CHAPTER V BLOODIED POSSESSION
Sunlight slanted through the tall windows of the Rajvanshi house, carving golden streaks onto Ishaani's face. She groaned, clutching her pillow-faintly scented with her rose shampoo-and buried her head deeper.
Her mind replayed last night-like a broken record:
Tara. Lace bralette. Blood. Oh God, the nosebleed.
She yanked the blanket over her face, screamed silently into it.
"Why am I even alive?"
She cracked open the door just a little, peeking like a raccoon guarding its shame. She needed water, but first-Tara. She had to face her before she got what she needed. Pun intended.
Sunlight spilled through the windows, catching on the marble counter, the rim of a coffee mug, the slow, deliberate movement of Tara Kapoor's hands. The house was quiet-no Mumma, no Amaya, no interruptions-just the hum of appliances and the muted clink of steel against fruit.
She peeked out of the high windows of the hallway to look for Amaya's bike, finding no trace of it, she came to the conclusion that Amaya was out on a ride perhaps.
Passing the living room, through the hallway to the kitchen, and there she was-Tara Kapoor.
Fully dressed today, white shirt tucked into slate gray trousers, hair pinned back, lips glossy, expression unreadable.
The perfect picture of innocence-like she hadn't caused Ishaani's nose to bleed last night.
Tara's gaze flicked to Ishaani's face, lingering a moment too long on the faint pink mark at her nose's bridge.
"Feeling better?" Tara asked, her voice deceptively casual. "You were... bleeding, weren't you?"
Ishaani's face heated. "That-was-uh-dehydration?"
Tara's lips twitched. "Try not to dehydrate around me again. It's bad manners."
Tara stood at the counter-sleeves rolled to her elbows, wrists bare-skillfully slicing fruit with a confident, unhurried grace that made it look effortless. Apple. Papaya. Precision in every cut.
Ishaani paused at the doorway, barefoot, sleep-mussed, wearing an old T-shirt that wasn't meant for company-except, Tara wasn't really company, was she?
Not after last night.
The memory hit her like a delayed bruise: sweat, lace, blood. God.
"Oh," Ishaani whispered, voice trembling before she could stop herself.
She moved forward automatically, pulled by something stupid and magnetic. Tara finished slicing, set the knife down with a soft click, and finally turned.
Her gaze swept over Ishaani-calm, thorough, unhurried as if memorizing, pretending it meant nothing.
"Slept well?" Tara asked.
"Barely."
A pause.
Tara's lips twitched slightly. "Figures."
She picked up an apple slice, stepped closer-close enough for Ishaani to feel the shift, the warmth.
"Eat," Tara said, holding out the fruit.
Ishaani stared. Then at Tara's face. Then back at the fruit, caught in a web of longing and hesitation.
She gestured vaguely. "Just put it in the bowl."
Tara raised an eyebrow. "Maybe I will." She didn't.
Ishaani leaned in, her pulse racing. Her lips closed around the apple slice, teeth grazing Tara's finger by accident.
It was nothing-a touch, fleeting. And yet, it wrecked her.
Tara inhaled sharply-just once-but Ishaani felt it deep, like a confession. Her hand didn't move away immediately. Instead, her fingers hovered at the corner of Ishaani's mouth, slow, deliberate, almost teasing.
She brushed her thumb against Ishaani's lower lip, gentle enough to be intimate, controlled enough to send a shiver.
"Careful," Tara murmured. "You've got juice here."
Ishaani forgot how to breathe. Her eyes dropped to Tara's mouth, to that memory, to the restraint sitting there like a loaded gun.
"Tara..." she whispered, unsure if it was warning or plea.
The air thickened.
Tara stepped closer-just a breath away, heat and scent heavy around them.
"You look at me like that," Tara said softly, "then act surprised when I notice."
"I don't act surprised," Ishaani whispered, voice trembling. "I panic."
An all knowing smile flickered on Tara's lips.
"I've noticed," she said.
