There will never be another you : Chapter 19

 

The room felt too large for two people who barely knew how to exist in the same space.

Anjali stood near the edge of the bed, fingers nervously twisting the end of her dupatta. Shivaay was by the window, pretending to be deeply invested in the view outside—though it was just darkness and the faint glow of streetlights.

Neither spoke for a long moment.

"So..." Anjali finally said, her voice soft but cutting through the silence like a hesitant knock. "This is... our room."

Shivaay turned slightly, clearing his throat. "Yes. It is."

Another silence. Thicker this time.

His eyes briefly flickered toward the bed and then away, as if even acknowledging it was too much. Anjali noticed. Of course she did.

"I can take the couch," he said quickly, almost too quickly. "It's fine."

Anjali blinked. "The couch is... tiny."

"I've slept in worse places," he replied, a little defensive, like he needed to prove something.

She hesitated, then took a small step forward. "We don't have to make it... dramatic."

"I'm not," he said, then paused. "I just don't want you to feel uncomfortable."

"I already do," she admitted, then immediately looked down, embarrassed. "But not because of you. Just... this situation."

That softened something in his expression.

"Same," he said quietly.

They stood there, two strangers bound by something neither fully understood yet, trying to negotiate a space that suddenly belonged to both of them.

Anjali glanced at the bed again. "It's big enough."

Shivaay followed her gaze, then nodded slowly. "We can... divide it."

"Divide it?" she repeated, a faint smile threatening to appear.

"Yes. Like... territories." He gestured awkwardly. "You stay on your side, I stay on mine. No crossing borders."

Despite herself, she let out a small laugh. It surprised both of them.

"Are we drawing a line too?" she asked.

"If necessary," he said, almost serious—then realized how ridiculous it sounded. "I mean... no. Not literally."

The tension eased, just a little.

Anjali moved first, sitting carefully on one side of the bed, as though testing whether it would accept her. Shivaay followed after a moment, keeping a noticeable distance between them.

There was a clear gap. A safe one.

They lay down stiffly, both staring at the ceiling.

The lights were still on.

"Do you... want me to turn it off?" Shivaay asked.

"Yes," she said, then quickly added, "But maybe... not completely?"

He got up, dimmed the lights instead, leaving the room in a soft, uncertain glow. When he returned, he lay down again—just as rigid as before.

Another silence settled in, but this one felt different. Less sharp. More... tentative.

"Goodnight," Anjali said after a while.

"Goodnight," he replied.

A few seconds passed.

Then—

"If I cross the line in my sleep," she murmured, "it's not intentional."

He let out a quiet breath that was almost a laugh. "Same goes for me."

They both shifted slightly, instinctively moving an inch further apart.

But not too far.

And somewhere between the awkward distance and the shared quiet, sleep slowly found them—not as strangers anymore, but not quite anything else yet either

—————————————-

The room was dim when Arnav walked in, the faint glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls.

Khushi looked up the moment she heard the door close.

"Is everything ok?.." she asked softly.

Then he crossed the room in a few quick steps.

"Of course everything is fine. All the cousins are gathered in Akash's room. They are inviting us to play cards. " he said.

Khushi shook her head, but her eyes betrayed her.

"I just..." she started, then stopped.

He didn't let her finish.

His hand reached her first—fingers curling gently around her wrist, pulling her a step closer. Not forceful. Just certain.

"Khushi," he murmured, softer now.

There was something different in the way he said her name this time. Less guarded. More... real.

Her breath hitched.

"I was worried," she admitted.

"I know."

His thumb brushed lightly against her skin, a small, absent gesture that somehow made her pulse race faster.

Silence stretched between them—but it wasn't awkward anymore. It felt charged. Heavy with everything neither of them had said yet.

Khushi looked up at him.

Big mistake.

Because Arnav was already looking at her.

Not with irritation. Not with distance.

Something deeper.

Her voice came out barely above a whisper. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

He exhaled slowly, like he was trying to hold himself back and failing at it.

"Because I can't seem to stop."

Her heart skipped.

The air shifted.

And then, almost without thinking, Khushi took a small step closer.

That was all it took.

Arnav's hand moved from her wrist to her waist, pulling her in—closer, closer—until there was no space left between them. She gasped softly, her hands instinctively finding his chest, steadying herself against him.

