9."Get Out Of My House"

After everyone finished eating, I began gathering the plates. Mansoor Bhaiyya noticed and offered, "Let me help."

I nodded, and we both carried the plates into the kitchen. As I placed them in the sink, Mansoor Bhaiyya hesitated for a moment before speaking. "Shivaay, there's something I need to tell you."

I turned to him, curious. "What is it?"

Mansoor Bhaiyya took a deep breath. "Sreeleela… she's the Chief Minister's daughter."

I paused, processing his words, then simply replied, "Okay."

He blinked in surprise. "You're not shocked?"

I shrugged lightly. "I mean, we've already cleared up the misunderstanding between us. There's nothing to worry about."

Mansoor Bhaiyya sighed, clearly not satisfied with my casual response. "That's not what I mean."

I raised an eyebrow, sensing there was more to his concern. "Then what do you mean? If you have something to say, just say it straight. Don't beat around the bush."

Mansoor Bhaiyya shifted uncomfortably before continuing, "I know I've been telling you to find a girlfriend, but... she's the Chief Minister's daughter, Shivaay. That's a whole different level of complication."

Before he could finish, I waved my hand dismissively. "Whoa, whoa, slow down. What the hell are you talking about? I literally just met her yesterday! I know you're worried about me, but there's nothing to stress over, bro."

He paused, studying my expression to make sure I was serious. "If you say so," he finally muttered, a hint of concern still lingering in his voice. Then, without another word, he turned and left the kitchen.

I watched him go, shaking my head with a small smile. As Mansoor Bhaiyya left the kitchen, I turned back to the sink, resuming the task of washing the dishes. The rhythmic sound of water splashing against the plates was oddly calming, allowing me to lose myself in thought. But that peace didn't last long.

I felt a presence behind me, a subtle shift in the atmosphere that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Glancing over my shoulder, I saw Sreeleela standing at the kitchen door, her eyes scanning the room before they landed on me. She hesitated for a moment, as if debating whether to say something or not. I let out a small sigh, partly out of curiosity and partly because I knew this wasn't going to be a simple conversation.

"What are you doing here?" I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral as I continued washing the plates.

She stepped closer, her lips curving into a playful smile. "I came to help."

I raised an eyebrow, not entirely sure what her angle was. "You didn't have to."

Sreeleela's smile widened as she took a few more steps closer, stopping just beside me. "But I want to. And don't think I'm too happy to help you—this is just my way of repaying you for the food."

Hearing this, I couldn't help but smile. "No thanks, I don't need your repayment," I said, trying to sound polite but firm.

But Sreeleela wasn't having it. With a determined push, she nudged me aside and stood in front of the sink, her hands already reaching for the dishes. "I'm not asking you, Mr. Shivaay," she retorted, a playful glint in her eyes. "I'm telling you—I'm here to help."

She immediately started washing the plates with an eagerness that was almost comical. I watched her for a moment, amused by the way she handled the dishes with more enthusiasm than skill. It didn't take long for me to notice that she was scrubbing the same plate for what felt like an eternity, and the bubbles from the dish soap were multiplying faster than she could rinse them away.

I leaned against the counter, arms crossed, and couldn't resist pointing out the obvious. "You've never washed dishes before, have you?"

At my question, Sreeleela froze, her shoulders stiffening slightly. She turned her head just enough to look at me, her expression trying to be nonchalant, but the faint blush on her cheeks gave her away. "Of course I have," she said, though her tone wasn't entirely convincing.

I raised an eyebrow, still smiling. "Oh really? Because that plate looks like it's getting a bit too much attention."

She glanced down at the plate she was scrubbing, finally realizing that it was already spotless. She let out a small, embarrassed laugh, the sound light and airy, like she was trying to play it off. "Maybe I'm just being thorough," she said, her voice teasing but also a little defensive.

I chuckled softly, stepping closer. "Or maybe you're just not used to doing this kind of thing," I suggested gently. "It's okay, you know. I didn't expect the Chief Minister's daughter to be an expert at washing dishes."

Seeing that Sreeleela was frozen, I gently took the plate from her hand. "What happened?" I asked, noticing her hesitation.

She looked at me, her expression a mix of uncertainty and surprise. "So, you know?" she said, almost in a whisper.

"Know what?" I responded, trying to keep the conversation light but sensing that there was more to this than just the plates.

"That I'm the CM's daughter," she finally admitted, her voice barely audible, as if she was revealing a secret she had held tightly for too long.

"Yeah," I said with a small nod, "Mansoor Bhaiyya just told me. But wait a minute—you didn't tell your friends, did you?"

Sreeleela shook her head, her eyes lowering as if she was bracing herself for my reaction. I could see the vulnerability she was trying to hide behind her usual confident demeanor. She was no longer the playful girl who had been arguing with me just moments ago.

"Why?" I asked, my voice softer now, trying to understand her decision.

For a moment, there was silence between us, the clattering of plates and the running water from the sink the only sounds in the kitchen. Sreeleela looked down at her hands, which were nervously fidgeting with the hem of her shirt.

