Page 36 of Obsession

His lips tipped up. “Hello, Anna.”

His hand caught hers, and a spike of energy rushed down her skin. Her breath caught in her throat. What had just happened? She removed her hand from his, her skin still tingling from where they had touched.

“It’s actually Ananya. Ananya Mehra,” she said. “I couldn’t correct you that day.”

“I don’t need to be corrected,” he said.

“Meaning?”

“I already know your name; I just feel Anna suits you better.”

Her eyes widened. Wait what? He knew her name? Then why was he still insisting on calling her Anna? I mean she did like the way Anna rolled out of his lips, but still...

“Do you just go about giving nicknames to women you’ve just met?”

“Nope, just you.”

“That sounds very stalkerish.”

He laughed. The sound was rich and lush, and it hit her somewhere in the center of her chest. Fuck. What was happening to her?

“No stalking at all. I promise.” Mihir smiled.

She gave him a dirty look, annoyed with herself for liking his smile, and his laugh, and the way he looked, and the way he spoke with a bit of an accent. Fuck. She’d lost her mind. She didn’t know him at all. He could be a stalker, for all she knew. And here she was, salivating over him, a complete stranger. Yet, her heart rejected the notion of moving away from him.

“In Russian,” he began, “Anna means grace, and you are very graceful. Hence, Anna suits you. And it is a short form of your name Ananya. That’s all.”

“Do you speak Russian?” she asked.

“A bit.”

She frowned. “Why Russian, though?”

“Why not Russian?”

Yeah, why not? She knew people in her class who were learning Mandarin and German. If he wanted to learn a foreign language, good for him. Perhaps his family had business interests there and it would help him if he knew the language.

He went to the next painting. She walked beside him, pausing as he stopped to study the artwork.

She watched him. Even though his focus was on the painting on the wall, he looked amused, as if he knew she was watching him.

She clucked her tongue. “You being here at this art gallery at the same time as me does make this whole thing feel stalkerish.”

He chuckled, moving to the next exhibit. “My father knows the artist showcasing tonight. I’m here to represent my dad, that’s all.” He waved in the distance. A gentleman in his fifties returned his wave.

“See, that’s him—Pedro Pavlov. Are you convinced I’m not a stalker now?” His eyes sparked with mischief. “But wait, what if you are stalking me?”

She made a face. “My mom knows the owner of the gallery. I’m here in place of her.”

She pointed to an elegantly dressed woman.

“Good,” Mihir said. “Now that it’s established that neither of us is stalking the other, how about we quickly finish from here and go out for dinner?”

She gasped.

“That’s very forward of you,” she said. “I don’t date strange men, especially who I’ve only just met and who call me Anna.”

“I will always and only call you Anna.”

---