Chaaya's POV
I stumbled home that night with my legs barely obeying me. By the time I shut the door behind me, the fever had already begun to bite at my skin, burning from the inside out. Sleep came in restless fragments, and by morning, every muscle ached as if I had been wrung out and left to dry.
Still, I tried. I tried to drag my exhausted body to work, to keep my head down and push through—but Meera returned from her trip sooner than expected, after hearing about my condition.
She took over the chaos without complaint, tending to the children and shooing me back to bed. "You're no good to anyone if you collapse," she said, a quiet firmness in her tone that left no room for argument.
Sara, of course, had other plans. My phone lit up with her curt message, dismissing my leave and demanding I be present the next morning. But Meera... Meera didn't even flinch. She turned Sara down with professional precision, reminding her that I wasn't a servant in the mansion, but her business partner. And just to make her point sharper, she added that she'd already arranged for someone else to cover my duties.
Tomorrow is the engagement day. After that, there will be three months before the wedding takes place—a gap that feels both too short and far too long.
Yet, in the midst of all this bustle, I can't shake the faint prickle at the back of my neck... as if someone's gaze has been following me. Watching. Waiting. I tell myself it's just exhaustion playing tricks on my mind. This is no time to indulge in paranoia—not when we're teetering at such a critical moment.
Today, Meera is working on preparing the menu for tomorrow's event. I find myself beside her in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, the scent of spices and aroma wrapping around us like a warm blanket.
Meera's POV
What the hell...
I sighed again when I realized we were short on hands in the kitchen. Tomorrow's engagement was no small affair—the guest list was endless, and every dish had to be a feast of rich flavours, dripping with ghee, loaded with roasted nuts, the kind of food that makes the air itself taste sweet.
And now this—half the kitchen help missing.
A quick call told me they were stuck in traffic, promising to be here in "five minutes." I've been alive long enough to know that meant at least a couple of hours.
I stepped into the kitchen to check on things myself. Chaaya was already there, sleeves rolled up, taking over abandoned work like it was second nature. We worked together in perfect rhythm, and two hours later, the laddoo mix was ready—warm, soft, rich with cardamom, begging to be shaped into perfect spheres. Silver platters of halwa cooled nearby, their surface glistening like gold under the lights.
That's when I spotted him—hovering near the sweet trays, clearly more interested in inhaling the aroma than doing anything remotely useful.
Must be the extra guy Chacha mentioned, filling in for his uncle today.
I frowned.
"Oye…"
Nothing.
I snapped my fingers near his ear.
Still nothing.
What was he doing—meditating with the laddus?
The man looked like he'd ascended to some sugar-filled heaven.
My patience snapped.
I smacked the back of his head.
"Earth to you! We're working here, not worshipping the sweets.
Are you done with your wandering for the day? We have mountains of work, but look at sir here, just strolling like this is his private buffet."
He turned at my voice, and I was met with a warm, slow smile. Not the sheepish kind of someone caught slacking—no, this was softer, more deliberate, and he'd been watching me for a while and had no intention of hiding it.
Before he could charm his way into an excuse, I grabbed his wrist and dragged him to the table. "Come. You're on Ladoo duty. Let's see if you're good for something other than sniffing sweets."
He obeyed... or at least pretended to. The first Ladoo he rolled was dented like it had survived a street fight. The second one collapsed in his hand before it even reached the tray.
"Are you trying to make sweets or a mess?" I snapped, taking one from his palm.
He grinned. "I'm more of a tasting guy, not a making guy."
"Oh really? Then why are you here in my kitchen?" I shot back, reshaping his disaster into something presentable.
"Maybe for the view," he said, eyes lingering far too long on me.
I almost dropped the Ladoo. "What the—?!"
"Of the food, of course," he added quickly, but the mischievous curve of his lips told me exactly what he meant.
I huffed, pushing the tray toward him. "Work faster. And if I catch you eating even one before it's served, you're out."
He gave me a little salute, still smiling like this was the best job in the world.