That Same Old Love (A Second Chance Romance) (India) (Match Made in Hell series Book 1)

by MV Kasi

  She tried to slap him with her free hand, but he stopped her, and held both her hands. She struggled furiously, to free her hands, and to claw his face for making her humiliate herself.

  Watching her grimly, Samrat waited for her to calm down.

  And that's how Sidhu found them.

  "Mahi?"

  When Sidhu looked at them questioningly, she struggled again to free herself from Samrat's hold. That time he let her go.

  "Sidhu!" she said and ran to him and hugged him tightly, while also managing to squeeze out some tears.

  "Are you alright?" Sidhu asked her gently as he held her.

  "No. I'm not," she said with her voice trembling and accused Samrat of grabbing her and then forcibly kissing her.

  Soon her voice rose and she became hysterical. Their other classmates and friends from the party heard her shout, and gathered around them, and she repeated her accusations again in front of everyone.

  Samrat was silent all the while and he didn't defend himself.

  Even Sidhu looked torn, since he knew her pretty well.

  But she had goaded Sidhu to defend her honor by hitting Samrat. Sidhu had no choice, but to punch him. And Samrat didn't lift a finger in defense. He simply left the party right away with his friends.

  PRESENT

  Mahi cringed, recalling Samrat's expression when she hurled those false accusations in front of everyone. She wanted to go back in time as her thirty four year old self and slap some sense into her twenty one year old self brat. Maybe even sit on top of her to have a long talk with that messed up kid.

  "God, what was I thinking, when I accused him with those horrible allegations, and just because he rejected my drunken advances. No wonder he hates me even now," she muttered as she stepped out of the shower and quickly dried herself.

  She decided to skip the moisturizer, since it was already pretty humid and hot, and wore a comfortable long mid-thigh length Minnie Mouse night shirt with loose cotton pajamas.

  The past fourteen years had changed her a lot, in both appearance and in her mind.

  She had never been classically beautiful to begin with, and at thirty four she was no longer striking, as some people had described her during her teens and in her twenties. Her five feet five inches body had filled out, making her look like a woman and no longer a young girl.

  But she knew that some of that sarcastic attention seeking teenager still lived inside her, and probably would remain there, until the day she died. The only good thing was that she had changed considerably and could have more control on herself.

  She got out of the bathroom, and remembered that there was no food at home except for a couple of granola bars in one of her bags. She was way too tired to bother with some chores or shopping. So she simply lay down on the bed, and stared at the rotating ceiling fan, recalling the main reason she had wanted to move back to India.

  Mahi, most of us are hit by tragedies one way or the other, and curse our fates. But fate is not our enemy. We are. When you lock yourself away from the world and retreat to yourself, you are destroying any chance of happiness you may ever find in your future. You can never control your life, but you can choose who you want to be, and what you want your life to be like.

  After her aunt had said those words, she felt ashamed. Her aunt didn't have much choice on whether or not she could live. But she did.

  At that instant she knew that there was still a lot of fight left inside her, making her want to grab the chance to start over. She didn't want to be that broken person anymore, drowning in self-pity.

  Soon she had purchased her parents’ house—who were more than willing to sell—and flew to Hyderabad with all her belongings.

  Just then, her stomach grumbled loudly, interrupting her thoughts. Feeling hungry all of a sudden, she walked into the living room where her bags were still lying unpacked.

  She got out the cell phone and put on the headphones before playing songs from her music list. She sat next to one of the bags and began to rummage through it, looking for the protein bars.

  It was getting really hot, making her break into a slight sweat in-spite of her recent shower.

  Deciding not to take her top off, she removed her pajamas to cool down.

  She sighed loudly in relief as soon as she felt the cool breeze on her legs, and continued to dig through the bags.

  By the time she found the protein bars, the floor was littered with her clothes and other belongings. She was just about to tear one of them open, when she had a weird feeling that someone was behind her, and was watching her.

  She quickly turned around and almost had a heart attack seeing someone standing inside the wide open door.

  CHAPTER 5

  "What the hell!" Mahi shouted, pulling out her headphones, and glaring at Samrat.

  Samrat didn't seem very concerned. "Your house looks very...lived in already."

  He was looking at the mess on the floor in distaste.

  "Is that why you broke into my house? To comment on my cleanliness?" she demanded.

  He didn't respond, and his gaze shifted towards her, to notice what she wore or was not wearing.

  "Eyes on my face mister!" she snapped out.

  She was sitting on the floor with crossed legs, but got up slightly and knelt on her knees, concealing her underwear and legs. "Why are you here? If you’re here for another macho grabby session, then I'm really not in a mood. And if you try anything, I will knee you hard, making it impossible to have any future progeny."

  He cracked a tiny smile. "I'll keep that in mind. The door was not locked and I have been ringing the doorbell from the past ten minutes. I think it's broken...Are you always this friendly with your guests or am I an exception?"

  "An exception. You interrupted my brunch. I was going back to bed for a nap after that...that's why the current attire," she explained unnecessarily, while chewing on the granola bar. Both her tongue and stomach were howling in protest at the first bite.

