Chapter 2

Aashi knocked softly at Ishaan bedroom door. After a moment, the door opened a sliver, revealing Ishaan's wary face.

"Look," she said, holding up a hand, "I am sorry I snapped at you earlier. This is just...unexpected for both of us."

Ishaan nodded, trying to suppress his irritation.

"I know. Can we...can we at least talk about this? Maybe we can figure something out."

Aashi stepped back, allowing Ishaan to enter the hall.

"So," he said, gesturing to the faded floral couch. "Where do we even begin?"

Aashi perched on the edge of the couch, trying to avoid eye contact.

"I don't know. Do you have any friends you can stay with? A couch you can crash on for a few nights until you find a new place?"

Ishaan frowned.

"I don't think that's an option. I paid rent for 6 months too. It's not ethical for even the landlord to kick me out. Look, this might sound crazy, but... maybe we can try to adjust for few months."

Aashi looked at him, surprised.

"You mean...share the apartment?"

"Yeah. We have anyway already occupied different bedrooms. We can set some ground rules, boundaries. It's not ideal, but it's better than one of us sleeping on the street."

Aashi considered his offer. It was far from perfect, but it was the only option on the table. The thought of sharing an apartment with a stranger, and a male stranger at that, made her skin crawl. But what choice did she have?

"Ground rules," she said, her voice firm despite her inner turmoil. "Absolutely."

"If you make breakfast, I would cook dinner for both of us," Ishaan offered.

"When I cook you do the dishes, when you cook, I will," Aashi countered. "Boundaries. No loud music after 10 pm. And," she added, meeting his gaze, "absolutely no entering each other's rooms without permission."

Ishaan nodded slowly.

"Agreed. And in return, I get to pick the music on the weekends."

Aashi raised an eyebrow.

"We'll see about that."

Ishaan shrugged.

"Cool then," he got up and walks towards his room.

"Ishaan," Aashi called him. "No alcohol and girls in the house."

Ishaan looked at her for a moment then answered in a clipped tone.

"I don't drink and I have never brought any girl home. I don't do dates."

He went to his room leaving Aashi in the drawing room.

A fragile truce had been established. It wasn't the dream start Aashi had envisioned for her life in Bangalore. Far from it. But it was a start. And maybe, just maybe, she could survive sharing an apartment with Ishaan, at least until he could figure out how to end this nightmare.

She just had to figure out how to keep him at arm's length, avoid any awkward encounters, and focus on her dreams of designing beautiful buildings. Easy, right?

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The whiteboard, from some forgotten university project of Ishaan's, now clung precariously to the kitchen wall, a stark white testament to his meticulous nature. Covered in perfectly aligned text and color-coded squares, it was the apartment's new overlord – the Chore Chart.

Aashi eyed it with a mixture of amusement and mild apprehension. Ishaan readily agreed to her suggestion of sharing chores, but this was... juvenile. She laughed mentally.

"So," Ishaan began, pointer in hand, "Mondays and Wednesdays are your vacuuming days. Tuesdays and Thursdays are mine. I've designated Friday as 'Deep Clean' day – we'll tackle bigger tasks together. Weekends are relatively free."

Aashi read the rest - "Dishwashing (Immediately after Meals - No Overnight Buildup), Garbage Removal (When 3/4 Full)," It went on. And on.

"Wow," Aashi said, her voice laced with a mixture of amusement and slight disbelief. "You've really gone to town. It's...comprehensive."

"I believe in clarity," Ishaan said, puffing out his chest slightly. "It eliminates confusion and potential conflict. I've assigned chores fairly, taking into account your University schedule which you mentioned is less demanding than mine."

"Sounds good to me!" Aashi declared brightly, surprising Ishaan. He had anticipated at least some resistance. "I'm happy to contribute and keep things tidy. As long as there's coffee, I can conquer any chore!"

Ishaan relaxed slightly. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. "Excellent," he said, a genuine smile finally gracing his lips. "Then we have an agreement. And yes," he added, pointing to a meticulously labeled container, "there's coffee. Freshly ground."

The first week was surprisingly smooth. They had established a rhythm. The chore chart was followed.

Ishaan used to leave for office sharp at 9, but never forgot to make coffee to Aashi. Soon, Aashi's college started and they saw less of eachother.

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Ishaan, exhausted after a 4 hour long meeting then driving for 40 minutes, dragged himself through the apartment door, longing for nothing more than to collapse onto the couch.

But he stopped dead in his tracks.

The living room, which they had both agreed to keep relatively clutter-free, had been transformed into a literary battlefield. More specifically, an Aashi-created literary battlefield. Piles of art books, design manuals, and novels were stacked haphazardly, threatening to topple over like poorly constructed Jenga towers.

"Aashi?" Ishaan called out, his voice laced with a fatigue that bordered on irritation.

Aashi emerged from her makeshift workspace in the corner, pencil still in hand.

"Hey! What's up?"

Ishaan gestured weakly toward the chaotic scene.

"This. Up. What is this?"

"Oh, just doing some research," she said airily, as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Needed some inspiration. Don't worry, I'll tidy up later."

"Later?" Ishaan echoed, his voice rising in pitch. "Aashi, I can't even sit down. I have been in a meeting for past four hours. I just want to relax for five minutes before I have to make dinner."

Aashi frowned.

"Okay, chill out. I am in the middle of something. It'll only take me like, half an hour to put everything away."

"Half an hour?" He ran a hand through his already disheveled hair. "Aashi, this isn't a library, it's a shared living space. We agreed on this, remember? You get your workspace, and we keep the rest of the apartment... livable."

"Don't yell at me, Ishaan!" Aashi retorted, her own voice sharpening. "I told you I was working on something! Architecture needs inspiration and..."

"And apparently, complete disregard for anyone else living here!" Ishaan snapped, instantly regretting his harsh tone. But the pressure of the day, combined with the sheer impracticality of the situation, had finally pushed him over the edge.

Aashi's eyes narrowed.

"So, you're saying my work is 'disregardful'?"

"No, Aashi, I'm saying your books lying all over the house is disregardful! They're blocking the couch! I just want to sit down!" He threw his briefcase onto the floor with a thud, making the precarious stack of books tremble.

Aashi crossed her arms, a stubborn set to her jaw.

"What about the designs on the coffee table yesterday? Those were kind of important to me."

He turned, his brow furrowed slightly.

"They were... scattered. It looked messy."

"So you put them in the drawer and lebelled it 'Drawer of Doom'."

"Look, I'm sorry for that and for shouting at you before. We need to be respectful of each other's space." he said, picking up a stack of books. "Let's just...clean it up together."

Aashi nodded. They worked in silence for a few minutes, carefully re-stacking the books in the corner. Ishaan found himself almost enjoying the methodical task, the familiar scent of old paper comforting in a strange way.

After a while, the living room was almost back to its former state. The couch was accessible again, and a semblance of order had been restored.

"Thanks," Aashi mumbled, avoiding his gaze.

"No problem," Ishaan replied, but as he finally sat down, sinking into the worn cushions, a tiny seed of annoyance took root within him. It was small, almost insignificant, but it was there. A tiny, prickly reminder that sharing this space, even with someone as seemingly easy-going as Aashi, wasn't going to be as simple as a chore chart and shared snacks. It was going to be a constant negotiation, a delicate balancing act between his need for order and her creative chaos. And somehow, he knew, this small seed was only the beginning.

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