Page 22 of Protect my Heart
“Everything’s fine, Mumma,” I finally say, forcing a smile I don’t feel. “Everyone was a little upset... you know,because they didn’t get to witness the wedding. We got married without their permission, without their blessings. But... after we apologized, they forgave us.” She lets out a relieved sigh, and my chest tightens. I hate lying to her; even half-truths feel heavy.
“Thank God,” she murmurs, her hand covering her heart. “Tell Naina I’ll come meet her soon, okay?” I nod. Our mothers—they were more like best friends than neighbors. And me and Aarav? We were inseparable growing up. If someone had to find us, they knew there were only two houses to check. My dad never liked Aarav, though. Not that it ever stopped me. Our mothers, thankfully, weren’t too strict about the whole ‘boys and girls can’t be friends’ nonsense. Back then, it wasn’t exactly normal for a boy and a girl to be this close. Wow. I sound so old right now. I’m only twenty-six, but damn, it feels like a lifetime ago. I shake my head at myself. God, I’m aging so fast.
“And also thank Aarav for me,” Mumma says, pulling me out of my thoughts, smiling, “for shifting me here and giving me such a lovely house.”
I roll my eyes internally. Thank him? Yeah, right. The only 'thank you' he’s getting from me is my middle finger. That’s all he deserves.
“Yeah, whatever,” I mutter under my breath.
Mum chuckles at my tone. “How’s Aarav?” she asks, her eyes lighting up with curiosity.
I fidget in my seat. Great. It’s a never-ending show of lies. Somehow, she always catches me—like back then, when she knew I had feelings for Aarav even before I figured it out myself. Thank God she never blurted it out to him. My mother... She talks a lot. Although, I have seen that spark die since we moved away from Jaipur. It was her health and sudden change;my father was a bit too cold towards her too, and then she was stressed for me. So, now that we are here, I do hope at least my mother starts yapping like she used to.
“He’s fine,” I say quickly, keeping it short. She looks at me, really looks at me, and for a moment, her eyes are filled with something I can’t quite place—sadness, guilt maybe? I don’t want her worrying. I reach out, grab her hand, and squeeze it tightly.
“I’ll be fine, Mumma,” I whisper, pulling her into a hug. She wraps her arms around me instantly and pats my head gently.
“I know you will be, my strong girl,” she says, and I close my eyes for a second, letting myself believe her words.
“Come on now, let me show you around the house, and then we’ll eat, okay?” she says, trying to sound all excited.
Honestly, I couldn’t care less about the house. I can practically feel the walls whispering—reminding me this place belongs to Aarav. That I owe him. And I hate that feeling. I don't want his charity. I don't want anything from him. Especially not this house.
Still, I get up and follow her.
The house is huge. Spacious. Luxurious. High ceilings and large windows pouring in sunlight. The walls are painted this soft cream color, and the floors are shiny hardwood that looks like it’s never been touched. The furniture’s all modern and perfect—straight out of some magazine. Minimalist, neutral colors, clean lines. The layout’s open and breezy, with a massive living room that flows into the dining and kitchen area. There are three bedrooms, each with its own bathroom bigger than my entire room at the old place.
It’s stunning. It’s... intimidating. It screams Aarav. His choices. His life. And me? I feel like a freaking outsider in it. A stranger. It is a good, minimal, modern house, but barely a home to me.
“Come on, let’s eat!” Mumma calls out from the kitchen.
I sit down at the dining table, and she beams at me like a child about to show off a prize. “I made your favorite—pav bhaji!” she announces proudly.
Just the words make my mouth water. It’s been so long. No one—and I mean no one—makes pav bhaji like Mumma. I smile, feeling a stab of nostalgia. It's been a while.
“Mmm, thank you, Mumma,” I say, genuinely grateful, inhaling the spicy, buttery aroma filling the air. My stomach growls loudly, and she bursts into laughter.
“You’re eating like you’ve never had pav bhaji before!” she teases, shaking her head. I flash her a wide grin, stuffing another big bite into my mouth.
But then, I notice her forehead; she’s sweating. And not just a little. A lot.
“Mumma, why are you sweating so much?” I ask, my voice immediately filled with concern.
She waves me off, brushing her forehead. “It’s nothing, just feeling a little hot. Don’t worry, beta.” Her words come out in pants.
But I do worry. She has a heart condition. She's supposed to avoid stress and overexertion. I used to feel so guilty eating oily food in front of her. I used to sneak snacks behind her back. But she once told me watching me eat made her feel alive. Likeshe wasn’t missing out. Since then, I made a promise—I’d never hide again.
“No, it’s not nothing,” I say sharply, standing up. “You’re going to drink some water, and then you're resting. No arguments.”
“Okay, okay, boss!” she says, lifting her hands in mock surrender. I shake my head, muttering under my breath about how stubborn she is, as I head toward the kitchen to fetch her a glass of water.
I open the drawer to grab a glass when—
“Anika!” Mumma shrieks.
Her voice is panicked, terrified. My heart drops.
I sprint back to the dining room—and the sight freezes the blood in my veins.