"I didn't want them to treat me differently," she finally said, her voice tinged with a mix of frustration and sadness. "I wanted to make friends on my own, not because of who my father is."

Hearing this, I couldn't help but furrow my brow slightly. "Why?" I asked, genuinely curious. "I mean, if they're your true friends, they shouldn't care about your identity."

Sreeleela looked down, fidgeting with the edge of her shirt as if she was still grappling with the idea. "I see," she said nervously, her voice almost trembling. Then, after a brief pause, she looked up at me, her eyes searching mine. "But…aren't you scared that you spent the night with the CM's daughter?"

I almost laughed at the question, but I held back, seeing the seriousness in her eyes. "As I said," I replied, trying to keep my tone light, "don't say weird things. And why should I be scared? In the end, we're just normal human beings."

There was a beat of silence, and then I noticed a change in her expression. It was subtle at first—a softening of the tension around her eyes, the corners of her mouth twitching upwards. Slowly, a smile spread across her face, and her eyes seemed to light up with a happiness that caught me off guard. It wasn't the playful or teasing smile I'd seen before; it was something more genuine, more relieved.

Folding her arms with a playful smile, Sreeleela tilted her head and said, "Now that you know I'm the CM's daughter, you should follow what I say. Let me help." There was a teasing lilt to her voice, but I could see she was serious about wanting to assist. Before I could even respond, she reached out to take the plate from my hands.

I held the plate firmly, raising an eyebrow and smiling. "No thanks, I don't need your help," I replied, my tone light but firm. But she was persistent, her fingers gripping the edge of the plate as she began to tug it from my grasp. "Let me help," she insisted, her determination almost endearing.

In the midst of our playful tug-of-war, her hand brushed against a water glass that was precariously close to the edge of the counter. Time seemed to slow as I watched the glass teeter for a split second before it tipped over. It fell to the floor with a resounding crash, shattering into countless tiny pieces.

Seeing the broken glass shatter across the kitchen floor, Sreeleela quickly crouched down and said, "I'm sorry, I'll clean it up." She reached for the shards, her fingers trembling slightly.

"Sreeleela, stop!" I said, my voice edged with concern. "Don't touch the glass carelessly, you'll hurt yourself."

But she either didn't hear me or chose to ignore my warning, her stubbornness getting the better of her. As her fingers grazed a sharp piece, she winced in pain, a small drop of blood forming on her fingertip. "Ouch!"

I felt a surge of frustration mix with my worry. "Why don't you ever listen to what I say?" I scolded, my tone more irritated than I intended. "Now look, you've cut yourself."

Without thinking, I wrapped an arm around her waist, lifting her as if she weighed nothing, and set her down on the kitchen counter. Her face flushed a deep shade of red, but I was too focused on the situation to notice or care. "Sit here," I ordered, already reaching for the first-aid kit under the sink.

Sreeleela sat quietly, her eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something else—something softer. I could feel her gaze on me as I disinfected the cut on her finger and gently wrapped it with a bandage.

"Why are you so reckless?" I muttered, more to myself than to her. My hands worked with practiced ease, but inside, I was still reeling from how quickly things had escalated. "You need to be more careful."

As I finished bandaging her finger, I quickly turned my attention to cleaning the floor. The sound of glass shards clinking together as I swept them up was the only noise in the kitchen. When I finally completed the task, I moved to the sink and began washing the dishes, the warm water rushing over my hands, offering a moment of quiet focus.

"Shivaay," Sreeleela's voice broke the silence, soft but curious.

"Hmm?" I responded without looking up, still concentrating on the plates.

"I heard from Mansoor Bhaiyya that you're talented in drawing and other stuff," she said, her tone more inquisitive now.

I paused for a moment, then turned to face her, wiping my hands on a dish towel. "Yeah, I do some drawing. What about it?"

She smiled at me, that playful glint returning to her eyes. "So, can you draw me?"

Her request was unexpected, and I raised an eyebrow. "No," I replied flatly, turning back to the dishes.

"You will," she said, giving me a playful punch on the arm, her tone firm yet light-hearted.

I raised an eyebrow, a smirk forming on my lips. "Okay, okay," I conceded, chuckling. "I'll draw you. But what else do you want?"

Her eyes sparkled with a mix of mischief and curiosity. "Well, since you're a writer and a poet, I was wondering—do you also sing?"

I was momentarily taken aback by her question. "Yeah, I can sing," I admitted, trying to gauge her reaction.

Her smile widened, revealing her excitement. "So, can you sing for me?"

I leaned against the counter, crossing my arms, and gave her a serious look. "If I sing for you, you definitely fall for me," I said, my tone deliberately playful but with a hint of earnestness. "And when I say that, I mean it."

Her laughter bubbled up, a melodious sound that softened the tension in the room. She met my gaze with a mix of amusement and genuine interest. "Oh, really? And why would I fall for you?"

I shrugged, trying to keep my tone nonchalant. "Maybe you'll discover something new about yourself," I said, half-joking but also half-serious.

