Chapter 14
Dalhousie – Hotel – Same Night
Kushal lay wide awake, tossing and turning in his bed, but it wasn’t the cold that kept him up. It was the image of her.
Arundhati.
He recalled how she looked a while ago, standing at the connecting door between their rooms, like she had no idea what she’d done to him. In that barely-there, house-cotton nightie, she’d looked innocent and sinful all at once.
That tiny scrap of fabric, those bare legs, the hint of her collarbone…God, she had no idea what it did to him.
She never wore anything like that when they were under the same roof. Back then, it had been all cotton pyjamas or silk robes. But tonight, she had let down her guard, not intentionally, perhaps, but enough to make every nerve in his body tense.
And then there was the jacket.
His jacket.
Lying right there on her bed like it belonged. And not neatly folded either. It was wrinkled. As if she’d curled around it, seeking comfort. Seeking him.
That image had branded itself into his brain.
That she could want his warmth enough to reach for something of his, but still wouldn’t reach for him.
He would have given her the real thing without hesitation.
Would have pulled her into his arms and held her the entire night if she let him.
But no. She was still Mrs. Egoistic Arundhati Nair, and these days her pride outran even his.
He sighed heavily, turning over again, his eyes inevitably finding the connecting door, which was still open between their rooms.
Here he was restless, burning, enduring the cruel irony of having her so close and yet out of reach. And there she was, probably sleeping like a rock, dreaming about legal wins while he suffered a slow, sleepless demise. The night couldn’t be cruel than this, he thought.
But just as he was about to turn again in frustration, something caught his attention.
The faint glow of a bedside lamp and a soft movement. Was she awake? Slowly, carefully, he got up and padded silently toward the door. He told himself that he wasn’t going there to intrude but just to make sure she was alright.
The moment he reached the connecting door, he saw her.
Arundhati stood at the edge of her bed, barefoot, still in that infuriatingly tiny nightie, her arms wrapped around herself as she tried to make her way to the closet. But she was moving too slowly, like baby steps. And that’s when he realised her body was shaking… actually shivering.
The next second, she swayed losing balance because the shivering turned intense.
He didn’t think.
He rushed in.
“Aru?” He caught her before she could stumble.
She startled slightly but didn’t resist his hold.
“What’s wrong?” he asked, concern darkening his tone.
She took a shivering breath and whispered, “I am cold. Wanted the extra quilt.”
He cursed softly under his breath, his hold tightening around her as he guided her back to the bed. “Lie down. I’ll get it.”
She didn’t argue. She was too cold and shivering to pretend she didn’t need him.
He helped her lie down on the bed again and pulled the existing comforter over her, tucking it around her shoulders, before crossing the room with purpose. He opened the closet and pulled out the thick, folded blanket she’d been heading for, then returned to her bed.
“This is what happens when you go out there in a cardigan like it’s springtime,” he muttered, spreading the blanket over her.
He was talking about the scene after dinner when she had been enjoying the cold breeze at the back of the resort, and he had draped his jacket over her to protect her from the cold.
“No scarf. No jacket. You know the cold doesn’t suit you,” he added angrily.
She watched him in silence, still shivering, eyes wide as he fussed around her like a man possessed…not by anger, but by the sheer need to make sure she was warm and safe.
But he wasn’t done.
He turned around, vanished into his room for a few seconds, and returned with his own duvet in hand. Without saying anything, he added it to the growing pile of covers over her.
“There,” he said, almost breathless now. “That should do it.”
She didn’t stop him.
She couldn’t.
She just lay there, blinking up at him, overwhelmed by the contrast between how far apart they were… and how intimately he still knew her.
This was him. The man who remembered that she hated cold air in her lungs, who knew her limits better than she admitted them herself. The same man who was hurt just hours ago, but was still here, without hesitation, when she needed him.
“You didn’t have to,” she murmured finally, her voice small.
“Yes, I did.”
There was no arrogance in his reply. No flirtation. Just honesty.
As Arundhati lay beneath the pile of blankets, still shivering, her mind betrayed her by pulling her back to another winter’s night.
