should feel for him. I don't think I am at the point to return just how strong his feelings seem to be for me.

When I relax once again, the way I was when I unconsciously scooted closer to him and rest my head on his shoulder, he does too. He lifts his hand, and I think it is to hold my hand. Freaking out in that moment, I lift my hand to tuck my hair back, and his hand lands on my thigh instead.

I squeeze my eye shut, cursing myself for moving my hand. Holding my hand would have been better than where his hand was currently.

My breath hitches in my throat, and he stiffens too. But when I don't swat it away, like I should and like he must expect me to, he keeps it there. His thumb rubs over his coat back and forth, but I can feel the movement on my skin underneath. One look at him tells me he is doing it without even realizing it himself.

I pull my focus off him and on the act.

It's impossible though with his gentle caresses and after a while, I put my hand on top of his, holding it in place so he stops doing that. He looks down at me, and I don't have the courage to look up.

I confess, continuing to look straight ahead, "It's distracting."

He doesn't pull his hand back, and I don't lift mines away either, half not wanting to, and the other half because I didn't want him to go back to rubbing his thumb.

After another fifteen minutes or so must have passed, he turns his hand so that my hand is now resting in his palm, not atop the back of his hand. Since my hand is lose, he slips his fingers in, entwining them with mines and his thumb rubs my index finger.

I have to hold back a chuckle seeing he simply can't help himself. It's like he can't keep still. And here I thought he was probably a very patient person who could sit in one place all day long and work if you told him to. It's how I have seen him so far, after all. But, I am starting to notice his little quirks.

Even though this is distracting too, I don't stop him, fearing what he'd end up doing next if I did. I'm just going to have to do the best I can to read the translation on the screen and watch the Opera.

Don't ask how I manage the next two hours.

The lights are slowly turned on one after another, and the whole place brightens up like before. I sit up properly and while standing up, take the coat in my hand. I pass it over to him, and he takes it, draping it over his arm. He doesn't let go of my hand though as he pulls us out and we walk down the stairs. I did not understand why he wouldn't let go till we reached the end of stairs. The crowd from the bottom was just that – a crowd – and he manages to pull us both out of the building.

Once we're outside, I slip my hand out and we are met with warm air once again. It's humid and foggy outside though. "Hungry?" He asks since we hadn't had dinner and it was past nine now.

I shake my head, "Not really. I can wait till dinner time."

It's only 4 in the afternoon and I know, if I eat something heavy now, I'd be skipping dinner. So, we walk back to the car silently.

I comment on our way. "I never thought Opera could be not boring."

"Yeah, that was somewhat my reaction too when I first was forced to watch it for a school project."

"Ouch," I give him a sad look, "Sucks for you, but I'm glad I never had a teacher who made us do projects like that."

He shrugs, "Wasn't always so bad once you really start to get into it."

"Right... I forgot I was talking to a workaholic."

He glares at me playfully for that comment, since he knows I'm not necessarily lying. I smile away, looking out the window. The rest of the drive home is mostly quiet, but it isn't as awkward this time. Guess I am starting to adjust to this.

. . . ∞ . ∞ . ∞ . ∞. . .

          That night, I feel like cooking a full-on Indian dinner, which I manage after a little over an hour. My cooking skills need to be brushed upon. It is rare that I cook ethnic Indian all by myself. Mostly, if I do feel like having Indian, I'd either order it from a restaurant or microwave a frozen curry and heat up readymade naans which I buy from the Indian grocery store.

I go to call him for dinner and see he has shifted to the bed to get comfortable. "About time." He mutters pinching the bridge of his nose as if he had a headache and after following me to the dining table, he understands why. "Oh, makes sense now."

I shrug, "I felt like cooking." I serve him a plate and then sit across from him, getting my own plate. He spoons the desert out of the plate and back into the bowl. I raise my brows at him. Who says no to carrot halwa?

