His house emits an inviting warmth, with a living room adorned by a large window offering a picturesque view of a vibrant patio brimming with blossoms. The tranquillity hung in the air, casting a soothing spell. The scent of wood further enveloped the space in a calming embrace.
"Welcome to my sweet home, sweets," he greeted with a respectful bow of his head.
"Thank you, Samar. Your home is truly beautiful," I replied with a smile. A thorough inspection revealed a stark contrast to the household I'd heard about regarding the boys.
"You're most welcome, highness. It's my pleasure to have you here," he jested, provoking a hearty laugh from me. The man certainly knew how to brighten any mood. In his presence, the weight of my burdens seemed to fade.
As we settled in, far from the world of pain and adversity, he suggested, "Let's have a seat, and I'll find something to fill our appetites," before heading towards the kitchen. My gaze lingered on the family photographs.
Samar was a spitting image of his father—happiness radiating from his smiling visage. I pointed to a man standing beside his mother, asking, "Samar, who is he?"
"Oh, that's my brother," he replied.
"Sweets, I wasn't able to fetch anything for us. Normally, my mom takes care of that, but she's away on a business trip, and I usually resort to takeout," he pouted, and my stomach gave an embarrassingly loud growl. I shot him an apologetic look.
"Pizza it is, then. Let's order some," he declared, taking a seat beside me. We made our selections and set the phone aside. I sensed he had questions on his mind, but I was prepared.
"Wait for me a moment; I'll be right back," he said, dashing off to a room. I bit my lip, bracing myself. Samar returned with a first aid kit, settling beside me.
"Now, tell me what happened. Why is your face swollen?" he inquired, concern evident in his voice.
"It's nothing, just a fall down some stairs," I lied, avoiding his gaze. He gently tended to my bruises; his touch soothing. I gripped my hands tightly, fearful of alarming him.
He knew I wasn't being entirely truthful. I couldn't meet his eyes, unwilling to burden him with my family troubles. I couldn't bear his pity. The tears flowed unbidden; the first time I'd let my emotions show since my parents' passing.
"Ana, don't you consider me a friend?" he implored, wiping my tears. I couldn't hold back any longer and embraced him tightly. His reassuring pats on my back made me feel safe, a sense of relief washing over me, akin to being with family.
"You're my first and only friend," I confessed. Though we'd known each other for just two days, he'd already become an integral part of my life and my newfound family.
"Where's my spirited friend?" he teased. "You promised me you wouldn't let anyone bully you, yet you've broken your own promise."
"I can't stand up to them," I admitted, wiping my tears.
"Stand up for yourself, Anastasia," he urged, and I nodded.
Shifting the conversation, I shared more about myself—my childhood, family, dreams, and aspirations. He listened intently, as though enraptured by a captivating tale.
"Do you still want to stick to the half-truths?" he asked.
"My aunt slapped me and threw me out of the house," I sobbed.
"Ana, don't let your aunt hurt you. Try to stand up to her," he urged, gently wiping away my tears.
"I can't go against her; she's my elder," I replied. My parents had never taught me to defy my elders.
"Oh! In our chatter, we forgot about our pizza."
A knock on the door diverted his attention, and he promptly went to answer it. After settling the bill, he returned with the boxes.
"Anything to drink with the pizza?" he inquired.
"Coke will do," I replied.
He poured the drink, and I arranged the pillows on the sofa.
"Shall we watch a movie on Netflix?" I suggested.
He fetched some blankets from his room, and we settled in to watch "Confessions of a Shopaholic."
As the movie concluded, I turned my gaze to the person slumbering beside me. He emitted soft snores, his face adorned with a small trail of drool. I couldn't help but smile at his endearing sight. Tomorrow, I'll have a bit of fun with Samar using this cute video. Maybe I'll even tease him and threaten to send it to all the girls he flirts with. Sometimes, a touch of mischief is just what's needed. Before I knew it, sleep claimed me beside him. When I awoke, I was greeted by the breathtaking sight of the sun ascending.
"Good morning, sweets!" Samar beamed.
"Good morning, Samar," I replied. He stretched, yawning.
"What do you feel like doing today?" he inquired.
"What do you suggest?" I pondered, considering my aunt's potential objections.