  "That...thing is your breakfast?" he asked, looking at the bar in disgust.

  "Hey! Don't knock down a power bar. It has oats, nuts and honey, all of the things that make an ultimate breakfast. Although, currently my stomach is trying very hard not to shoot it back up."

  He appeared thoughtful. "I'm sure you can save your ultimate breakfast for later. Why don't you come over to my place, I have some breakfast left from this morning," he suggested.

  She narrowed her eyes. "Said the spider to the fly...What makes you think I'd go back to your house with no witnesses? I've already taken a huge risk getting inside a while ago. Way too many places to hide my body in that weird futuristic house of yours. And you hold the biggest grudge against me in the entire nation."

  Samrat smiled slightly again. "I'm very tempted by that mental image of your lifeless body in my house. But I really want you to come home for breakfast. I have something to discuss with you. It's something regarding your lands in Tellapur."

  She grinned victoriously. "Aha! I knew you wanted to feed me to ask for something in return. Not out of the generosity of your heart for a poor starving woman."

  He raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty generous when it comes to poor starving women, but I draw a line at mean psychopaths, bent on destruction," he said expressionlessly.

  "Oh please...you're making me blush with your compliments," she said, grinning.

  He scoffed. "Let's go. The breakfast will get cold soon." And then he looked at her legs again. "Put on some more clothes first. I don't want you to cause a heart attack. There are mostly retired sixty plus year olds living in our neighborhood."

  She rolled her eyes. "Oh please. It'll probably brighten up their day. It's hotter than hell, and it's only eight thirty in the morning. I'm dreading to think how the rest of the day would be like."

  "You grew up here, you'll get used to it soon," he said simply.

  Mahi pulled out a knee length cotton skirt along with an airy top from the heap and stood up. "Easy for you to say that. Yo
u can wear shorts at thirty five and prance around wherever, while I need to cover up decently, or I'll be accused of being a loose and tainted woman."

  Samrat was still looking at her legs. "No one will care what you wear here either. Most people in the city have changed their mindset since the past fourteen years. As long as you don't walk around in your underwear, you are fine."

  She smiled knowingly to herself, as she knew her legs were the only things that remained the same in the last fourteen years, and they were pretty good, even if she thought so herself.

  "Okay. I'll be right back. Meantime, make yourself useful and stuff all my things back into the bags," she instructed, and walked away with a grin into the bedroom to change.

  The last comment was to needle him. For some reason, she felt the need to shake up his calm and cool exterior.

  By the time she wore her skirt and put on some light make up, and came out of the room, her bags were neatly arranged and placed in a corner.

  "How did you do that so fast?" she asked him in slight shock as she hadn't expected him to take her seriously. "I didn't know billionaire entrepreneurs knew how to fold clothes."

  "You don't know anything about me," he stated. "I do a lot of things on my own. I hate any kind of mess. And something tells me I'll always find one when I'm around you," he said with a slight grimace, as though hoping she wasn't staying long enough for him to find that out.

  Mahi locked up behind her and walked next to him. "Hah! Just because I don't have an OCD like you, doesn't mean I'm messy. I did plenty of house work in the last fourteen years."

  His eyebrow rose at that, but didn't comment.

  "Speaking of your OCDs, you must be driving people crazy. Are you married?" she asked.

  He didn't answer right away and neither did he have any expression.

  "I was. My wife passed away five years ago," he replied finally.

  Mahi didn't know how to react to that news, and she was bad when it came to offering or receiving any sort of condolences from near strangers. So she simply nodded.

  "So tell me about your parents. What did they think about you moving back here after so many years of living abroad?" he asked.

  She knew they didn't care. If anything, they were relieved that she wouldn't be hanging around them while they pretended to care in front of others.

  When she called her mother after Dinesh hit her for the first time, her dear mother doled out motherly advice to hang on to the marriage and keep the abusive husband satisfied in bed. Stupid that she was, she had gone with her mother's advice only to be called a slut and other derogatory terms.

  And life hadn't gotten any easier with Dinesh. His moods kept changing each minute. It was like walking on eggshells, not knowing what would trigger him off.

  She had thought of leaving him initially, within the first few months of marriage, but her father told her to hang on because he didn't want to be an outcast in the society by having a divorced daughter.

  She shook her head to stop thinking about her past and instead focused on present.

  Samrat stopped in front of his door and was entering some code on a complicated looking lock. "Everyone in your family must be worried, about you living by yourself for an undetermined period of time, in what must be now a strange place for you," he said, obviously trying to fish out information on when she was planning on returning back to the United States.

  She looked at him and smirked slightly. "What's this insane curiosity about my life? I hope you're not vetting me for wife number two, because I'm really not interested to ever marry again. I love being free as a bird to do what I want, without having anyone breathing down my neck. And I need another man in my life...like I need a bullet to my head."

  Samrat looked up from the lock and his gaze swept over her. "Neither am I interested to marry again. And even if I were to marry you, I think you would accidentally end up dying a gruesome death within the first week of marriage. A bullet to your head would sound merciful compared to what I would plan," he said casually, opening his door to lead the way.