"Arnavji..." she whispered, but it wasn't a protest.

Not really.

His other hand came up, hesitating for the briefest second before gently cupping her face. His touch was careful, like she might disappear if he moved too fast.

"You should tell me to stop," he said quietly.

Khushi's fingers tightened against his shirt.

She didn't.

That was answer enough.

The distance between them disappeared in a heartbeat.

The kiss wasn't rushed. It wasn't hesitant either.

It was... searching.

Like both of them were trying to understand something they had been avoiding for far too long.

Khushi's breath faltered as she leaned into him, her hands slowly gripping his shoulders now. Arnav deepened the kiss instinctively, his hold on her tightening just a fraction—as if afraid she might pull away.

But she didn't.

If anything, she moved closer.

The world outside the room faded.

Time blurred.

There was only the warmth of his hands, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat against his chest, the quiet, unspoken pull drawing them further in.

Arnav rested his forehead against hers for a brief second, their breaths mingling.

"Khushi..." he murmured, her name breaking softly between them.

She looked at him, her eyes slightly dazed, her lips parted like she wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

He didn't give her time to think.

His hand slipped gently to her back, pulling her even closer as his lips found hers again—slower this time, deeper, more certain.

Her fingers curled into his shirt, holding on.

And for a moment, just a moment—

It felt like they might cross a line neither of them could come back from.

Then—

Her phone rang.

Loud. Sudden. Jarring.

They broke apart instantly.

Khushi blinked, disoriented, her breath uneven as the sound filled the room again.

Arnav shut his eyes briefly, exhaling in frustration before stepping back, running a hand through his hair.

The phone kept ringing.

Khushi stared at it like it had personally betrayed her.

"I..." she started, still catching her breath. "I should—"

"Yes," Arnav said, though his voice was still low, still affected. "You should."

She nodded quickly, grabbing her phone with slightly trembling hands.

"Hello?" she answered, her voice softer than usual.

Arnav turned away slightly, trying—and failing—to compose himself.

But even from a distance, the silence between them wasn't the same anymore.

Because something had shifted.

Something neither of them could ignore now.

And this time... it wasn't going to be that easy to walk away from it.

The silence between them had changed again.

It wasn't uncertain anymore.

She told her sister they will be coming shortly and hung up.

Khushi stood by the edge of the bed, her fingers lightly gripping the fabric of her dupatta, though this time it wasn't out of nervousness alone. There was something else beneath it—something warmer, heavier.

Arnav watched her, his gaze steady, no longer avoiding what was clearly there between them.

"Khushi..." he said quietly.

She looked up.

And just like that, the distance between thought and action disappeared.

Neither of them moved at first.

But neither of them stepped away either.

"I think we shouldn't pretend," he continued, his voice low, controlled—but only just. "So let's not."

Her breath hitched softly.

"Arnavji..." she started, though there was no resistance in it.

"Tell me to stop," he said again, the same words as before—but they carried a different weight now. Less warning. More permission.

Khushi shook her head.

A small movement.

But enough.

He crossed the space between them.

This time, when his hand reached her, it didn't hesitate as much. His fingers closed gently but firmly around her wrist, pulling her closer until she was right in front of him.

Her hands came up instinctively, resting against his chest—but instead of pushing him away, they stayed there.

Feeling him.

"You feel that?" he murmured.

She nodded, her voice barely there. "Yes..."

Her heartbeat was unsteady. So was his.

And neither of them tried to hide it anymore.

His hand slid from her wrist to her waist, drawing her in slowly, giving her time to stop him.

She didn't.

Instead, she stepped closer on her own.

That changed everything.

The restraint he'd been holding onto slipped—just enough.

When he kissed her this time, it wasn't cautious.

It was certain.

Khushi's breath caught as she responded, her fingers gripping his shirt more tightly now, pulling him closer instead of holding him at a distance. The hesitation from before melted into something deeper, something that felt dangerously close to surrender.

But not blind.

Not careless.

Aware.

Every touch lingered longer. Every movement carried intention.

Arnav's hand pressed more firmly at her waist, grounding her as much as himself, while his other hand traced upward, pausing briefly at her shoulder—as if asking a silent question.

Khushi answered without words.

She didn't pull away.

Instead, her hand moved from his chest to his shoulder, steady, sure—holding him there.

The world narrowed again.

Not rushed. Not out of control.