She looked thoughtful for a moment, her eyes studying me with a new level of curiosity. "You know, you're quite confident. But let's see if your singing lives up to that confidence."

I chuckled, feeling a warm flush of satisfaction at her reaction. "Alright, you've got a deal. But don't say I didn't warn you."

As I continued to clean up the dishes, I glanced over at Sreeleela, who was sitting on the counter with a bright, almost mischievous smile. "Sreeleela," I began, "don't you think you're being a bit too friendly with a stranger you just met yesterday?"

Sreeleela looked around the kitchen with a mock puzzled expression. "Stranger? Where? I don't see any stranger."

I sighed, putting the dish in my hand aside. "I'm talking about myself."

Her smile widened as she met my gaze. "But haven't we already become friends? And you can call me Leela, not Sreeleela."

I chuckled, shaking my head. "You're weird."

Leela's eyes sparkled with amusement. "Well, isn't that great? You're weird, and I'm weird. We're basically best friends now."

I raised an eyebrow, still skeptical. "I'm not your best friend."

Leela, however, was persistent. "You are."

I tried to hold my ground. "I'm not."

Her smile was unwavering. "No, you are."

I couldn't help but smile at her stubbornness. "Fine, fine. If you say so."

She clapped her hands together, clearly pleased with the outcome. "Good! And since we're best friends now, you owe me a drawing and a song."

I laughed softly, shaking my head as I returned to cleaning the last of the dishes. "You're really something else, you know that?"

Leela watched me with a grin. "I'll take that as a compliment. And remember, I'm holding you to that promise!"

Leela leaned forward, her curiosity clearly piqued. "So, Shivaay, what do you want to be? I heard from Mansoor that you already have degrees in various fields. What's your dream? What do you want to become?"

I glanced at her and sighed, a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. "I feel like this conversation is getting weirder and weirder."

Leela's eyes sparkled with mischief. "Tell me. I'm genuinely curious."

I raised an eyebrow and crossed my arms. "Why do I have to be the one answering? You should tell me more about yourself first."

Leela's eyes sparkled with frustration as she playfully punched me in the arm. "Answer the dame question," she demanded with a grin.

I raised my hands in mock surrender. "I didn't want to be anything," I replied.

Leela furrowed her brow, clearly puzzled. "What do you mean by that?"

I leaned back against the counter, a thoughtful expression on my face. "Once you become Shivaay, you don't need to be anything."

Leela's frustration turned to bewilderment. "Can't you give me just a normal answer? Something more specific?"

I shook my head, a small smile playing at my lips. "That's my answer. I'm already who I want to be."

Leela rolled her eyes, exasperated but amused. "You and your cryptic answers. Sometimes, I wonder how you manage to be so… you."

I laughed softly, shaking my head. "I guess it's just part of who I am. But if it makes you feel better, I guess you could say that I'm just enjoying the journey of life, seeing where it takes me."

Leela sighed, a smile tugging at her lips despite her annoyance. "Fine, I'll accept that answer. But don't think you've escaped from giving me a real answer next time."

I raised an eyebrow playfully. "I'll keep that in mind."

Leela's eyes softened, and she gave me a friendly nudge. "You're impossible, you know that?"

I chuckled, appreciating the easy camaraderie between us. "And you're not so bad yourself."

As we continued to clean up, the playful banter and the genuine connection made the task feel lighter. After I finished washing the plates and we moved back into the living room, I noticed Leela, her friends, Mansoor, and Maya lounging comfortably on the sofa, engrossed in the TV show. The light from the screen flickered across their faces, adding a relaxed ambiance to the room.

I looked at the time and realized it was getting late. Glancing at Leela, I said, "Leela, are you planning to go home after dinner?"

Leela turned her gaze from the screen, a warm smile spreading across her face. "That sounds like a good idea, Shivaay. I really want to enjoy more of your handmade food."

Hearing this I said firmly, "Get out of my house. It's time for you to go home."

Leela and her friends rose from the sofa, a mixture of reluctance and amusement on their faces. Leela, her smile never fading, approached me with a playful glint in her eye. "Okay, we're going. Don't be angry. But before we leave, give me your number."

I raised an eyebrow, curious. "Why do you need my number?"

Leela's grin widened. "Well, of course, I want my best friend's phone number."

I sighed, exasperated but amused. "Alright, alright. Here's my number."

Leela took the number with a satisfied smile. As she and her friends gathered their things, the atmosphere in the room shifted from the tension of earlier to a more relaxed and warm farewell.

Mansoor Bhaiyya, who had been quietly observing the interaction, stepped forward. "I'll drop them near the bar to pick up Chitra's car," he said.

"Thanks, Mansoor Bhaiyya," I replied, grateful for his help.

With a final round of goodbyes they left my house. The door closed behind them with a soft click, and I was left in the quiet of my house.

I couldn't help but smile, thinking about Leela's lively personality and the way she had effortlessly slipped into my life.

The evening had ended on a surprisingly high note, leaving me with a sense of anticipation for what the future might bring.

(A/N:If you want to support me, please use this UPI:-omgadekar29@oksbi "Om Gadekar")

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