Page 31 of Mrs. Pandey
I glanced outside, surprised to see him in a noticeably better mood today. He was being less harsh than usual with the young soldiers, even offering them water. It was a stark contrast to his typical demeanor, and I wondered what had caused the shift. Maybe a new girlfriend? Or perhaps he'd finally spoken to his mother.
I'd heard through the grapevine how much he adored his mother and his twin sisters. His father had passed away when Prashant was just a teenager, and he'd shouldered the responsibility of his family ever since. These were all details I'd only ever heard from him. He used to share almost everything with me when we were in the same unit. It was before he went on his mission.
"How’s your back?" His voice, deep and resonant, startled me, making me jump slightly in my seat. I hadn't realized when he entered the office.
"Fine," I muttered, my gaze fixed stubbornly on the daunting stack of paperwork on my desk.
I heard his footsteps draw nearer, and a moment later, his captivating scent enveloped me. I didn't know what perfume or cologne he used, but he always smelled like a blend of cedar and pine, earthy and undeniably masculine.
I froze as he leaned forward, his jaw lightly brushing against my skin. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through me. I caught the subtle minty scent of his breath and felt the rough warmth of his exhale on my cheek.
"I’m glad to hear that."
"Prashant…" I finally turned to face him, my eyes locking with his stunning hazel ones. In that moment, something inside me snapped, a culmination of frustration, or perhaps a flicker of fear, or maybe even a desperate impulse.
"Let’s get married."
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Chapter 15
IRA
"Let's get married," I blurted out, the words escaping before I could second-guess myself.
Prashant's eyes snapped to mine, and I braced myself for a sarcastic laugh, a cruel joke about my family's wealth. But his face remained still, his deep eyes fixed on me. I held my breath, watching him, waiting for any hint of a flicker.
He leaned in, his gaze probing, and I knew he was trying to catch the scent of alcohol on my breath.
"Are you drunk?" he asked, his voice came out low.
He was so close now that I could smell the familiar scent of his uniform, something clean and masculine, mixed with a slight whiff of something spicy. I wondered if he could smell the hot chocolate vanilla shake I had drunk earlier, or my usual fruity scent that he always claimed made him imagine things he shouldn't.
"I'm serious," I said, my voice a choked whisper. I took a deep breath, feeling my chin shake even though I was trying my best to stay calm. My shoulders stiffened as a desperate attempt to project a strength I didn't feel. I hated how easily he could see through my carefully constructed walls.
He stood up straight, a sharp crease appearing in his uniform. "Then marry someone else. Why me?" The sharpness of his words was like a cold shower.
"I want to marry someone I know," I said, my breath shaking.
"You don't want to marry a poor man like me, do you?" he scoffed, his voice bitter. "I don't have enough money to fulfill all your desires, Ira. I can't give you a house and expensive jewelry like Aryan."
He paused, his gaze hardening.
"We took a loan for my father's treatment, my house is on collateral security and recently, I took another for my sister's MBBS course. I'm practically drowning in debt. Seventy-five percent of my salary goes toward repayments, and the rest toward daily expenses. I can't fulfill your needs, we can't get married. You should find someone who's as rich as your parents."
His words felt like a continuous barrage of blows, each one echoing the fears I was trying so hard to suppress. He wasn't just explaining but he was building a wall between us, brick by painful brick.
"And we're not even from the same caste or state," he said, jaw tightening. "My hometown is Jammu, and yours is Rajasthan. Our families will never agree to this marriage. And..."
He looked at me again, something deep and definite in his eyes.
"My mother will never like you."
The last part hung in the air, a final and unshakable obstacle. His mother. The one person he valued above all else. He wasn't just listing problems; he was drawing a line in the sand that felt impossible to cross.
"You wanted to marry me, didn't you?" I asked suddenly, my voice stuck in my throat. Something inside me was breaking at his harsh refusal. How could he look so shocked, so cold? Hadn't he told me once that he wanted to marry me? That was before his mission. Why had he changed so much? Why had he become so cruel?
"I'm sure there are many guys who would want to hold your hand for the rest of their lives," he said, his voice devoid of warmth. "Please don't involve me in this. And once, you told me that I was just a distraction nothing more. Now that Aryan has rejected you, you're handing yourself over to me?"