Just... drawn in.

Arnav pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her.

"Khushi," he said, her name softer now, but heavier with meaning.

She met his gaze, her eyes no longer uncertain—just full of the same unspoken want.

"I'm not going to pretend I don't want this," she admitted, her voice quiet but steady.

His jaw tightened slightly, not in restraint—but in acknowledgment.

"Neither am I."

A pause.

They didn't rush after that.

Instead, they stayed close—foreheads nearly touching, breaths still uneven, the pull between them undeniable but no longer chaotic.

And when he drew her into his arms again, it wasn't with urgency this time—

but with intention.

The air had changed again.

This time, it wasn't just charged—it was undeniable.

Khushi stood close enough to feel every shift in Arnav's breath, every small movement of his chest beneath her fingertips. Neither of them was pretending anymore. Not about the pull, not about the want.

"Khushi..." His voice was quieter now, rougher at the edges.

She looked up at him, and whatever hesitation had once lived in her eyes was no longer the same. It wasn't gone—but it had softened into trust.

Into choice.

Her fingers slowly loosened from his shirt... only to move higher, resting more deliberately against him.

Arnav stilled for a second, watching her—giving her the chance to step back.

She didn't.

Instead, she took that last small step closer.

That was enough.

He drew her in, more firmly this time, and when he kissed her, it carried all the restraint he'd been holding back—and all the care he was still trying not to lose.

Khushi responded just as strongly, her hands no longer unsure, no longer tentative. They moved with quiet intention, exploring what had once felt forbidden but now felt... inevitable.

There was nothing rushed about it.

No urgency to get somewhere.

Just a slow unraveling of distance.

Layers—emotional, guarded, and otherwise—began to fall away, not carelessly, but because neither of them wanted to hide anymore.

And still, even as the moment deepened, Arnav paused.

Just enough to look at her.

"Tell me if you want me to stop," he said again, softer this time.

Khushi shook her head, her voice barely above a whisper. "I won't."

It wasn't reckless.

It was certain.

That answer settled something in him.

What followed wasn't about crossing a line blindly—it was about standing at the edge of it together, understanding exactly where they were.

Every touch lingered.

Every reaction mattered.

They learned each other in fragments—hesitation turning into familiarity, uncertainty into quiet confidence.

Close.

Very close.

And just when the moment felt like it might tip beyond what they had agreed—beyond what they were ready to fully face—

The doorbell rang.

Sharp. Loud. Inescapable.

They both froze.

For a second, neither moved—like if they stayed still enough, it might stop.

It didn't.

The bell rang again.

Reality rushed back in all at once.

Khushi pulled back first, her breath uneven, her eyes wide as the moment shattered around them. Arnav exhaled sharply, his forehead dropping briefly as he tried to regain control.

Neither spoke.

The distance between them returned—but it wasn't the same distance as before.

It carried everything that had just happened.

Everything that almost had.

The bell rang again.

Khushi let out a nervous breath, half-laugh, half-disbelief. "Of course..."

Arnav ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head slightly. "Perfect timing."

She glanced away, trying to steady herself. "I should... go see who it is."

"Yes," he said, though his voice was still low, still affected. "Probably a good idea."

But neither of them moved immediately.

For one last second, their eyes met again.

And the unfinished moment lingered—unspoken, but impossible to ignore.

Then, finally, Khushi stepped away.

And just like that—

the spell broke.

But not completely.

By the time they stepped out of the room, everything looked normal.

Khushi had fixed her dupatta three times before finally giving up, and Arnav had composed his expression into that familiar, controlled calm—but the slight tightness in his jaw gave him away if anyone looked closely enough.

Thankfully, no one did.

"Finally!" one of their cousins called out from the living room. "We've been waiting forever. Cards night is not optional!"

Khushi forced a small smile, nodding as she walked in. "We're here, aren't we?"

Arnav followed, quieter as usual, taking a seat across from her at first—safe distance, safe arrangement.

Or so he thought.

"Not like that!" another voice chimed in. "Sit properly—pairs!"

Before either of them could object, they were rearranged—placed side by side on the rug, far too close for comfort.

Or maybe... not far enough.

Khushi stilled slightly as their shoulders brushed.

Arnav didn't move away.

The game started quickly—cards shuffled, laughter filling the room, accusations of cheating thrown around lightly. It was chaotic, familiar, easy.