"A penny for your thoughts," Samar mused, his chin propped on his hand.
"I was thinking of going shopping," he proposed. "We can get you some new clothes, and I'll grab some groceries for the house." I had no problem, but my wallet was thin on funds for new dress.
"But Samar, I can't afford new clothes," I pouted.
"Who said anything about money?" he winked. "Consider these clothes a Valentine's Day gift from me." I playfully tapped his head.
"Ow! Feisty one, watch those hands," he pouted, rubbing his head, a twinkle of amusement in his eyes.
"So, let's get ready," I suggested.
We both exclaimed in agreement. I hurried to the bathroom, while he fetched some eggs for breakfast. After a refreshing bath and neatly braiding my hair, I joined him in the kitchen. To my surprise, he was deftly preparing breakfast.
"Mr. Samar, you're a cook as well? Impressive," I cheered as he effortlessly flipped an omelette.
"You are a man of many talents but I won't let your sweet flirting fool me," I teased, and he responded with a playful pout.
"Take your seat, sweets. Chef Samar is here to serve you," he announced with a flourish, pulling out my chair. I settled in, my curiosity piqued by the artful presentation of the omelette.
Drizzling some syrup over it, he presented the dish.
"Enjoy your breakfast, courtesy of Chef Samar," he quipped. I took a bite, and his eyes remained fixed on me.
"Not bad, but I think it could use a little something extra," I teased. He pouted in mock offense. We shared breakfast and then set off for the mall. I held open the car door and took my seat.
As Samar drove to the city mall, we indulged in a lively duet. For the first time in a long while, I felt genuinely happy, relishing the taste of freedom. Upon arriving, he parked his BMW and offered his hand. "Children can get lost, you know. I need to keep you close, sweets," he teased.
We made our way to Forever 21, where I tried on a few crop tops and rugged jeans. Samar had an eye for fashion, whereas I felt a bit out of my depth. He seemed to have a penchant for brand names, and despite my protests, he went on a shopping spree, insisting it was his treat.
"Samar, I'm getting hungry," my stomach chimed in.
"Anastasia, you take care of lunch, and I'll handle the groceries," he suggested, passing me his card.
I made my way to the food counter, but just as I approached a table, someone barged in, causing me to stumble to the ground.
"Watch where you're going, clumsy girl!" the man snapped. His words were unjust, considering he'd been engrossed in his phone and had essentially collided with me.
"Sorry, sir," I apologized, not wanting to escalate the situation.
I could tell from his attire that he hailed from a well-to-do family, and I had no desire to invite further trouble.
"You know how much this suit costs?" he sneered, gesturing to his shirt. "More than your entire existence."
The spectacle had attracted a crowd, all eyes on me.
"Sir, I've already apologized for something that wasn't entirely my fault. I'd appreciate a bit of courtesy in return," I stated, regaining my composure.
"Do you even know who I am?" he retorted.
"Are you the president, sir? I don't see any Secret Service agents around," I quipped, refusing to be intimidated.
"I could ruin you with a snap of my fingers, but I won't," he threatened, his tone dripping with menace.
I winced; his voice more abrasive than I could bear.
"Please don't call me 'girl.' I have a name," I asserted.
"I have no interest in knowing your name, girl. Just ensure our paths never cross again, or you'll face hell," he warned before striding off. Handsome he may be, but that arrogance was insufferable. Standing at a lofty six feet with broad shoulders and striking blue eyes, he could have been a model. But that temper—intolerable.
"Who would willingly cross paths with a jerk like him?" I muttered, returning to the food counter to place my order once more. My encounter with the man had cast a shadow over an otherwise delightful day. I waited at the table for Samar, my eyes finding him laden with bags, perspiration dotting his brow.
"Hey, what happened?" he inquired with concern. "I heard you had a run-in."
Word travels fast, especially when it comes to altercations.
"It's nothing. I just crossed paths with an arrogant individual," I assured, accepting my order.
"Oh, do spare a thought for that poor soul," he playfully pouted.
"I reserve my sympathies for those who've dared to tangle with me," I countered under my breath. We settled into a corner, savouring our meal. The day ultimately ended on a high note, and I relished every moment of Samar's company.
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