His answer is a smile, slow and certain.
And then he kisses me again.
CHAPTER 39
ABHIMAAN
I don’t believe in perfect days.
I’ve never had one. Not when you grow up the way I did—counting bruises instead of birthdays, measuring your worth by how silent you can stay. Life’s never handed me beauty without cost. So I don’t trust it.
But right now, with Aditi’s hand curled loosely around mine as we walk through the quieter part of the city, where even the traffic sounds like it’s holding its breath—I can’t help but wonder if maybe... just maybe... this could be one.
She hasn’t asked me where we’re going. She just followed me with that calm confidence of hers, like she knew I’d take her somewhere that mattered.
We stop in front of the old library—tucked between two buildings like a forgotten secret. Ivy covers most of the faded sign, and the windows are smudged with time.
She looks up at it, then at me. Her eyes narrow slightly, like she’s trying to figure out if I’ve lost my mind.
“This is it?” she asks, half-smiling.
I reach into my pocket and pull out the brass key. It’s cool against my skin—heavier than it should be, considering how long I’ve been carrying it. I press it into her hand.
She looks down at it, then up again, brows pinched together. “What’s this?”
“Your library.” She looks at me as if I have lost my mind.
And then she laughs. It’s soft, surprised, the kind that pulls something tight in my chest.
“Abhimaan,” she says like it’s a joke, like I’m kidding.
I don’t respond. Just unlock the door and push it open.
“Come inside,” I murmur.
She steps in, and I follow. And then she just... stops.
The room is quiet—still—and filled with a soft golden glow. I’d spent hours looping fairy lights across the tops of shelves and over window frames. The old wooden tables are polished, and the floor is swept clean. It smells like worn pages and a little bit of cinnamon from the diffuser one of the helpers insisted on sneaking in.
Every shelf is full. Not with bestsellers, because I got to know she is an indie supporter. I must admit, it’s quite difficult to order indie books, but nothing I cannot handle. I don’t say anything. I watch her.
Her eyes sweep the room, her mouth parted slightly, fingers still curled around the key like she forgot she was holding it.
“You did this?” she whispers.
I shrug. “Yeah.”
She turns to me slowly. “You bought a library?”
“She was retiring,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Didn’t want to sell to some chain. I made her an offer.”
Her face twists in disbelief. “But… this must’ve cost you crores, Abhimaan.”
I frown. “So?”
She stares at me for a second, like she’s waiting for me to laugh. When I don’t, she lets out this little huff of air and shakes her head. Then—out of nowhere—she smiles, wide and real.
“You’re cute,” she says.
