The morning passed in a haze.
Ansh stood at the edge of the garden, his hand still tingling where it had brushed against Riya's hair. His heart hammered in his chest as he watched her walk away, disappearing into the house without another word.
The silence that followed was suffocating. The garden seemed to close in around him, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down like a storm cloud gathering above his head.
He wanted to follow her. To reach out and pull her back, but he stayed rooted in place, his feet unwilling to move. The dream from last night—the way she had felt in his arms, the softness of her skin, the hesitation in her touch—it played over and over in his mind. Her eyes had looked at him with something more than affection; there was something deeper there, something that neither of them was willing to face.
This can't happen. She's with Yash. She's his.
But it didn't matter.
Because it had happened.
And it was undeniable now.
---
Later that evening:
Ansh found himself alone in the living room. Yash had gone out, leaving him with his thoughts. He was thankful for the solitude; the weight of the tension in the house was becoming unbearable. Every glance he exchanged with Riya felt like an unspoken confession.
He heard footsteps approaching—soft, hesitant. He turned to see Riya standing in the doorway, her figure silhouetted by the fading light from the hallway.
She wasn't looking at him directly, but there was something in her posture—something fragile about the way she stood there. The space between them felt miles long, yet her presence was overwhelming.
"I…" She started, voice quiet, unsure. "I owe you an apology."
Ansh didn't speak at first. His breath caught in his throat, every part of him wanting to say something—anything—but he was afraid of what would come out. She was apologizing for what? For the moment they shared? For the way it had felt? For how they both wanted it, but couldn't act on it?
"I shouldn't have led you on," Riya continued, her voice shaking slightly. "I shouldn't have let myself…" She paused, and for the first time, her eyes met his. She looked lost. "I'm scared, Ansh. I'm scared of what I feel. Of what it means."
Ansh swallowed hard. "I'm scared too," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
He could feel his pulse in his throat, his chest tightening with each word she spoke. Her presence was suffocating, and yet he couldn't move. Couldn't tear his gaze away from her. He had never seen her so vulnerable, so… human.
She took a step closer. "What does this mean for us?" Her voice was soft, as if she were afraid to say it aloud. "I don't know what I want from you, Ansh. But I can't pretend that I don't feel this… this pull between us."
Ansh's heart thudded painfully in his chest. "I feel it too." The words spilled out before he could stop them, raw and unfiltered. "But we can't act on it. We can't. You're with Yash, and I—"
"I know," she cut him off, her eyes shining with unshed tears. "But that doesn't change what I feel, Ansh. I can't control it." She shook her head, frustration building in her voice. "I don't want to hurt him. I don't want to hurt you."
He stepped closer to her, his heart in his throat. His hands hovered at his sides, unsure. But then, instinctively, he reached out. His fingers brushed against her arm—light, hesitant, just enough to feel the warmth of her skin.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The air was thick with tension—too much of it. The emotions swirling around them were both electric and suffocating. He wanted to close the distance. To pull her into his arms and hold her, to kiss her until the guilt was nothing more than a distant memory.
But he couldn't. He wouldn't.
"You're right," he said finally, voice hoarse. "This can't happen. Not like this."
She nodded slowly, biting her lip as though holding back tears. "But I don't know how to walk away from you either," she whispered.
The words hung between them like a weight.
It was almost as if they were waiting for something—something to push them past the point of no return. But instead, they just stood there, inches apart, both of them aching with the unspoken desire that swirled between them.
---
Later that night, in the quiet of his room:
Ansh lay awake, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. He couldn't get the feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the longing in her eyes, out of his head. His body ached with the memory of her touch, and his mind was a tangled mess of conflicting emotions.
She's with Yash. She's his.
But she isn't really, is she?
What if I let this happen?
His thoughts spiraled, the quiet of the house amplifying every feeling, every doubt, until the only thing that felt real was the pull toward her. The tension. The desire.
But if we cross that line, it changes everything. And I'll never be able to go back.