CHAPTER XIII LOVETHE FIFTH SIN
The twins' house pulsed with life, a fever dream of strobe lights and spilled drinks, creating an intoxicating atmosphere that felt more like a surreal tapestry than a gathering.
Bodies moved in sync to the rhythmic beats of Karol G, a sea of ghost masks hanging loosely from necks, while someone, in a burst of revelry, did shots off a pumpkin-a jarring twist to the Halloween spirit.
Nayonica, with a laugh that shimmered in the chaos, pulled Ishaani into the heartbeat of the party, swinging their joined hands like they were untouched by the world around them.
For a while, the music swallowed them whole, laughter mingling with dance until reality blurred at the edges, leaving a kaleidoscope of colors and rhythm.
Then, the unmistakable beat of "Latina Foreva" reverberated through the air, a song that turned deliciously sweet memories into bitter ghosts.
Ishaani froze.
Tara's face, vivid and haunting, flashed before her eyes-Tara in that same song's embrace, dancing close, her lazy smirk inviting Ishaani in like the gravitational pull of a black hole.
It was a moment crystallized in time, the echo of laughter and warmth contrasted sharply with the frost that settled over Ishaani's heart now.
Her body remembered everything-the way they moved, the taste of excitement laced with longing-while her heart, stubborn and fractured, refused to let go.
Nayonica sensed the change like a storm brewing on the horizon. Her own laughter faltered, giving way to a sharp, breathless exhale. "You're thinking about her again."
"I-no, I just-"
"She called you a fucking slut, Ishaani," Nayonica snapped, her eyes blazing like flint igniting dry grass. "She humiliated you! You want to be her dog for a lifetime?!"
"I didn't-" Ishaani's words stuttered, caught in the crossfire of memory and raw emotion.
Nayonica shoved her shoulder, the gesture light but carrying the weight of unspoken frustrations. "What about the girl who held you when you broke your knuckles? Who stitched you up, who stayed when you didn't even want yourself? You never fucking look at her!"
The air between them crackled, charged with unvoiced truths. The music thudded on, blind and heartless, drowning their turmoil in a relentless beat.
Nayonica's eyes glistened with something ugly and honest, "You're unfair, Ish. You promised to be my prince. I've held you through every goddamn storm."
And then came the shove-harder this time, followed by an instinctual pull back by the fabric of Ishaani's shirt, fists twisting in desperation. Her voice cracked, raw and unraveling at the seams, "You're unfair!"
In that moment, everything shattered. The guilt, the ache, the lingering perfume of Tara-it all snapped like a taut violin string. Ishaani reached out, grasping Nayonica's waist, and kissed her.
It was desperate, messy, starved-a collision of everything unsaid.
Nayonica gasped, eyes widening for a fleeting moment before instinct took over.
One hand found its way to the back of Ishaani's neck, the other cupping her jaw, nails digging in just enough to anchor them in that moment.
She kissed back fiercely, as if she were trying to forge a new constellation from the wreck of a shattered galaxy.
"I'm sorry, Nayon," Ishaani mumbled between breaths, her voice fracturing the heavy air. "I'm so sorry."
"Don't even fucking start, you idiot," Nayonica whispered, her breath warm and electric against Ishaani's lips.
And they kissed again. They closed their eyes to the noise, to the specter of Tara, to the heartbreak and guilt that hung dense in the air. In that moment, everything faded-a soft blur lost to the night.
_____________
When light broke through the haze of dreams, the first thing Ishaani Rajvanshi felt was the unforgiving warmth of sunlight, harsh and relentless, like the hand of fate slapping her awake.
She groaned, her tongue heavy with the remnants of vodka and bad decisions, a taste that clung to her like an embarrassing secret.
The crumpled sheets beneath her were hot and smelled of Nayonica's perfume-floral, expensive, and nauseatingly confident.
A slow, careful glance to her right revealed Nayonica Sen, a vision of beauty sprawled across the pillow, hair cascading like a waterfall of dark silk.
