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___________________________. A Glimmer of Guilt, a Different   Allure.

The mansion settled into a tense quiet after Sidharth's outburst. He mostly stayed away from Shehnaaz, but the heavy atmosphere of his anger lingered.

One afternoon, Shehnaaz found herself in the large, usually empty kitchen. Cooking had always been her comfort, a way to feel normal.

The chefs were mostly out, preparing for the evening meal later. Shehnaaz, wearing a simple cotton salwar kameez, was quietly chopping vegetables, the familiar rhythm soothing her frayed nerves. The aroma of spices filled the air, a small piece of her old life in this unfamiliar place.

Sidharth, unexpectedly, walked into the kitchen. He looked surprised to see her there, dressed simply, her hair pulled back, focused on the task at hand. He usually saw her in more formal attire. There was a different kind of quiet grace about her in that moment, a naturalness that caught his attention.

He stood by the doorway, watching her for a moment without her noticing. A flicker of something akin to guilt crossed his face, a fleeting acknowledgment of the terror he had inflicted.

The image of her fear-stricken eyes from the basement still lingered in his memory, a discordant note in his carefully controlled world.

He found himself observing the delicate way her hands moved, the concentration on her face. There was an innocent beauty in her simple act, a stark contrast to the darkness he inhabited. He felt a strange pull towards that innocence, a magnetic attraction to the light he had so forcefully brought into his shadows. It wasn't the possessive urge he usually felt, but something softer, almost… longing.

Shehnaaz finally turned, noticing him standing there. She tensed, her earlier calm replaced by a flicker of fear.

Sidharth didn't say anything for a moment, just looking at her in her simple clothes, the scent of spices surrounding her. Then, in a low voice, a hint of something unreadable in his tone, he simply said, "What are you doing?"

Shehnaaz hesitated, then replied softly, "Just… cooking. It helps me."

Sidharth continued to watch her, a silent battle seemingly raging within him. The cold-hearted exterior he usually projected seemed to waver slightly, replaced by a complicated mix of guilt and an unexpected, nascent attraction to the simple innocence she exuded.

Sidharth watched Shehnaaz as she cooked. He saw how natural she looked in her simple clothes, moving easily around the kitchen.

The smell of her cooking filled the air, a warm and inviting scent that was new to this usually silent part of the mansion.

He felt a strange mix of feelings. The anger from the basement incident was still there, a dark cloud. But seeing her like this, so focused and calm, stirred something else.

A flicker of guilt passed through him, a quick memory of her terrified face. He also felt a pull, a quiet attraction to her simple, everyday beauty, so different from the cold world he lived in.

"What are you making?" he asked, his voice softer than she expected, almost curious.

Shehnaaz looked up, surprised by his gentler tone. "Just some lentil soup," she said, pointing to a pot. "And flatbread."

Sidharth walked a little closer, standing by the large kitchen island. He watched her knead the dough for the bread, her movements smooth and practiced. He felt a rare moment of calm in her presence. It was a stark contrast to his usual day, filled with tough decisions and dangerous dealings.

He saw the small scar on her hand, a tiny imperfection that made her seem more real. He remembered how small her hand felt when he grabbed her arm. A shadow crossed his face, but he quickly pushed it away.

"It smells good," he finally said, almost to himself. It wasn't a compliment, but it wasn't a command either. It was just an observation.

Shehnaaz glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. This was different. He wasn't yelling, he wasn't demanding. He was just... there. In her space, but not threatening it. The shared silence in the warm kitchen felt strange, but not entirely unwelcome.It was a brief moment where the lines between captor and captive seemed to blur, just a little.

Sidharth stayed in the kitchen, watching Shehnaaz. The scent of her cooking was warm and comforting, a stark contrast to the usual coldness of the mansion. He felt a deep sense of guilt stir within him as he remembered her terrified face from the basement. Yet, he also felt a strong attraction to her, to the simple, honest way she was in this moment.

