Page 7 of That Same Old Love

“An exception. You interrupted my brunch. I was going back to bed for a nap after that… that’s why the current attire,” she explained unnecessarily, while chewing on the granola bar. Both her tongue and stomach were howling in protest at the first bite.

“That… thing is your breakfast?” he asked, looking at the bar in disgust.

“Hey! Don’t knock down a power bar. It has oats, nuts and honey, all of the things that make an ultimate breakfast. Although, currently my stomach is trying very hard not to shoot it back up.”

He appeared thoughtful. “I’m sure you can save your ultimate breakfast for later. Why don’t you come over to my place, I have some breakfast left from this morning,” he suggested.

She narrowed her eyes. “Said the spider to the fly… What makes you think I’d go back to your house with no witnesses? I’ve already taken a huge risk getting inside a while ago. Way too many places to hide my body in that weird futuristic house of yours. And you hold the biggest grudge against me in the entire nation.”

Samrat smiled slightly again. “I’m very tempted by that mental image of your lifeless body in my house. But I really want you to come home for breakfast. I have something to discuss with you. It’s something regarding your lands in Tellapur.”

She grinned victoriously. “Aha! I knew you wanted to feed me to ask for something in return. Not out of the generosity of your heart for a poor starving woman.”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’m pretty generous when it comes to poor starving women, but I draw a line at mean psychopaths, bent on destruction,” he said expressionlessly.

“Oh please… you’re making me blush with your compliments.” She grinned.

He scoffed. “Let’s go. The breakfast will get cold soon.” And then he looked at her legs again. “Put on some more clothes first. I don’t want you to cause a heart attack. There are mostly retired sixty plus year olds living in our neighborhood.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh please. It’ll probably brighten up their day. It’s hotter than hell, and it’s only eight thirty in the morning. I’m dreading to think how the rest of the day would be like.”

“You grew up here, you’ll get used to it soon,” he said simply.

Mahi pulled out a knee length cotton skirt along with an airy top from the heap and stood up. “Easy for you to say that. You can wear shorts at and prance around wherever, while I need to cover up decently, or I’ll be accused of being aloose and taintedwoman.”

Samrat was still looking at her legs. “No one will care what you wear here either. Most people in the city have changed their mindset. As long as you don’t walk around in your underwear, you are fine.”

She smiled knowingly to herself, as she knew her legs were the only things that remained the same over the years, and they were pretty good, even if she thought so herself.

“Okay. I’ll be right back. Meantime, make yourself useful and stuff all my things back into the bags,” she instructed, and walked away with a grin into the bedroom to change.

The last comment was to needle him. For some reason, she felt the need to shake up his calm and cool exterior.

By the time she wore her skirt and put on some light make up, and came out of the room, her bags were neatly arranged and placed in a corner.

“How did you do that so fast?” she asked him in slight shock as she hadn’t expected him to take her seriously. “I didn’t know billionaire entrepreneurs knew how to fold clothes.”

“You don’t know anything about me,” he stated. “I do a lot of things on my own. I hate any kind of mess. And something tells me I’ll always find one when I’m around you,” he said with a slight grimace, as though hoping she wasn’t staying long enough for him to find that out.

Mahi locked up behind her and walked next to him. “Hah! Just because I don’t have an OCD like you, doesn’t mean I’m messy. I did plenty of house work.”

His eyebrow rose at that, but didn’t comment.

“Speaking of your OCDs, you must be driving people crazy. Are you married?” she asked.

He didn’t answer right away and neither did he have any expression.

“I was. My wife passed away five years ago,” he replied finally.

Mahi didn’t know how to react to that news, and she was bad when it came to offering or receiving any sort of condolences from near strangers. So she simply nodded.

“What did your parents think about you moving back here after so many years of living abroad?” he asked.

Mahi knew they didn’t care. If anything, they were relieved that she wouldn’t be hanging around them while they pretended to care in front of others.

When she called her mother after Dinesh hit her for the first time, her dear mother doled out motherly advice to hang on to the marriage and keep the abusive husband satisfied in bed. Stupid that she was, she had gone with her mother’s advice only to be called a slut and other derogatory terms.

And life hadn’t gotten any easier with Dinesh. His moods kept changing each minute. It was like walking on eggshells, not knowing what would trigger him off.

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