INAYAT

"Whenever you're with me, you don't have to pay for anything."

"Clothes, spa, and a nail treatment. Tomorrow morning." Abhishek's voice was firm, more like an order than a suggestion, as we walked toward his car—the same one he'd almost run me over with the other day.

I blinked, trying to process the sudden demands. "But wait, I have college tomorrow. I won't be free until 2 p.m.," I explained. Admittedly, the idea of skipping class did cross my mind, tempting me more than I cared to admit. But I knew better. This was my last semester, and as much as I hated to admit it, college was important.

Abhishek let out an exaggerated groan, his dramatic frustration practically radiating off him. "Oh God, kitne nakhre hain tumhare. What time do you get free?" His audacity was unparalleled. He even rolled his eyes, as if I was the unreasonable one.

I clenched my jaw, struggling not to snap. Doesn't he know how important college and education are? Then again, wasn't it just five minutes ago that I was entertaining the idea of skipping class? Hypocritical? Maybe. But still, he didn't get to say that! What did he even do for a living? Hadn't he gone to college?

"My classes end at 1:30. I'll be back by 2," I said, keeping my tone neutral.

He raised an eyebrow. "What college do you go to?"

"I'm in IIM," I replied, trying not to sound defensive.

"Alright," he mumbled, almost absentmindedly, "Wait for me near the gates. I'll be there at 1:30 sharp. Make sure I don't have to wait."

Before I could respond, he was already sliding into the driver's seat, leaving me standing there, dumbfounded.

"What? Why are you staring at me?" His voice broke through my haze of confusion. "Am I too handsome for your pretty little eyes?" he teased, his smirk so self-assured it bordered on infuriating.

I blinked rapidly, realizing I had been staring, me cheeks heating up. Embarrassed, I shot back, "Nothing. And don't flatter yourself—I just zoned out."

"Alright, if you say so," he chuckled, clearly amused. "I'll get going. See you tomorrow." Then, as if on second thought, he paused and added, "Wait...how are you planning to get home?"

I hesitated, fidgeting with my fingers. "I'll probably take a cab. Or walk, if I don't find one."

"Get in," he ordered, nodding toward his car.

"What? Why?"

"Just shut up and get in. I'll drop you," he snapped impatiently.

I stared at him, my frustration bubbling to the surface. What even is his problem? Why does he always sound so annoyed? If he wants to help me, can't he just be...nice?

Still, without another word, I opened the passenger door and slid in, silently promising myself I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of arguing further.

Not gonna lie, I was just doing this for my treatment and happiness, his handsome face was just a bonus. At least my eyes will be blessed with godly visuals while I get my ass reprimanded from him, and probably do the same to him.

"What are you even smiling thinking about? You look pretty creepy Inayat. Don't tell me you're plotting something against me." The boy laughed, his eyes scrunching into pretty moon like crescents. Stop it Inayat.

"Nothing. Just thinking about how we're both using each other. I'm using you for money and you're using me for...well whatever you want." I smiled to myself as I answer him, my voice not depicting my emotions.

As the car purred smoothly down the road, I couldn't help but let my eyes wander around the interior. Everything screamed pure luxury—the leather seats, the sleek dashboard, the faint scent of an expensive cologne lingering in the air. It wasn't just a car; it was a statement.

I shifted uncomfortably, my curiosity getting the better of me. Who was this guy, really? How did he have so much money? My mind spiraled into wild scenarios. What if he was some kind of con artist? What if he lured girls like me into deals and then sold them off? Was I his next victim?

Panic briefly flashed through me before I decided I couldn't keep my suspicions bottled up any longer. "So, Abhishek," I began cautiously, my tone light but probing, "what exactly do you do? I mean, you're driving this insanely expensive car, and you casually offered a random girl you just met sixty lakhs. Who even does that?"

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye and—predictably—rolled them, as if my question was the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "I play cricket," he replied nonchalantly, one hand resting on the steering wheel, the other adjusting the air conditioning.

"Cricket?" I repeated, narrowing my eyes.

"At the international level," he clarified, a smirk tugging at his lips, clearly amused by my disbelief.

For a moment, his words didn't register. But then it hit me like a ton of bricks. International level? My jaw dropped. My hands flew to my bag as I fumbled to pull out my phone, suddenly desperate to confirm what he'd just said.

