Vikrant :

I was a real mess in almost everything, I knew it.
Yesterday Nikita had shouted at me and explained that obviously Simran had some expectations from me, and I went and broke her heart.

Fine.
I understand things late.
I am sorry.

I was sitting on my bed nervously when there was a knock at the door. I immediately stood up and opened the door to find her standing opposite to me with a balm in her hand.

"Yeah..", I mumbled as I let her in.

"By the way, where is Arshika?", she asked as I sat on the bed.
"Ah.. Didn't she tell you? She's off to Mauritius for some seminar.", I replied.
"Oh.. Probably she forgot.", Simran said as she went and sat behind me.

"You've got to remove your shirt.", she said as I immediately unbuttoned my white formal shirt and kept it beside me.

"I hope you're not uncomfortable and stuff.. I mean..", I mumbled.
"No, why would I be uncomfortable?", she asked.
We were facing my dressing table mirror, and I kept looking at her. She took the balm, put it on both her palms and then started massaging my shoulder.

"Ah.. You're good at this stuff.", I said almost involuntarily. It was so damn comforting.
All these years Rizwan had done this and it had barely given me any comfort.

"Thank you.", she said with a smile. She was focussed on my shoulder so probably didn't catch me staring at her.

"You've got a stitch?", she asked noticing the scar.
"Yeah, got my shoulder dislocated twice."
She gave me that shocked expression.
"How?", her voice was full of shock.

"Okay..", I drew in a deep breath, "I did action sequences in Bollywood movies.. So got dislocated once there. And second time, well it was while playing gully cricket."

"Wait, you've been in movies."

"Yes, for like 2 seconds."

Her shocked face changed into a heartwarming smile that sent happiness through my being.

"Honestly I've been an air hostress for like 2 years before I got into interior designing.", she said as I smiled back at her.

"You like photographs?", she asked.
"Yeah.. I've got so many photo albums. In fact I love to keep my memories. I've been writing diaries since I was around fourteen. Its all kept in that closet.", I said.

She smiled.

I kept looking at her beautiful face.. Ah, something told me there was a lot she hid behind her loving smile.

I wish I could know it.

...

Simran :

My phone buzzed. It was around five in the morning when I sat up. My mood was back to being all nice and happy.

"Hello..", I said, still wiping my eyes.
"Good morning.", I instantly recognized the voice.
"Manav."

"Yes.", he said.
"What can I do for you now?", I asked in a serious tone.
"Nah.. Nothing much. Just wanted to check on you for a while. Also, I'm in Mauritius.", he said.

"Good.", I replied simply.
"Yes. Anyways have a great day.", saying so he hung up.

Wow, what a morning call.
I thought. Maybe he wanted to say something but just didn't.

Two of my dogs were sleeping with me on my bed. I just caressed their backs and got off the bed. My cat Bagheera was totally in love with Sher Khan, so now he pretended to not know me.

I kept the phone on the dressing table where I noticed that booklet of rules.

"He doesn't talk of these rules anymore now.", I mumbled as I picked it up and opened it.
The first rule on the page I opened read, "Do not touch the owner of the house, Vikrant Suryavanshi, since he has a problem with touch. "

Do not touch?
It made really little sense now because he just made me massage his shoulder yesterday.

Wait.

A memory resurfaced involuntarily, and suddenly I felt a chill down my spine.

I immediately rushed out of my room to his, and slowly opened the door. I tip toed inside.

He had spoken of Diaries he wrote. He was not in the bedroom, anyways he usually woke up really early so maybe he was off to his gym.

I opened the closet and started searching for the diary with an old year. And there it was. Right on the top.

I opened the brown leather cover diary.

The front page read,
"The Dance School and A Girl", was written in bold and belong it in a terrible handwriting was written, "I hate her."

I gulped nervously.
My fingers were ice cold by now.

I opened a random page.
The handwriting was untidy, as if it was written hastily,
"She made fun of me.. She made fun of my trauma.. I hate her! How could I even like her! Such a heartless wrench!"

"Simran!", his enraged voice echoed through the room, as the diary slipped off my hand.

....

The secret is out!
What will happen next?

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