Page 44 of BounBound By Scars

That little detail? The fact that I even remembered it? Mind-boggling.

Medical Sexism and Bioethics?

I didn’t even know why, but the words stuck.

But, I needed straight answers. No more devastated looks, no more unsaid things hanging between us. And if he couldn’t give me that?

Then I’d exile him to hell. Or, as Kabir would say,Bhaad mei jaa.

What was the point of me memorizing little phrases in his language over the years if he didn’t even give a damn?

The shower was running, meaning I had minutes, maybe seconds, before he walked in—wet, fresh, and way too unreasonably attractive for my current mental state.

I set the tray on his nightstand. Egg salad, spicy oatmeal, orange juice. Then sat on the edge of his bed and waited.

When the bathroom door clicked, my spine straightened on instinct.

A nervous buzz ran through me as the door swung open—and then there he was. Kabir.

Not wrapped in a towel like I expected. Just boxers.

I exhaled slowly. Thank the gods I barely believe in.

Towels were too dangerous. One flick, and they fell right off.

At least with boxers, there were extra steps. Steps I’d have to—

Shut. Up.

He still hadn’t noticed me. Just went to his closet, pulling out a white shirt and black shorts, his back to me.

I was about to clear my throat when he suddenly spoke.

“I thought you’d beresting.”

I blinked at his bitterness.

“It’s almost noon, Kabir.”

He knew I was here the whole time. Of course he did.

When he turned, his gaze flicked over my face, then to the breakfast tray.

“Is that for me,sweetheart?”

I frowned at the endearment.

“Yes,” I mumbled.

His smirk was instant. He crossed the room with that ridiculous confidence of his and knelt in front of me.

Without taking his eyes off mine, he grabbed the glass of juice and took a slow, deliberate sip.

And, like an idiot, I found myself swallowing air right along with him.

He set the glass down, his hands finding their place on my knees.

“Thank you for bringing this for me.”

---