On the outside.

But beneath it—

Everything was different.

Khushi reached forward to place a card down, and her hand accidentally brushed against his.

Not accidental.

Not entirely.

Arnav's fingers reacted instantly—just a slight shift, just enough to linger for a fraction longer than necessary.

Khushi's breath hitched, though her face remained composed.

"No cheating!" someone across the room laughed, pointing at another player.

"Who's cheating?" Khushi asked, her voice steady—too steady.

Arnav glanced at her from the corner of his eye, the faintest hint of something unreadable passing through his expression.

"Oh, we'll find out," he said casually.

But under the pretense of reaching for his cards, his hand slid just slightly against hers again.

Deliberate this time.

Khushi stiffened for a second.

Then didn't pull away.

Instead, her fingers shifted—barely noticeable—pressing lightly against his in return.

A silent response.

No one noticed.

"Your turn!" someone nudged her.

Khushi blinked, quickly placing a card down, though her focus wasn't entirely on the game anymore.

Beside her, Arnav leaned back slightly, one arm resting behind them casually—too casually.

His fingers brushed the fabric near her waist.

Light. Fleeting.

But enough.

Khushi inhaled sharply, covering it with a small cough. "Sorry—uh, wrong card," she muttered, quickly correcting herself as laughter erupted around them.

"Pay attention!" a cousin teased.

"I am," she replied quickly.

Arnav's lips almost curved.

Almost.

The game went on, but their attention had shifted to something else entirely—a quiet, hidden conversation made of fleeting touches and stolen glances.

At one point, Khushi leaned forward again, and Arnav used the movement as an excuse—his hand steadying her at her side for just a second longer than necessary.

Her fingers tightened on the cards.

"Careful," he murmured under his breath.

The word meant more than it sounded.

She turned her head just slightly, just enough for him to catch the look in her eyes.

"You too," she whispered back.

A challenge.

A warning.

Maybe both.

No one else noticed the way his hand lingered a second too long before pulling away.

No one noticed how she didn't move away either.

"Last round!" someone announced excitedly.

"Winner takes all!"

"Please," Arnav said dryly. "As if there's anything worth taking."

Khushi glanced at him, her voice just as quiet. "You seem to disagree."

Their eyes met for half a second.

And in that half second—

Everything from earlier returned.

Unfinished. Unspoken.

Very much still there.

"Play your card," someone interrupted loudly.

Khushi looked down quickly, placing her card without thinking.

Arnav followed.

The game ended in laughter and mock arguments, everyone too distracted by their own chaos to notice anything else.

Anything hidden.

Anything real.

But as they stood up, their hands brushed one last time—

And this time, neither of them pretended it was an accident.

"Break!" someone announced loudly, stretching. "I need water—anyone else?"

"Me!" a couple of voices chimed in.

Khushi stood up a little too quickly. "I'll get it," she said, already moving toward the kitchen before anyone could insist on coming along.

"Relax," someone laughed. "We're not dying of thirst!"

But she was already gone.

Arnav watched her leave.

Then, after a perfectly reasonable pause—just long enough not to draw attention—he stood as well.

"I'll help," he said casually.

No one questioned it.

Of course he would. It was normal.

Completely normal.

The moment he stepped into the kitchen, the air shifted again.

Khushi was at the counter, her back to him, pouring water into glasses—but the slight stiffness in her shoulders gave her away.

She knew he was there.

Of course she did.

The sound of the door swinging softly shut behind him echoed louder than it should have.

Neither spoke.

For a second.

Then—

"You didn't have to come," she said quietly, not turning around.

"I know."

His voice was closer than she expected.

Too close.

Her hand paused mid-motion.

"And yet..." she murmured.

"And yet," he repeated.

The glass in her hand trembled just slightly before she set it down.

"Arnav..." she started, finally turning—

And stopped.

Because he was right there.

Closer than before.

Closer than he had any right to be in a kitchen full of people just a room away.

Her breath caught.

"This is a bad idea," she whispered.

"Probably," he said, not sounding convinced at all.

Neither of them moved away.

The silence stretched—but it wasn't empty. It was full of everything they hadn't finished earlier.

Everything they hadn't said.

Khushi's voice dropped softer. "They're right outside."

"I'm aware."

"Then why are you—"

He didn't let her finish.

Not with words.