"Abhishek Sharma," I muttered to myself, typing his name into Google. The search results popped up almost instantly, and I clicked on the first image that came up. I held my phone next to his face, my eyes darting between the screen and him.

"Oh my God," I gasped, my voice rising an octave. "That's you! You're the Abhishek Sharma!"

My words came out in a jumbled mess as I started hyperventilating, overwhelmed by the realization that I'd been sitting next to an international cricket star this entire time. Meanwhile, he was laughing—laughing at me—like I'd just cracked the funniest joke in the world.

"Yes, that's me," he said, his voice laced with amusement. "How come you knew my name but didn't know what I looked like?"

I paused, still clutching my phone like a lifeline. "Well," I began, trying to sound composed despite the fact that I was far from it, "my brother is a huge cricket fan. He's been chanting your name since you played in the Under-19 World Cup. I guess I just never bothered to look you up."

He chuckled, clearly finding my explanation hilarious. "Your brother has good taste, then," he said smugly.

I rolled my eyes, finally regaining a bit of composure. "Don't let it get to your head. He's a fan of cricket, not you specifically."

"Sure, sure," he replied, clearly not believing me.

As we continued down the road, the initial excitement began to wear off, replaced by curiosity. "Okay, but seriously," I said, turning to face him. "You're a cricket star, and yet you're here, driving me home and offering to spend a fortune on clothes and spa treatments. What's your deal?"

He shrugged, his smirk softening into something a little more genuine. "Maybe I just like helping people."

"Helping people or annoying them to death?" I shot back, unable to resist.

"Both, maybe," he said with a grin.

I shook my head, half in disbelief and half in amusement. Whatever his reasons were, one thing was clear: my life had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

Abhishek pulled up in front of the address I had given him and parked the car. "Well, here we are," he said casually, resting his arm on the steering wheel as he turned to look at me.

I unbuckled my seatbelt and opened the door, but before stepping out, I turned to him and said, "Thanks for the ride."

His eyebrows shot up in mock surprise. "Wow, I didn't know you were this well-mannered," he teased, his trademark smirk firmly in place.

I rolled my eyes, deciding not to dignify his comment with a response. Instead, I got out of the car and shut the door behind me. Without glancing back, I walked toward my house, trying to ignore the sound of his faint chuckle as he drove away.

Once inside, I glanced at the clock on the wall. 5 p.m. My brother was probably out playing cricket with his friends, leaving the house unusually quiet. I sighed, kicking off my shoes and heading to my room.

Dropping my bag and phone onto the bed, I let out a deep breath. The day had been... eventful, to say the least. But now, all I wanted was a little time to myself. I pulled open my closet, grabbed my favorite pair of cozy pajamas, and made my way to the bathroom.

Standing in front of the mirror, I reached for my toothbrush and began brushing my teeth. My eyes wandered to my reflection, and as I stared, one thing became glaringly obvious: my hair.

It looked like an absolute disaster. Dry, frizzy, and completely unmanageable. It killed me inside to think that I'd been sitting in front of Abhishek Sharma—an international cricket star—with my hair looking like this.

But, in my defense, the last few months had been brutal. Between college, assignments, and my illness in general, I barely had time to think about self care, let alone do self care.

Well, that changes today.

Determined, I rummaged through the bathroom drawers until I found a pair of scissors. Holding them in my hand, I rethought my decision for just a moment before looking into the mirror. "It's just hair," I muttered to myself. "It'll grow back."

With that, I started cutting. One lock after another, the dry, lifeless strands fell to the floor. I worked carefully, shaping it as best as I could, until my hair fell just to my shoulders.

I stepped back, running my fingers through my newly shortened hair. The difference was immediate—and transformative. My hair looked healthy, bouncy, and, dare I say it, pretty damn good.

"Not bad," I said to my reflection, a grin tugging at my lips. I tilted my head, admiring myself from different angles. "No wonder the guys at college die for me," I added cheekily, winking at my reflection.

For the first time in what felt like forever, I felt genuinely happy. There was a lightness in my chest that I hadn't felt in months. It wasn't just about the haircut—it was about reclaiming a small piece of myself.

Today had been full of surprises, and for once, things didn't feel so heavy. Maybe—just maybe—things were finally starting to look up. It didn't hurt to wish, right?