It was in Delhi, not long after their wedding. She had gone out for dinner with a college friend. Her car had broken down right outside the restaurant. Her friend had offered to drop her home on a scooter. It was only three kilometres. It had felt harmless at the time.
But that ride had sliced the wind through her like needles.
The icy Delhi air had cut into her ears and skin, and by the time she reached their home, she was trembling uncontrollably.
Kushal had panicked, although he never showed it with words.
That was never his way. Instead, he had responded with instinct.
He’d piled one blanket after another over her.
But when nothing helped, then, without a word, he had climbed into bed with her, pulled her into his arms, and wrapped his body around hers.
She remembered how shocked she had been.
Not because of the intimacy. They had been sharing a bed since the wedding.
But because of the urgency. The care. His bare skin against her chilled limbs, the way he had rubbed her back, her arms, her thighs, the way his legs tangled with hers, creating friction, transferring every ounce of his warmth into her like she was the last ember he refused to let die.
It had taken an hour, but eventually, she had stopped shivering.
And now, almost a year later, in a hotel room in Dalhousie, Arundhati was in the exact same state. But this time, the space between them was filled with too much past. Too many unsaid things. Too many bruises they hadn’t addressed.
Still, her body remembered.
Her heart remembered.
And Kushal… he stood at the edge of her bed, staring at her the same way he had that night…torn between restraint and helplessness. She saw it in his eyes. The way his fingers twitched at his side, as though his body wanted to repeat what it knew had worked before.
He shook his head, as if forcing himself to behave.
But then he moved quietly and sat down at the edge of the bed. His fingers found her arms over the blanket and began rubbing. Back and forth. Slow, firm, warm.
“You should go back to sleep,” she whispered, her teeth still slightly chattering. “I’ll be fine.”
“You’re not fine,” he said, not even glancing at her. “Stop pretending.”
“I said I’ll be—”
He cut her off by pulling the duvet higher over her shoulder. “You’re shivering. You can’t even walk straight. Just shut up for once, Aru.”
She glared at him, but there was no real fight behind it.
He rubbed her arms harder while all she did was look at him.
When it didn’t work even after a few more minutes, he finally stood and moved silently around to the other side of the bed.
She followed him with her eyes, confusion knitting her brow as he reached for the bedside lamp, dimming it until the room was bathed in almost darkness again.
She immediately knew what was coming.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the blanket, her body tensed as her eyes met his with a silent protest. It was like a warning, a half plea, and when that didn’t work, she gave him a glare that voiced a single word painted across her expression: Don’t.
Kushal saw it.
He read it clearly.
And still, he did not stop.
He pulled back the blanket and slipped into the bed beside her. The mattress dipped under his weight, and the warmth of his body immediately began to radiate toward her beneath the many layers of fabric.
Her heart raced like a warning bell.
“I’ll leave once you stop shivering,” he said. “Until then, just give up your damn ego for one night, stop fighting everything, and come to me.”
It wasn’t a request. It wasn’t even an offer. It was a line drawn not in pride, but in desperate honesty. The kind of honesty that asked nothing but gave everything.
She didn’t give him permission. She didn’t say yes.
But she didn’t say no either.
Maybe because it was the way her body, still trembling, had begun to respond to his presence without her permission.
When he scooted toward her, in that one breath of hesitation, she did the same.
That was all he needed.
He moved closer, sliding his arm gently around her waist, drawing her toward him to meet the solid warmth of his chest. She felt his other arm wrap around her, protectively anchoring her to him.
Then came the pressure of his leg, curling over hers, not in a possessive gesture, but in one of necessary comfort…
of a man doing everything in his power to share his warmth with someone he still couldn’t stop loving.
The moment their bodies touched fully, the change was immediate. His body heat soaked into her like a balm, dissolving the tremors that had held her captive all night.
His hand began to move under the covers, palm flat and slow against her back, rubbing in small, firm circles through the thin cotton of her nightdress.
It was not meant to seduce her, but to save her from shivering.
And yet, despite that pure intention, the tension between them thickened with each passing moment.
His leg moved slightly, just enough to create friction, to get her blood flowing again.
It was intimate.
And it was working.