His hand reached for hers, fingers closing around her wrist—gentler than before, but just as certain. He pulled her a step closer, not giving her enough time to overthink it.

"Because you walked away," he said quietly. "And I didn't want to."

Her heart raced at that.

"You're impossible," she breathed.

"And you didn't stop me."

That familiar argument again.

But this time, there was no real resistance left in it.

Khushi's hand shifted in his grip, not pulling away—just... adjusting, as if settling into it.

"You shouldn't be doing this," she whispered, though her voice lacked conviction.

"Then stop me," he said softly.

She didn't.

Instead, her free hand came up, resting lightly against his chest—feeling the steady, not-so-steady rhythm beneath.

That was all it took.

He pulled her closer, and when he kissed her this time, it was quicker—but no less intense. Like they both knew they didn't have time, and yet couldn't bring themselves to hold back completely.

Khushi responded instantly, her fingers tightening against him, her breath catching as the moment rushed back all at once—everything from earlier, unfinished and waiting.

A sound from the living room made her pull back suddenly.

They froze.

Listened.

Laughter.

Voices.

Still distracted.

Still unaware.

Khushi let out a shaky breath, her forehead almost resting against his. "We're going to get caught."

"Not if you stop reacting like that," he murmured, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice now.

She glared at him lightly. "You're the problem."

"And yet you're still here."

Her lips parted to argue—

But no words came.

Because he wasn't wrong.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, softer this time, she said, "We should go back."

"Yes," he agreed.

Neither of them moved.

Another second.

Then two.

Finally, Khushi stepped back, quickly reaching for the glasses again, trying to steady her hands.

Arnav watched her for a moment longer before stepping away as well, putting that familiar distance back between them.

Almost convincing.

"Water," she muttered, handing him a glass unnecessarily.

"Right," he said, taking it just as pointlessly.

They shared one last look.

Quick.

Knowing.

And then—

They walked back out like nothing had happened.

Again.

By the time they returned, the game had already restarted.

"Finally!" someone groaned. "We thought you both fell into the water jug."

Khushi forced a normal expression as she handed out the glasses. "If we had, at least the water would've been useful."

Laughter erupted.

Arnav took his seat again beside her—same place, same closeness, but now it felt... far more dangerous.

Because now they knew exactly what they were doing.

The cards were reshuffled, a new round began, and everyone quickly got pulled back into the chaos of the game.

Everyone except them.

Khushi tried—she really did—to focus.

But the moment Arnav's knee brushed lightly against hers under the table, her thoughts scattered again.

It was subtle.

Barely there.

Enough to be dismissed as accidental.

Except it wasn't.

She stilled for half a second.

Then deliberately didn't move away.

A slow, quiet response.

From the corner of her eye, she saw the faintest shift in his posture—like he had noticed.

Of course he had.

"Your turn!" someone across called out.

Khushi blinked, quickly throwing a card down. "I know, I know."

"Doesn't look like it," another teased. "Where are you lost?"

"Nowhere," she said quickly.

Beside her, Arnav said nothing.

But under the table, his foot moved again—this time not brushing, but resting lightly against hers.

Intentional.

Unmistakable.

Khushi's fingers tightened around her cards.

Her face stayed composed.

"You're cheating," someone accused another player loudly.

"I am not!"

"You are!"

The argument grew, voices overlapping, attention completely diverted.

And in that distraction—

Arnav's hand lowered casually to his side, disappearing beneath the table.

Khushi noticed.

Her breath caught slightly, though she kept her eyes on her cards.

A second later, she felt it—

The lightest touch against her hand resting in her lap.

Her pulse jumped.

He didn't grab it.

Didn't hold.

Just let his fingers brush against hers... waiting.

Asking.

Khushi hesitated for a fraction of a second.

Then her fingers shifted—just enough to meet his.

That was all the permission he needed.

Their hands stayed there, hidden beneath the table, barely touching—but fully aware.

Every small movement felt amplified.

Every second stretched.

"Arnav! Focus!" someone snapped playfully. "You're losing."

"I don't lose," he replied calmly.

But his attention wasn't entirely on the game either.

Under the table, his fingers moved slightly, tracing against hers in a way no one else could see.

Khushi inhaled slowly, trying to steady herself, her eyes fixed firmly ahead.

"You're very quiet," a cousin nudged her.

