The Girl He Was Paid to Forget
charming personality
The garden had started to feel like a retreat for Nidhi. Somewhere in the quiet rustle of leaves and the blooming of marigolds, she could forget—for just a little while—that her heart was quietly aching.
The old gardener, Amma, had fallen sick, and Nidhi had taken it upon herself to keep the place alive. She did it with love. Every morning, after tending to Manav’s meals and medicines, she would disappear into the garden with a worn-out watering can and a handful of sunlight in her eyes.
But lately, it was different.
Because someone else had entered the garden too.
ved
“Don’t water the roses in the afternoon. They burn,”
A voice had said gently from behind her one day.
She turned, startled. There he was. Tall, calm eyes, a shirt half-tucked, holding a small spade.
ved
“I’m Ved,” he had said. “Amma’s son.”
nidhi shrma
I am Nidhi ,I have been taking care of the garden since Amma's absence
And just like that, the quietness of her little world cracked open.
Ved was warmth with feet. He wasn’t overly charming—just the kind of person who knew how to laugh at the right moment and stay silent when you didn’t want to talk. His hands were always muddy, his hair often messy, but his presence made Nidhi feel... safe.
They didn’t talk much at first. Just exchanged a few words about hibiscus leaves or the best soil for jasmine. But slowly, laughter began to echo around the garden. Inside jokes were planted like seeds between flower beds. And without realizing, they became each other’s favorite part of the day.
From a distance, someone was watching.
He didn’t mean to watch. He didn’t want to. But there was something in the way Nidhi laughed with Ved that tugged at something in his chest. He didn't know what it was—jealousy? Confusion? He didn’t even like her, did he?
She was just a maid. Just someone taking care of him. Nothing more.
And yet, when he saw her smile that freely for someone else, it felt like something inside him had quietly cracked.
He was so lost in that thought that he didn’t even notice when he accidentally slammed the drawer shut—cutting the side of his palm.
Blood. Pain. Silence.
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