•| EIGHTEEN |•
“Please don’t leave me… Sara… I love you…
” he whispered, his voice breaking in the middle as if the words themselves carried years of pain.
Before you could even process what he said, his arms suddenly wrapped around you tightly, pulling your small frame flush against his chest. His head dropped into the crook of your neck, his warm breath fanning against your skin, sending an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.
You froze — completely still — your hands hovering awkwardly in the air, unsure where to place them.
His hold wasn’t forceful… it was desperate…
like a man clinging to the last piece of his world.
And then, without warning, you felt soft, wet kisses being pressed against your neck.
Your eyes widened instantly. “M-Mr. Mehra… ah—” your voice trembled as he continued, his lips brushing and sucking lightly against your skin in his drunken haze, mistaking you for someone else.
Heat rushed to your face as you squirmed, trying to push him away gently, your palms pressing against his shoulders.
“P-please… you’re mistaken… I’m not—” but your words died when his grip loosened on its own. His body went heavy… limp.
He had fallen asleep.
Still hugging you.
You stayed there for a moment — trapped in his arms, your heart racing wildly — before carefully prying yourself free, making sure not to wake him.
Slowly, you guided his head back onto the couch, adjusting the cushion beneath him so he’d be comfortable.
His face looked so different while sleeping…
the harsh lines gone… replaced by exhaustion…
vulnerability. Your fingers moved on their own, brushing lightly across his forehead, pushing his hair back.
“He has… a son…” you uttered faintly, the realization sinking deeper now, heavier now.
Your vision blurred as tears began to pool and then spill over, rolling silently down your cheeks one after another.
You didn’t even know why you were crying — for him…
for yourself… or for the unknown life waiting ahead.
Just then—
His phone started ringing loudly, vibrating against the glass table and pulling you out of your thoughts.
You sniffed softly, wiping your tears with the back of your hand before picking it up. The caller ID flashed a name you recognized.
“Aarav…” you murmured under your breath before hesitantly answering the call.
“Hello…”
There was a brief pause from the other side.
“…I’m sorry, I think I called my best friend,” the male voice said casually, clearly confused.
You glanced at the unconscious man on the couch before replying softly, “It is your best friend’s number.”
That instantly caught his attention.
“Umm… then where’s Krish?” he asked, his tone turning alert.
You took a slow, steady breath, steadying your voice before explaining everything — how you got the call…
how you went to pick him up… how drunk he was…
how he couldn’t even stand properly… how he was now asleep in your house.
You left out the more personal details, but your voice still carried the emotional weight of the night.
“Ah… okay,” Aarav exhaled from the other side, sounding both relieved and unsurprised. “Can you send me your address? I’ll come pick him up.”
You nodded instinctively even though he couldn’t see you. “Yes… I’ll text you.”
The call ended shortly after.
You stood there quietly, phone still in your hand, glancing back at Krish — sleeping peacefully, unaware of the storm he had stirred inside you.
---
Soon the doorbell rang again, its sharp chime echoing through the quiet house and pulling you out of your restless thoughts.
You walked toward the door, your steps slow, still emotionally drained from everything that had happened tonight.
As you opened it, your eyes fell on a tall man standing casually against the doorframe, a flirty, easygoing smile playing on his lips as if the late hour meant nothing to him.
“Hey… I’m Aarav,” he said smoothly, extending his hand forward for a handshake as though you both were meeting under normal circumstances and not in the middle of the night after retrieving his drunk best friend from a bar.
You blinked once before offering a polite smile, placing your hand in his.
“I’m Samira… Mr. Mehra’s fiancée,” you introduced yourself softly.
“I know,” he replied instantly, his smile widening knowingly before he stepped inside without hesitation, his sharp gaze immediately landing on Krish’s unconscious figure sprawled across the couch.
For a brief second, Aarav’s playful expression softened into concern.
He walked over quietly, crouching slightly as he examined Krish’s condition.
“You really outdid yourself tonight, huh…” he muttered under his breath before carefully lifting him up.
Krish groaned faintly but remained half-asleep as Aarav wrapped Krish’s arm securely around his own shoulder, adjusting his weight with practiced familiarity — like he had done this many times before.
“It’s already late… we’ll leave now,” Aarav said, turning his head toward you with an assuring smile that carried gratitude hidden beneath it.
You nodded gently, clutching your dupatta unconsciously in your fingers.
“Drive safe… and take care of him,” you mumbled, your voice softer than intended.
He gave you a small nod before guiding Krish out, and you slowly closed the door behind them, the click of the lock sounding louder than usual in the silent house.
Meanwhile, inside the car, Aarav carefully settled Krish in the passenger seat before starting the engine.
The city lights blurred past as he drove through the near-empty roads, but his attention kept shifting toward Krish, who was mumbling incoherently beside him.
Aarav sighed, shaking his head lightly. “You’re impossible, man…
” he muttered, adjusting the steering wheel — when suddenly Krish spoke again, his voice slurred yet heavy with emotion.
“I loved you… Sara… but I like her more…” Aarav’s brows furrowed instantly at the confession, surprise flashing across his face.
He glanced sideways. “You like whom?” he asked, curiosity piqued, trying to dig deeper into his drunken best friend’s heart.
Krish only chuckled faintly, eyes still closed.
“Dumb kid…” he murmured, a sleepy smile tugging at his lips as flashes of your angry face, your stubborn eyes, your trembling figure in the lift drifted through his hazy mind.
Aarav scoffed lightly, misunderstanding completely.
“Dumb kid? …He’s probably talking about Kiaan,” he muttered to himself, shaking his head in amusement as he focused back on the road — completely unaware that the man beside him wasn’t talking about his son at all…
but about you… and that somewhere between arguments, chaos, and an accidental kiss…
Krish Mehra was falling for you more and more with every passing moment.