"Just concentrating," she replied, her voice surprisingly steady.

"On what?" they laughed.

She didn't answer.

Because she wasn't sure she could.

The game continued, loud and chaotic above the table—

While beneath it, everything was quiet.

Focused.

Dangerously deliberate.

At one point, Khushi shifted slightly in her seat—and his hand adjusted with her, not letting the contact break.

A silent insistence.

She bit back a reaction, lowering her gaze briefly before forcing herself to look up again.

"Last round!" someone announced excitedly.

"Winner decides the next game!"

"Good," Arnav said evenly.

But his hand didn't move away.

Neither did hers.

And when the round ended in loud cheers and mock complaints, no one noticed the way their hands separated just a second too late—

Or how both of them took a quiet breath at the same time.

As if they had been holding it all along.

The laughter, the cards, the chatter—all of it faded into the background.

Khushi could feel it in every nerve, every pulse. Every brush of Arnav's hand beneath the table, every stolen glance across the rug, sent sparks racing through her. Her heartbeat thudded painfully, betraying the calm expression she wore for everyone else.

Arnav's gaze met hers again, subtle, yet impossible to ignore. There was no need for words. The way his fingers lingered against hers under the table, the slight press of his knee, the way he leaned just a fraction closer—all of it spoke louder than any confession could.

Her body reacted before her mind could catch up. A shiver ran down her spine as she tried to steady herself, biting her lip to keep from gasping.

He was just as aware. She could feel the heat radiating from him, the tension coiled in his posture, the low hum of restraint in the way he exhaled. Every movement, subtle as it was, carried intention. Every touch was a quiet admission of what they both wanted, what they both craved but couldn't yet claim openly.

Khushi pressed her hand slightly against his, a fleeting, deliberate touch that lingered too long to be innocent. His fingers responded in kind, tracing slowly, teasingly, without letting anyone else suspect a thing.

The fire between them was undeniable. It smoldered quietly, dangerously—burning in secret beneath the surface, threatening to ignite at any careless moment.

Her breaths came faster now, uneven, as if her body knew the danger of waiting, the impossibility of pretending nothing was there.

Arnav's eyes flicked down to her fingers once more, then back up to meet hers, a silent question—and an answer—in one glance.

Both of them were burning, aware of the desire, aware of the impossible timing, aware that every moment they stole together fed it further.

And yet, the game continued above the table. Laughter rang out, cards were played, voices joked—but beneath it all, the heat between them remained, unchecked, undeniable, and entirely their own.

The elevator doors closed with a soft chime, trapping them in the small space together.

Khushi's heart hammered in her chest, louder than the quiet hum of the lift. Every glance, every brush of his arm against hers, felt amplified, electric. Arnav didn't speak—didn't need to. His fingers brushed hers once, twice, and then lingered, subtle but deliberate, tracing a path that made her pulse quicken.

Her breath caught. He leaned slightly closer, his hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. Their eyes met, searching, unspoken, aware. And then—almost impossibly—they closed the distance.

Their lips met in a kiss that started soft, hesitant, testing the boundaries. But hesitation faded fast. Arnav's hands moved to her waist, pulling her closer, grounding her against him, while hers found their way to the back of his neck, threading through his hair.

The small space of the elevator felt too tight, too exposed, yet perfect for the intensity between them. The world outside ceased to exist.

When the doors opened on their floor, they didn't immediately move. Arnav pressed her gently against the wall just enough to deepen the kiss. Fingers traced along her sides, sliding under her shirt briefly, feeling, teasing. Khushi shivered against him, lips parting, heart racing.

They moved down the corridor, step by step, drawn together like gravity. Every brush against the wall, every careful press of his body against hers was a quiet rebellion against the restraint they'd held for so long. Arnav's hand slipped under her dupatta again, grazing her skin, while she tangled her fingers in his hair, pulling him closer.

Finally, they reached the suite door. Neither spoke. Words were unnecessary—their shared breaths, racing and uneven, said everything.

With one hand on the door and the other still holding her close, Arnav whispered, low and rough, "Finally..."

Khushi could only nod, her body pressed to his, mind spinning, heart burning. They entered the room together, closing the door behind them, leaving the corridor—and the world—far behind.

Every inch of them screamed for attention, every touch and kiss a promise that had waited too long to be fulfilled.

Love,

ST