Thirty Days Under His Roof

The fire wasn’t big.

Just a small electrical short circuit.

But enough to fill our flat with smoke and force everyone out for a cleaning repair.

Appa kept repeating,

“It will take two or three days only… maybe a week.”

A week.

With no place to stay.

Before I could even suggest a hotel, Amma already dialled someone’s number.

I knew that ringtone.

I knew that voice when he picked up.

Shubman.

My heart dropped to my stomach.

“Beta,” Amma tells him, “our house is unsafe right now. Can our daughter stay in your guest room for a few days? You’re like family.”

LIKE FAMILY?

WAS THAT A JOKE?

I whispered, “Amma, NO—”

Too late.

He agreed.

And now I’m standing outside his door, suitcase in hand, annoyed at the universe.

He opens the door.

Black T-shirt.

Grey sweatpants.

Hair messy like he just rolled out of bed.

Of course he looks stupidly good.

He steps aside.

“You can come in.”

“I don’t want to,” I mumble.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Then why are you here?”

I glare.

He smirks.

Same old dynamic.

Inside, everything smells like him—mint, cologne, and something clean.

I hate how familiar it feels.

He points toward a room.

“That’s your space. Separate bathroom. Don’t worry, I won’t disturb you.”

“Good. Don’t.”

He laughs under his breath.

“You still talk like you’re fighting an invisible war.”

“And you still annoy me without even trying.”

His smile fades.

Just a second.

Like something hit him.

“Look…” he starts, scratching his neck awkwardly, “that thing I said when we were kids—”

“Don’t,” I interrupt sharply.

“I don’t want your apology. I don’t want anything.”

He goes silent.

For the first time ever, he doesn’t argue back.

Just quietly nods and turns away.

Why does that make my chest feel weird?

---

LATER THAT NIGHT

I’m lying on the guest bed, scrolling my phone, trying not to think about him.

Suddenly—

Knock. Knock.

I open the door slightly.

He’s standing there holding a tray.

“Amma told me you didn’t eat. So…”

A bowl of hot dal.

Chapati.

And water.

I stare at him.

“Why are you being nice?”

He looks annoyed now.

“I’m not being nice. You just look like you’d faint if the wind blows.”

I cross my arms.

“You’re acting like a human for the first time.”

He rolls his eyes.

“Don’t push it.”

A small silence.

Soft.

Awkward.

Then he says, quietly—

“You can relax here. Even if you hate me… you’re safe.”

My breath catches.

Why does that feel sincere?

I take the tray from him.

Our fingers almost touch.

Almost.

He steps back quickly, clearing his throat.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” I whisper before I can stop myself.

I close the door and lean against it, heart racing for reasons I don’t understand.

This is just temporary.

Just a few days.

Just two people who can’t stand each other under one roof.

Nothing else.

Right?

But deep down, I know something has already shifted.

We weren’t meant to fall.

But maybe…

the fall has just begun.

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