The morning after the conversation was heavier than the rain that had returned to the villa.
Ansh awoke with the taste of Riya's confession still lingering on his tongue, bitter yet strangely intoxicating. Her words echoed in his mind as if they were carved into his very soul. "I don't know how to walk away from you."
He tossed and turned in bed, the sheets tangled around him like his thoughts. She had said so much with so few words. The honesty, the vulnerability, the ache in her voice—it was too much for him to ignore, too much to just let go.
But the reality of the situation pressed down on him. Yash. His best friend. He could see his face now—grinning, carefree, blissfully unaware of what was unfolding between them.
Ansh's chest tightened. This is wrong. I can't betray him.
But the pull between him and Riya, the way his body remembered every moment of their brief contact, was undeniable. She had touched him—no, they had touched each other. And the memory of that touch was etched into his skin, like a secret he could never erase.
He stood from the bed, his legs unsteady, as if the weight of the decision already bore down on him. He couldn't stay in his room any longer. Not with his thoughts, his guilt, swirling in every corner.
Yash was downstairs, talking to someone on the phone. Ansh stepped out into the hallway, his gaze falling on the door that led to the garden where he had last seen Riya. But she wasn't out there. Not this time.
Instead, he found himself in the kitchen, staring at the coffee machine, as if making a cup of coffee could solve everything. He stood there for what felt like an eternity before he heard footsteps behind him. Soft. Hesitant.
He didn't need to turn around to know who it was.
"Ansh…" Riya's voice was barely above a whisper.
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took a slow breath and turned to face her. She stood in the doorway, her eyes locked onto the floor. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, like she was protecting herself from the world—or maybe from him.
She was dressed in something simple, but it only made her look more alluring. A soft sweater and loose jeans. The warmth of the kitchen seemed to accentuate her presence, making everything around her feel like it faded into the background.
"I've been thinking," she began, her voice quieter than usual. "About last night…"
Ansh's breath caught. He didn't know how to respond. Everything felt like it was happening too fast. "Riya…"
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and there was a depth there—a sadness, a longing—that made his heart race. "I can't do this, Ansh," she whispered, taking a small step forward. "I can't keep pretending that nothing's happening between us. I can't keep pretending that I don't feel what I feel when I'm with you."
The words were like a crack in a dam, a flood of emotion breaking free. Ansh took a step back, his mind whirling. "But we can't—" he started, but she cut him off.
"I know," she said, her voice cracking. "I know. But it doesn't change how I feel."
They stood there, just inches apart, the tension between them almost palpable. He could feel the heat of her body, the subtle scent of her perfume still lingering in the air. He wanted to reach out, to hold her, to say that he didn't want to let go of this—of her. But he couldn't. Not like this.
Not with Yash downstairs. Not with everything that was at stake.
Riya took another step forward, closing the distance between them. Her fingers brushed his arm again, and this time, it felt more deliberate. Her touch lingered. He sucked in a breath, his pulse racing.
"I don't want to hurt anyone," she murmured, her voice barely audible. "But I don't know how much longer I can keep fighting this, Ansh."
He closed his eyes, his mind spinning. "Riya, we can't. Not like this. I can't do that to Yash."
Her face softened, and she stepped back. Her hands dropped to her sides, and for a moment, the silence stretched between them, thick and suffocating.
"I know," she said quietly, her voice distant now. "I know."
The words hung in the air like a fragile thread about to snap.
---
Later that day:
Ansh found himself back outside, walking aimlessly in the garden. The sun was beginning to dip low in the sky, casting long shadows over the villa. His mind was a blur, and each step felt heavy, like he was walking through sand.
He heard a voice behind him—Yash's.
"Ansh! Hey!"
He turned, forcing a smile as Yash jogged up to him. There was something too casual about the way Yash looked at him, like nothing had changed. But everything had changed.
"Yo, what's up, man? You okay?" Yash clapped him on the back, a grin stretching across his face. "You've been acting a little off today."
Ansh froze, unsure of how to respond. His heart was still pounding from his conversation with Riya, the guilt twisting inside him. He didn't know how to look at Yash without seeing the truth of what was happening—the thing that could tear everything apart.
"Yeah," Ansh said quietly, forcing the words past the lump in his throat. "I'm good."
Yash raised an eyebrow but didn't press. "Alright, man. If you need anything, I'm here."
Ansh nodded, but as Yash walked away, he felt the familiar sense of dread settle in his chest. He had lied. Not just to Yash, but to himself. He wasn't okay.
He wasn't sure he'd ever be okay again.