An arm was draped casually across Ishaani's stomach, an intimate hold that sent her heartbeat racing into a chaotic tempo.
Ishaani froze, eyes wide as she took in the evidence of last night-nail marks along her chest and a tantalizing bite mark glimpsed in the morning light. "Mother of god," she whispered, dread pooling in her stomach. "I'm so dead."
Nayonica stirred, stretching like a cat, a smirk gracing her lips, the kind that looked like sin wrapped in silk. "Well," she drawled, her voice thick with sleep, "Morning, my pretend prince."
"Don't call me that," Ishaani croaked, attempting to sit up while drowning in mortification.
"Why not? You liked it last night," Nayonica teased.
Ishaani blinked, a morsel of disbelief dancing across her features. "Nayonica."
"Yes, my love?" Nayonica continued, her grin widening, unaware of the storm brewing inside Ishaani.
"Not right now. I feel doomed."
Nayonica only laughed, rolling out of bed as if she owned the space-a queen surveying her domain. "Oh, relax. You were magnificent."
"My soul just left my body. How are you so chill?"
"I told you I'd ruin your life someday," Nayonica shot back, brushing her thumb across Ishaani's collarbone with playful authority. "Didn't know it'd be this fun."
"Yeah, well, congratulations. You've officially joined my list of personal regrets, right under 'cutting my own bangs in 2019.'"
With an infectious laugh, Nayonica danced out of reach, teasing and carefree, leaving Ishaani to wrestle with her own chaotic heart. "Coffee?" she called over her shoulder.
"No. Exorcism, maybe," Ishaani muttered, half-heartedly attempting to stifle a smile as she contemplated the weight of the night and the exhilarating promise of whatever lay ahead.
______________
By the time Ishaani dug out her jeans and shirt from the clutter of the night before, her phone was flashing an alarming array of missed calls. Eighteen in total, a cacophony of voices clamoring for attention:
- Vedika: 7
- Mumma: 10
- Amaya: 1, though the accompanying text teased a loaded question: "hooked up?"
With a deep groan, her head throbbed like a runaway drum in a sweltering parade.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror-a harrowing sight.
Eyeliner smudged like paint dripped carelessly across canvas, hickeys scattered like constellations across her skin, and her hair bore the marks of a fierce battle with temptation that had left her breathless and defeated.
"Cute," she mumbled to herself through gritted teeth. "Corpse chic."
Nayonica slipped into the room, donning her shirt with the fluid grace of someone who had long embraced the chaotic overtures of the night. "You're glowing, too, you know," she teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
"I'm sweating, Nayonica," Ishaani shot back, fumbling with her boots, every movement a reminder of the choices she regretted.
"Semantics," Nayonica replied with a playful wink, soaking in the energy swirling between them.
"I have to go," Ishaani insisted, aware of the heaviness that clung to her like an unwanted cloak.
"You could stay," Nayonica suggested, her tone softening as she realised Ishaani was regretting this.
"My Mumma would kill me." Ishaani said softer this time around, since the last thing she wanted was to cause some sort of distress or sadness to Her best friend.
Nayonica shot her a sweet smile that seemed to bloom in the weight of the morning sun.
______________
The cab ride became a penance, a stretch of time wrapped in self-reproach that felt like an eternity. Each beat of the meter counted down to the self-inflicted torture of recollection.
"Why were you so reckless, Ishaani? Ah, right.
You glimpsed the fire in Tara's spirit and thought, why not burn down my own world?
Lovely. You absolute fool. A drunken night filled with lust that somehow screams 'poetic tragedy,' as if Shakespeare himself would rise from the grave just to mock you. "
Her head made a soft thump against the window, a futile attempt to hammer down the chaos inside. "I hate you," she growled, addressing her reflection, the city of blurred colors reflected in shards of morning light-an indiscernible kaleidoscope of emotions trapped within the glass.
"And yet, here you are, chasing ghosts wrapped in lipstick and bad decisions. What do you hope to find? This? A collection of hickeys, whispers of regret, and guilt that carries Nayonica's scent?"