"You like to cook?" he asked, his voice low.

Shehnaaz nodded slowly. "Yes. It helps me feel… normal."

Sidharth looked away, his gaze falling on the flickering flames beneath a pot.

Normal. That word felt alien to him. His life was anything but normal. For a rare moment, he felt a pang of loneliness, a deep sense of isolation from the kind of simple happiness Shehnaaz found in her kitchen.

He cleared his throat. "The staff can prepare anything you wish. You don't need to do this."

"I know," Shehnaaz replied, stirring the soup. "But I want to. It's… my choice."

Sidharth looked at her again. Her words, "my choice," hung in the air. He had taken so many of her choices away. Seeing her find solace in this simple act, claiming this small bit of agency, was unexpected.

He watched her for a few more silent moments, a complicated mix of admiration, guilt, and the unsettling pull of her presence swirling within him.

The kitchen, usually a place of sterile efficiency, felt warm and alive with her in it. He felt an urge to stay, to just exist in that quiet, warm space.

But the world he truly belonged to, the world of shadows and hard decisions, called to him. He knew he couldn't stay. He turned abruptly, heading towards the kitchen door.

"Leave some for me," he said, his voice curt, before walking out.

Shehnaaz paused, a slight frown on her face. Leave some for me? It wasn't a request, but a subtle demand, yet it carried an unusual hint of something else – a desire to share, to be part of the small, normal world she had created.

The cold, powerful man had just shown a fleeting vulnerability, a silent plea for a taste of the normalcy she represented. In the heart of his shadow, a tiny, almost imperceptible bridge had been built over a bowl of soup.

Shehnaaz finished preparing the lentil soup and flatbread, her mind replaying Sidharth's unusual request.

"Leave some for me." It was a simple phrase, yet it carried an undertone that resonated with her. After her terrifying experience in the basement, this small act felt like a bewildering olive branch.

Later that evening, Shehnaaz ate her dinner in her room as usual. But shortly after, Rohan arrived, carrying a tray. "Mr. Shukla has requested you join him in the main dining room, Mrs. Shukla." His voice was neutral, but his eyes held a flicker of surprise.

Shehnaaz's heart fluttered with a mix of apprehension and a strange curiosity. This was new. She followed Rohan to the grand dining room.

Sidharth was already seated at the head of the long table, the very same lentil soup and flatbread she had made now served before him.

He looked up as she entered, his gaze unreadable. He gestured to the seat opposite him. "Sit." It was a command, but softer than usual.

Shehnaaz sat, her movements hesitant. The silence was thick, filled with the clinking of cutlery as Sidharth calmly ate the soup. He seemed different tonight, less like the raging monster of the basement and more like a man lost in thought. He didn't speak of the previous night's events, nor did Shehnaaz dare to.

He ate slowly, savouring the food.

Shehnaaz watched him, noticing how the harsh lines around his mouth softened slightly as he tasted the familiar, comforting flavours. It was a stark contrast to the cold, ruthless man she knew.

After a few quiet minutes, Sidharth looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers.

"It's good," he said, his voice low, a genuine note of appreciation in it.

Shehnaaz felt a small, unexpected warmth spread through her.

A tiny part of her felt a connection, a shared moment over a simple meal. But the memory of the basement, the brutal scene she had witnessed, quickly extinguished that fragile feeling.

The meal continued in silence, a strange, unspoken truce hanging between them. Sidharth had shown a momentary guilt, a subtle attraction, and now, a quiet appreciation.

But Shehnaaz was left with a lingering question: could a man capable of such cruelty truly be capable of such quiet moments of normalcy, or was it just another layer of the intricate shadow he cast?

___________________________

So, how was the update.

* What do you make of Sidharth's sudden guilt and attraction towards Shehnaaz in this scene? Is it genuine, or just a temporary feeling?

* How do you think Shehnaaz interprets Sidharth's unexpected presence and his strange behavior in the kitchen?

VOTE/COMMENT/FOLLOW

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