"I-uh-I'm diabetic." He says.

My mouth turns into an 'O' shape. "I didn't..."

He waves it away, "It's okay. My fault for not informing beforehand."

Seeing he didn't want a big deal made out of it, I drop it. I would offer to make something else but decide against it. He probably won't allow it, and even if he does, I am going to say that I am selfish and I am starving now, so yeah... my dinner comes first.

"I think I'll probably go shopping with Eva for some more clothes." I remember this morning and the feeling that clothes I already own are going to start getting tight on me as the days goes by and the baby bump starts to show.

"Sounds good."

The rest of the dinner, or for the most part, is silent. Mostly because he is typing away on his phone, and his mood changes to that of irritation. His jaw muscles clench now and then when he receives a text message. Understanding it must be important, I don't interfere and engage him in a conversation.

When he is done eating, he looks up from his plate and at me, to find me looking at him already. The look on his face softens. "I'm sorry," He apologizes. "I forget... whenever I'm not home I am used to having dinner and lunch alone."

I give him a smile, "I am too. No biggie."

He holds my eyes for a few more passing seconds, as if deciding to believe me or not. Eventually he nods. "Well, I must say, I haven't had that good Indian food in a long time."

My face lights up at the compliment. Finally, something about the food. The way he was just eating without an expression on his face, except that of irritation, I was getting a bit worried that the food either tasted bland, or he didn't like it, or he didn't even notice.

"Thank you." He adds. "It reminded me of my mom's cooking."

"You're welcome, but don't expect me to cook daily. It's once in a blue moon kind of thing." I warn him, to which he cheekily smiles.

"Point noted, my lady." He says tilting his head to the side. I smile along, happy that I managed to lighten up his mood. It is short-lived, for he receives a message and the smile fades. Before I can ask him about it, he stows his phone away and picks up the plates. "Here, I'll help."

I am only stunned in place for a few seconds as I tease, "Do you even know how to do your own chores?"

Standing behind the sink and turning on the tap, he squints at me. "Why do you always stereotype me?"

I stand up and slowly walk back to the kitchen as I answer, "No, I'm just saying. You've grown up rich, so..."

He pushes away the squinting and answers normally, picking up a scrunch and squeezing liquid soap on it, "True, but my parents worked for it. They didn't have this easy life so, proud to say, they have managed to teach me a few manners."

I chuckle at his insinuation. I do not doubt that he must have made it tough for them at first.

He goes on to share, "Anyway, I completed my studies in the States so for years, I did live by myself. There was a cook hired, yes, but sometimes, I liked to do my own cooking."

I raise a brow, "You can cook?"

"Mhmm."

I demand, folding my arms over each other, "Then where were you an hour ago when I was struggling to do all of this by myself?"

He defends, "Hey, I did not know you were making Indian. If I'd known, ofcourse I'd have helped. Do you really think I'd let you do all the chores on your own?"

I find my gaze softening at his quick reply and honest voice. I don't think he is just saying this to get off the hook. I get the feeling he does mean it.

Since I do not answer, he blinks away from the task at hand to give me a brief glance. Perhaps noticing the surprise on my face, he smiles. "Next time, just call me."

I decide I might have to hold him to this and find out for myself one of these days if he really can cook. For the time being, however, I divert the topic. "Yeah, anyway, today was amazing. Thank you."

He reprimands, "C'mon, Shona. You don't have to be so formal."

My mind flashes back to Annie. How easy he had been with giving her a hug. I insist on expressing my appreciation, "Still. I needed a break. And hey, Annie. She seems a sweet girl."

He comments, "Oh, no. don't go off her innocent looks. She's a sneaky little devil." I give him a look and he laughs, retracting his statement. "Kidding, she's amazing, yeah."

"How long have you two been friends?"

"Someone is curious," he raises a teasing brow at me.

I roll my eyes, pointing out the facts. "You were the one who said you wanted me to get to know you."

