Chapter 10: CHAPTER 10

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, the kind I usually appreciated. The house was still, save for the faint sound of Kruti humming something off-key in the living room. I was perched on the couch, my laptop balanced on my knees as I tried to focus on some work.

She was sitting cross-legged on the other end of the couch, fiddling with her hair. I noticed her growing frustration as she tried to tame the stubborn strands into a braid.

She muttered under her breath, the words too low to catch, but the exasperation in her voice was unmistakable.

"Ugh, this is impossible!" she finally huffed, dropping her hands and glaring at the comb in her lap as if it had personally offended her.

I bit back a smirk, keeping my eyes on the screen in front of me. Knowing her, she’d probably turn her attention to me next, demanding some sort of solution.

“Dev,” she called softly, drawing out my name in that sing-song tone she used when she wanted something.

I ignored her.

“Devansh,” she tried again, her voice a little firmer this time.

Still, I pretended not to hear, typing away as if I were too engrossed in my work to notice her.

Then came the poke.

Her finger jabbed into my cheek, startling me out of my faux concentration. I turned to glare at her, only to find her leaning in close, her big, puppy-dog eyes fixed on me.

“What?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral.

She didn’t answer right away, just blinked at me with those imploring eyes. I sighed, closing my laptop with an audible click and setting it on the coffee table.

“What is it, Kruti?”

“My hair,” she said, gesturing at the tangled mess atop her head. “It’s a disaster.”

“Help you?” I repeated, arching an eyebrow. “What do you expect me to do about it?”

“Brush it,” she said simply, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

I stared at her, unsure if she was serious. “Why can’t you do it yourself?”

“I’ve been trying!” she exclaimed, holding up the comb as proof. “But it’s not working. My arms are tired, and it’s all knotted.”

Her voice softened at the end, and those eyes... those damned eyes. They had a way of breaking through my defenses, no matter how much I tried to resist.

I sighed heavily, leaning back against the couch. “Fine. Give me the comb.”

Her face lit up like a kid on diwali morning. “Thank you!”

She scooted closer, handing me the comb and turning around so her back was to me. Her hair fell in a cascade down her shoulders, long and thick, with just enough waves to make it a challenge.

“Sit still,” I muttered, lifting the comb to begin the tedious task of detangling her hair.

“Ow!” she yelped as I hit a particularly stubborn knot.

“Stop moving,” I said, my tone sharper than intended.

“Well, stop yanking my hair!” she shot back, twisting around to glare at me.

“It’s tangled,” I said, meeting her glare with one of my own. “It’s going to hurt a little. Just bear with it.”

She huffed but turned back around, muttering something under her breath that I didn’t bother to catch.

As I worked through the knots, I found myself oddly focused. Her hair was soft, and the rhythmic motion of combing was almost... soothing.

“You’re getting good at this,” she said suddenly, breaking the silence.

“Don’t start,” I warned, knowing exactly where this was headed.

“I mean it,” she continued, her tone teasing now. “You’re so gentle. I never would’ve guessed you had it in you, Professor Singhania.”

“Kruti...”

“You’re like a completely different person when you’re doing this,” she went on, ignoring my warning. “So soft and caring. Almost like...”

“Don’t say it,” I interrupted, already regretting my decision to help her.

“Almost like you’re turning into a softie,” she finished, her voice dripping with mock sweetness.

I froze for a moment, my grip on the comb tightening. “I am not a softie,” I said firmly.

“Sure, you’re not,” she said, her tone making it clear she didn’t believe me.

I resumed brushing, trying to ignore the heat rising to my cheeks. Why did she have to be so insufferable?

“You’re blushing,” she said suddenly, her voice filled with glee.

“I am not,” I said quickly, though the warmth in my face betrayed me.

“You totally are!” she exclaimed, twisting around to look at me again. “Oh my God, Dev, you’re adorable.”

“Stop it,” I muttered, feeling more flustered by the second.

She laughed, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I never thought I’d see the day. The great Devansh Singhania, blushing because of a little old me.”

“Kruti, if you don’t stop talking—”

“What?” she challenged, grinning from ear to ear. “What are you going to do?”

I didn’t have an answer for that, so I did the only thing I could think of: I flicked her on the forehead.

“Hey!” she yelped, rubbing her forehead and glaring at me. “What was that for?”

“For being annoying,” I said, though I couldn’t help the small smile tugging at my lips.

She pouted, crossing her arms. “You’re so mean.”

“And you’re impossible,” I shot back, setting the comb down on the coffee table.

“I mean… Dev,” she continued. “You’re not as grumpy as you like to pretend. Deep down, you’re actually a good guy.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. “Don’t read too much into it. I just wanted you to stop whining.”

She chuckled, reaching out to poke my cheek again. “You’re really cute when you’re flustered, you know that?”

“I am not flustered,” I said firmly, swatting her hand away.

“Sure, sure,” she said, her tone teasing. “Whatever you say, professor.”

I gave her a pointed look. “Don’t call me that.”

“Why not?” she asked, grinning. “It’s technically accurate, isn’t it?”

“Kruti—”

“Alright, alright,” she said, holding up her hands in surrender. “I’ll stop. For now.”

I sighed, leaning back against the couch. “Very good. And I hate you!”

“Oh— I love you too!,” she said, smirking.

I didn’t respond, choosing to focus on the laptop in front of me instead. But as I resumed my work, I couldn’t ignore the faint smile tugging at the corners of my lips.