Another buzz from her phone jolted her. Vedika's piercing message flashed: "Where the hell are you?"
Ishaani hesitated, fingers hovering over the screen as she considered her response.
"On my way."
Forget the emojis. Today, she didn't deserve that kind of lightness.
The cacophony of the city washed over her yet again-a swirling blend of honking horns, the hum of conversation, the fragrance of fried snacks wafting through open windows, each sound an ode to normality that she longed to cling to, even as she felt like a ship lost at sea, tossed and turned by the tide of her own decisions.
"You slept with your best friend, Rajvanshi. Welcome to the chaos multiverse, you dumbass. congratulations."
________________
When the Rajvanshi door swung open, silence fell like a heavy shroud.
Ishaani stood frozen, mid-step, the unholy combination of wild hair, unbuttoned shirt, and jeans that sat miserably low on her hips forming a tableau of her reckless abandon.
The faintest hints of rebellion marked her collarbone-like a prize from a battle she didn't know she'd signed up for.
Her mother stood at the threshold, arms crossed like thunderclouds ready to erupt. The kind of silence that rang loudest screeched, You're about to die.
Then the storm broke.
"ISHAAANI RAJVANSHI!"
Her name echoed through the house, a sonic boom of worry and wrath that rattled the very walls. Ishaani felt the air thicken as her mother stormed forward, snatching the keys from her trembling hand. "Where the hell were you, haan?! Look at you-shirt open, hair like that! You've ruined yourself!"
"Mumma-" Ishaani tried.
"Don't you 'Mumma' me!" her mother snapped, circling her like a hawk inspecting its prey. "What are these marks?" she jabbed her finger toward the evidence evident on Ishaani's skin. "Tell me!"
Panic clawed at Ishaani's throat. "It's-it's boxing, Mumma-"
"Boxing?! Last night, you were fighting who? Your morals?!" her mother's disbelief spiraled into a crescendo, echoing within the very foundations of their home.
Even Vedika flinched at the heat of their exchange. Amaya struggled to stifle a laugh, while Tara looked up from her place at the dining table, eyes darting between the scene unfolding before her like a cat watching chaos from a distance-the confusion veiled by an artificial apathy.
"I swear, you have no shame," Mumma pressed on, her voice cracking like fragile porcelain under strain. "Do you think this family's name is a joke? You think you can walk in here looking like this-like some-" She bit her lip, the weight of her words hanging unfinished in the air.
Vedika finally stepped in, her voice steady, but taut like a tightened wire. "Mumma, let me-"
"No, Vedika! She needs to hear it! Look at her! Look at what she's become!"
Vedika inhaled deeply, her patience stretched thin. "Ishaani," she said, disappointment lacing her tone, a quiet blade cutting deeper than any words could. "You can't keep doing this. You can't just vanish. You had us all worried sick."
"Mumma's right," Vedika continued, her gaze softening momentarily. "You're better than this, Ish."
Ishaani felt the tremor run through her lips. "I know, I-"
"Then act like it," Vedika snapped, the words a sharp sting that etched themselves into the very essence of Ishaani's heart.
______________
As Amaya leaned over her cereal, spoon paused in midair, her voice broke the tension. "Well..." she said, an unmistakable glint of mischief in her eyes. "Someone definitely had a night."
"Amaya," Vedika warned, but the damage was set.
"What?!" Amaya protested, giggling like a mischievous sprite. "She walked in wearing the aftermath of sin. I mean-look at her neck!"
"AMAYA!" Mumma barked, scandalized.
Amaya only grinned wider, like a cat that had just caught a canary. "I'm just saying. Ghostface really got ghosted."
Ishaani shot her sister a glare, one that could've melted steel.
In that moment, amidst the echoing chaos of familial concern and playful jabs, she felt herself teeter on the precipice between chaos and clarity, haunted by choices made and those yet to come, every breath steeped in the bittersweet taste of rebellion.
