Fine Feathers Make Fine Birds
1298 Words
They say “fine feathers make fine birds,” and Emma was dressed to kill—emotionally, mentally, and maybe soon, literally.
It started innocently. A glance here, a smile there. Emma, with every passing day, found herself more entranced by Samath. But her feelings weren’t those of a sister—no, far from it. In her heart bloomed the kind of love that made poets weep and therapists rich. She became consumed, drenched in a dangerous obsession that wrapped itself around her like ivy on old brick.
She knew she couldn't tell her adopted mother. No, that would only make things worse, she thought. Better to carry this madness in silence—and maybe share it with an accomplice or two.
Meanwhile, Samath, clueless as ever, had fallen hard for a girl he didn’t even know the name of. All he had were flashes—her smile, her grace, the way her eyes danced with mischief and mystery. “What a girl,” he murmured.
“Hey, Abby!” Samath called to his assistant. “Get me everything you can find on her. I don’t care if you have to hack into the national database—just find her!”
Abby blinked. “You don’t know her name?”
“I don’t even know if she’s real. But I’ll find her.”
Back on the dark side, Emma had hired a “freelancer”—a jobless fellow named Pritvi with enough bad decisions to fill a memoir. She hatched a plan.
“Listen up,” Emma instructed him, handing him a lunchbox. “You are going to deliver this to Samath and tell him I made it. Burn that into your brain. Got it?”
Pritvi nodded like a bobblehead. Hours passed, and Emma's phone rang with the sweet sound of... absolutely nothing. She redialed. Still nothing.
“That i***t duped me,” Emma hissed. “Alright. Plan B: DIY sabotage.”
She marched into the kitchen, snapped her fingers like a mafia boss, and barked, “Disha, whip up something irresistible. Make it taste like heartbreak and hope. We’ve got a man to impress!”
Lunch packed, war paint on, Emma stormed to Samath’s office—but fate, that mischievous trickster, had other plans.
Just outside a cozy coffee shop, Samath finally found her—Esha. Like a scene from a slow-motion film, he approached her, heart pounding like a faulty engine.
“Hello, pretty. What’s your name?” Samath asked, trying not to look like a total creep.
Silence.
“Uh... hello? Earth to beautiful stranger?”
Esha blinked, finally responding, “I’m Esha. How may I help you?”
“I’m Samath. Do you want to take a walk?”
“I don’t even know you,” she replied, skeptical.
“Can we be friends then?”
“Friends—with boundaries,” she snapped.
Samath chuckled. “Fair enough. Coffee?”
“Sure.”
As the two walked into the café, Emma’s car passed by. She glanced into the passenger mirror.
“Wait... is that Samath? And that girl...?”
Meanwhile, back at Samath's office, Emma stormed in, lunchbox in hand, and was intercepted by a jittery Abby.
“Where’s Samath?” she demanded.
“He’s... um... in a meeting,” Abby lied, drenched in sweat.
Emma narrowed her eyes. “Why are you sweating like a turkey before Thanksgiving? What aren’t you telling me?”
“N-nothing! He’ll be back in an hour,” Abby stammered.
Emma scoffed. “Forget it. Just give him this.” She shoved the lunchbox into Abby’s chest and stormed out.
“That was close,” Abby muttered. “Too close.”
Meanwhile, Pritvi—Emma’s disaster-prone partner-in-crime—coincidentally walked into the same café as Samath and Esha. He saw them through the window, frowned, and bought a soda instead. Priorities.
Back home, Esha spilled the beans to her bestie Preeta.
“Someone’s in loooove!” Preeta sang, twirling like a lunatic. “Esha’s in love!”
“Shut it!” Esha giggled, cheeks pink. “Granny’s asleep!”
“Granny doesn’t sleep. She enters a state of passive judgment. Honestly, I think all those old proverbs were written just for her.”
“You’re terrible.”
“Terribly accurate.”
Later that night, as the clock struck 1:30 AM, Esha was on a video call with Samath, grinning like an i***t. She was so deep in love that she didn’t notice Preeta peeking at her like a one-eyed pirate.
“Goodnight,” Esha whispered.
“Goodnight,” Samath replied.
Preeta, still half-asleep, muttered, “So that’s how love starts? I wonder how it tastes...”
Meanwhile, danger brewed next door.
Rishab, the not-so-secret admirer and neighbor, watched Esha like a hawk with a crush. He knew what time she left, what snacks she liked, and even which sandals she wore on Wednesdays. Today, he bought her flowers and waited by the gate like a hopeful puppy.
At the same time, Emma and Pritvi had a showdown.
Emma met him in the garden with the fury of a scorned goddess.
SLAP!
“Who gave you the nerve?” she thundered.
“Ma, before you finish me off, I saw Samath. He was with a girl. At a coffee shop. Noon. I swear.”
Emma's rage simmered. “Maybe it was his assistant?”
“Nope. Different vibe.”
“Abby did act weird... I need to know who this girl is. You’re going to spy on them.”
“That's... that's stalking,” Pritvi said nervously.
“And you're unemployed. So shut it.”
Back at Samath’s office, Pritvi arrived for recon—only to promptly fall asleep. He woke up just in time to see the office empty. He approached a worker, casually asking questions, unaware that Abby was watching.
Later, Abby pulled the worker aside. “If anyone else asks about Samath, don’t say a word. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
That evening, Rishab greeted Esha with flowers.
“Welcome back. I got these for you,” he said shyly.
“Oh wow... Rishab, I told you I needed time.”
“But you’re taking too long! I love you! I’ll jump off a cliff if I have to!”
“Don’t. Seriously. That’s not romantic—it’s concerning.”
The next day, Emma returned to Samath’s office with fire in her eyes.
“Where is he?” she barked at Abby.
“He... uh... left for Europe. Business trip,” Abby replied, too quickly.
Emma stepped closer. “Watch your tone. I’m not your peer. And tell me, has Samath hired any woman recently?”
Abby hesitated. “No. I mean... yes?”
Emma narrowed her eyes. Something’s off. Abby’s hiding something. But what?
“Thank you,” Emma said coldly and walked off.
Abby shook his head. “She’s digging too deep... I need to warn Samath.”
At home, Emma sat lost in thought when her mother, Mrs. Mera, walked in.
“Emma?” she called. No response. “Emma!”
She opened the door to find her daughter staring into space.
“Mom?” Emma blinked. “When did you get here?”
“What’s going on, sweetheart? Is it about Samath?”
Emma sighed, trembling. “Yes, Mom. I love him, but he doesn’t see it. I think he’s in love—with someone else. And Abby’s covering it up.”
Mrs. Mera sat beside her. “Oh, Emma. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you’d disapprove.”
“Listen to me. If Samath can’t see your love—then no one else can have him. Do you understand me?”
Emma looked up, stunned.
And just like that, the storm clouds gathered again.
- Writer