  She grinned. "I've been threatened with worse. So if you're not looking to make me your bride, then let's just stop the grilling sessions and remain silent for a while, shall we? Or at least until I eat something. I'm about to pass out from low sugar in this sweltering heat. I should have finished that darn granola bar."

  He smiled slightly and continued to lead the way. They passed through an impressive dining room that had a large white rectangular marble table and chairs.

  She was about to sit down, when Samrat said, "Not here," and led them into the kitchen.

  The kitchen looked ultra-modern too with a lot of appliances. There was also a small breakfast nook with a table and four chairs.

  "Get two plates from that shelf and I'll get the food," he instructed.

  She got them and placed them on the small round table. Meantime, he got a large hot pack and a medium sized bowl. When he opened the lids, her eyes rolled over and she almost drooled at the sight of food. She quickly served herself four idlis while he passed on the coconut chutney.

  She took a huge bite and almost moaned. "They taste amazing. Who cooks for you? I'm definitely going to steal the cook," she told him, dipping an idli in the chutney with her hand.

  She quickly polished four idlis in less than five minutes.

  Meantime, he was eating elegantly with a spoon and watching her.

  She looked up and saw him. "I was hungry," she told him defensively. "And by the way sunny California is almost never too warm most of the year for the idli batter to ferment well. So, good idli's are like some exotic treat."

  He looked surprised. "You cook?"

  She wanted to reply with a sarcastic remark, but since he fed her, she was in a generous mood. "Yeah. It was one of the things that kept me sane most of the time."

  She expected him to pry more, but he thankfully didn't ask or comment. "Do you cook?" she asked.

  "Not really. I can cook, but I choose not to. I have someone come in during the mornings and evenings to prepare food for me every day. And since my cook has known me for over ten years, he's very loyal to me. So you won't be able to steal him from me," he told her in slight warning.

  "We'll see," she said cryptically.

  He served himself two more idlis.

  "Haven't you eaten already in the morning?" she asked.

  "I did. But I'm a big man. I need a lot of food."

  She eyed him critically. "How lucky it doesn't show."

  When he didn't reply or comment, she looked at him thoughtfully. "Not that I'm not enjoying our breakfast here, but since I'm well fed now, tell me what is it that you needed so badly that you had to invite your old nemesis back into your house?"

  He looked at her and his demeanor changed into a businesslike manner. "It's about your land in Tellapur. I want to buy it. At the market value of course. It's about twenty acres of land that is adjoined to mine. I have a venture in mind for it, and before I can start, I need to buy your portion."

  "Who told you it was under my name?" she asked.

  "Your father," he said and then paused. "He didn't tell you I was interested in buying it from you?"

  Her father didn't. And she wasn't surprised by it. She remembered all the times she had tried to get her father's attention when he was home. Only to be ignored. The only time he had paid any interest was when he asked her to marry Dinesh. He had told her it would make him very proud, if she were to give up, and then forget about her boyfriend from another caste and worse, a North Indian who spoke a different language. She was asked to sacrifice her love for the sake of family honor.

  Brainwashed at twenty one, and eager to impress her father, she hadn't even put up much fight.

  She felt the old bitterness trying to bubble over. She controlled it, remembering her promise to not dwell on past feelings of resentment again.

  "No, he must have forgotten to mention it. My grandmother left that land to me. Maybe I can sell it and r
e-invest the money somewhere else. Anyway, what are you planning to build there?" she asked.

  "A gated community for seniors," he replied.

  She was surprised at the answer, but soon had a twinkle in her eyes, "Aren't you a little too young at thirty five to live in a senior community? Although...it's been said that overworking the brain from a very young age, over a long period of time, can make people very senile quickly."

  Samrat sighed. "Very funny. Anyway, it's something I had in mind and we have started the acquisitions and permissions for that project. Your land would be a part of it, if the sale goes through."

  She was genuinely curious to know his motivation. "No. Seriously, why a senior community? It's kind of weird, especially for a technology entrepreneur."

  He shrugged. "I'm not usually into construction business. But my parents and the neighbors have been asking me for a planned community with helpful services. And one that would be in close proximity to the city."

  "Hmm...okay. Sounds good. I'll find my documents and we can go through the paperwork. Maybe I'll take your help to re-invest that money in something interesting—"

  She broke off when she heard the main door open and shut, and footsteps approaching them.

  "Samrat, where are you? Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company—" a female voice said before stopping abruptly.

  Mahi looked at the tall and elegant woman gaping at them. Seeing the large and expressive eyes, now widened with shock, she immediately recognized the woman.

  It was Samrat's sister Ananya.

  The girl whose life Mahi had tried very hard to make a living hell during their college days.

  CHAPTER 6

  Ananya was more than stunned.

  "Why look, Woody Woodpecker is here!"

  Mahi had taunted her with that nickname for three long years during their college.

  Ananya had a bold sharp nose like her brother's and had been very conscious of it. They had inherited their father's tall genes along with other bold and sharp features. The nose made her brother look masculine, enhancing his rugged looks. But on her, it made her feel ugly.