Mumma pinched the bridge of her nose, a gesture that carved a crease of exhaustion between her brows.
"God, give me strength," she muttered in Bengali, her voice heavy with the weight of disappointment.
"My daughter thinks she's in an American movie.
Do you think this is funny? Walking in like this?
Do you want the neighbours to talk? Because they will!
They'll whisper about my daughter coming home like a- like an indisciplined child! "
The words landed like a bomb exploding in a quiet room, shattering the fragile atmosphere. Silence enveloped them, thick and mean, wrapping around Ishaani like a vice. Her throat tightened, a noose of emotions tightening with each breath.
"Mumma, please-"
"Don't even start!" Mumma's voice cut through the air like a knife. "You think you can do all this and still live under my roof? The next time you pull something like this-don't bother coming back!"
Vedika's expression flickered between rage and an odd pity, her hands clenching around her project notes.
Amaya, sitting across the table, looked absolutely thrilled, the corners of her mouth twitching as if holding back laughter.
But Tara remained still, a statue carved from marble, her heart pounding in her chest like a desperate drum.
She sat beside Vedika, feigning focus on their notes, but her gaze was drawn like a compass needle to Ishaani's neck.
There they were-the faint red scratches, whispers of a night filled with reckless intimacy.
The open shirt, the tremble in her frame-it all called to something buried deep within Tara.
Her pulse thudded painfully against her ribcage, each beat drowning out the rational thoughts that tried to surface. She told herself she didn't care. That Ishaani deserved this lecture. That it served her right for acting out.
But her jaw tightened until it hurt, a silent protest against the whirlwind of emotions.
Those were Nayonica's marks.
And suddenly Tara felt a wave of self-loathing crash against her. For knowing that. For picturing it. For feeling that sharp twist of jealousy pierce her chest, a heat igniting in her core that she couldn't extinguish.
"You're ridiculous," she thought, pretending to read, her mind a battleground of conflicting desires. "She's not yours. She never was." Yet through the mask she wore, a quiet voice whispered, "And yet... why does it feel like she should've been?"
As her pen slipped, the ink smudged, bleeding into the margins of her page, an unintentional reflection of chaos that echoed the scene unfolding before her. Vedika sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, mirroring Mumma's earlier frustration.
"This is chaos," Vedika muttered, her tone a blend of exasperation and resignation.
Amaya, unabashed and free of guilt, sipped her coffee. "This is entertainment."
Tara didn't respond. She couldn't trust her mouth not to betray her, so she kept writing-fake, empty lines on paper-trying to drown out the insistent noise in her head, the cacophony of jealousy and guilt waging war within her.
Mumma exhaled, the sound like an approaching storm winding down, the tension palpable as she pointed to the door. "Go to your room, Ishaani," she said, her voice softening yet stark. "Before I say something I will regret."
With a dazed nod, Ishaani turned, head down, but before she could escape, Amaya's voice sliced through the heavy silence. "Told you she hooked up."
"AMAYA!" Vedika snapped, the tone sharp enough to cut.
"What?! It's true!" Amaya laughed, ducking just in time to avoid the playful slap Wedika aimed at her. "Nayonica had the glow. I saw it last night. That girl looked like she'd swallowed the sun."
Mumma gasped, her shock echoing through the room. "Amaya! Language!"
Vedika groaned, exasperation written all over her face. "Oh my god."
Amidst the laughter and chaos, Ishaani fled like a shadow retreating from light, escaping the judgment and the weight of expectations.
As her footsteps faded, Tara's pen came to a halt. She stared at the door through which Ishaani had vanished, her expression a mask of indifference that faltered beneath the surface.
She could still smell Ishaani's perfume, lingering like a memory-sweet and intoxicating. She could still see Ishaani's hands trembling, that stark vulnerability etched into her demeanor. But the thought of what transpired between those trembling fingers was a poison Tara refused to acknowledge.
"She's reckless," Tara muttered under her breath, shoving her emotions aside. "And stupid. And selfish."