The playful look on his face changes into a sincere one. "I did say that." Turning off the tap as the dishes are cleaned, he turns to walk to the oven where a hand towel is hanging and taking it, starts to dry his hand. "Annie and I have been friends since forever."

"Childhood friends?"

He leans back against the counter, "Yes."

"But how? She's not Indian." I don't know what she is, but she is certainly not Indian.

"Right, no. She is Australian. I was born there too."

"Really?" I ask, surprised. "I didn't know that."

He bobs his head to the side casually, "Not a widely known fact. We lived there till I was about 4. Dad was studying at UM then."

"Wow," I comment at the young age his parents must have had him if his dad was still in college then, "And you've still stayed in touch? That's sweet."

"Well, dad was her guardian till she turned 16, so yea. It wasn't tough to stay friends. Even though we moved back to India, we kept meeting a few times in a year."

I simply soak in all this information about his friendship with Annie and start to understand why they seemed such close friends. If someone's been a friend as long as you know yourself, this would be expected.

I question carefully unsure if it would be a sensitive topic, "Guardian? Her parents...?"

The look that crosses over his face is evidence that it was a sensitive topic. He simply has to shake his hand for me to get my answer. She was an orphan too.

I smile in understanding and let the topic be.

Of all, I do understand that feeling of being an orphan... of losing parents at a very young age. And so, even though I barely exchanged two words with her, I find myself feeling a connection to her. That silly jealousy from the afternoon vanishes in a blink.

The conversation dissolves as he gets a message. He reaches into his pocket to pull put his phone and quickly glancing at it, starts to walk away without looking at me. "Sorry, this is important."

"Yeah, ofcourse." I answer, allowing him to leave and take care of whatever it is. Though, I get the feeling something deep is bothering him. Even through dinner, he had been constantly frowning at the messages he kept receiving.

Work-related or personal, I have no idea. And this is also when I realize... he is very caring towards me. Always asking me things but his worries? He never quite shares them with me.

I walk up to the couch and sit, turning on the TV. Flipping through, I settle on this movie I haven't seen before. I lay down there and somewhere amidst it, absent-mindedly pondering over everything my life has turned into since my arrival in Mumbai three weeks ago, I finally fall asleep.

. . . ∞ . ∞ . ∞ . ∞. . .

          I stir when I feel something under my neck. Despite my heavy eyelids, they flutter open. His hand was under my neck, ready to lift me. I start to sit up and seeing so, he pulls back. He informs even though I have already caught on, "I was just going to move you to the bed."

I briefly smile to let him it was okay and stand up, walking towards the room and climbing into bed. When my head hits the pillow, I snuggle in. But, before I let sleep overtake me once again, I let him know, "You can sleep on the bed."

I think to tell him to put pillows in between, but I don't have the strength. I just hope it was an understood thing. I wasn't even sure if he heard me, until I felt the bed dip towards the other end and I assume he sat down. I tug the blanket closer to my body and embrace sleep and warmth.

. . . ∞ . ∞ . ∞ . ∞. . .

  ∞ author note  ∞

I added a little dialogue to this book description. Check it out and lmk what you think about it! Changed the cover with a different coloring & adding book name on it as well. 

QOTC: What do you say of Jhanvi's step (finally) on making effort to get to know Aarav? Wonder what Aarav is stressed about and what messages he'd been getting over dinner?

Disclaimer: Highly emotional chapters coming up ahead. Hope you're ready :D

  Have you ever been to any Opera? I did once and it was pretty cool! And no, it does not make me weird for appreciating substance so shh :P

PS: allergies >.< It's that season, ya know? Makes it tough to breathe I def don't wanna feel 'sick' on my birthday so I'm taking meds (ugh) and they knock me out. I'm not getting anything productive done :/ anyhoo, like Jhanvi, I'm grabbing my blankie and going back to resting. Hope your weekend goes better than mines! <3