Footsteps echoed faintly. Vedika's distracted voice carried down the hall. "I forgot my phone-where did I leave it?"
The spell broke but didn't shatter. Tara straightened slightly, hand relaxing, eyes still locked on Ishaani. Vedika hurried past, too absorbed in her screen to notice the tension.
"Don't start without me," Vedika murmured, then was gone.
Silence fell again-damp, thick, unyielding. Tara exhaled slowly.
"You're doing this on purpose," she murmured.
"Doing what?" Ishaani asked, blinking.
"Standing there," Tara stepped in again, lower voice, "acting like you don't see what you're doing to me."
Ishaani's heart hammered.
"I don't," she whispered.
"That's the problem," Tara said softly, reaching out-two fingers, gentle but firm-tilting Ishaani's chin. Not rough, not hesitant-precise, deliberate.
Their faces were inches apart.
Ishaani's eyes lingered on the tiny freckle near Tara's jaw, on her lashes casting shadows, on the tight line of her mouth.
A moment stretched-inevitable-and Ishaani leaned in.
Tara stopped her.
Two fingers pressed firm beneath Ishaani's chin, halting her just shy of contact. Close enough to feel Tara's breath on her lips.
"Not yet," Tara whispered.
Ishaani's eyes fluttered shut. "You keep saying that."
"Because," Tara's voice trembled just slightly, "if I kiss you now, I won't be able to pretend anymore."
"Pretend what?" Ishaani asked.
"That I'm in control."
A thick silence, electric.
Then Tara stepped back-precise, deliberate, almost peeling herself away. She picked up her mug and took a measured sip.
"You should eat," she said evenly. "Before Vedika notices that red nose."
She paused at the doorway, then added quietly, "And Ishaani?"
"Yes?"
"Don't rush me."
And then she was gone, leaving Ishaani sitting there-heart pounding, lips tingling where a kiss hadn't happened-staring at the half-eaten apple as if it had betrayed her.
The kitchen felt too big, then impossibly small.
She pressed her palms flat against the tiled wall, letting the water drum against her shoulders as she tried-and failed-to focus on anything but Tara Kapoor. Bad idea. Always.
Her mind betrayed her instantly: Tara's voice echoing softly, Tara's restraint, the way she'd said don't rush me as if it was both a warning and a promise.
"I need to get a grip," Ishaani muttered, forehead against the tiles. "It's just a shower. Just you. Calm down."
But the universe clearly took that as a challenge.
The bathroom door creaked, barely audible, just enough to break the silence. Ishaani frowned, half-aware that the house was quiet-Vedika had stepped out, Amaya and Mumma nowhere in sight. Probably the pipes settling, her imagination running wild.
She didn't turn around.
Outside the fogged glass, Tara Kapoor paused.
She'd come with a purpose-mall errands, logistics, a normal adult conversation. She even had her words ready. But then, she saw the door slightly ajar.
Steam lazily curled into the hall, warm and scented faintly with soap. Inside, the dim, golden light filtered through fogged glass. Ishaani's silhouette blurred behind the cubicle-abstract yet unmistakable.
Tara's breath caught.
She should've turned back. She knew that. She'd already crossed so many lines in the last twenty-four hours.
But instead, she pushed the door open, slow and deliberate, hinges whispering softly.
Inside, the bathroom became a different world-humid, silent, almost obscene in its intimacy.
Condensation coated the mirror, the steady rush of water filling the space with a soft, unending drone.
The cubicle glass was now fully fogged, turning Ishaani into a shifting shadow, a fleeting ghost behind the glass.
And there, hanging neatly on the hook beside the door-her towel.
Tara stared at it like it had personally insulted her.
Her jaw clenched.
"This is a terrible idea," she muttered, voice low.
Then she took the towel.
Inside the shower, Ishaani felt something shift-an unfamiliar presence, an uninvited guest. Her spine stiffened, hand freezing mid-shampoo rinse.
"Tara?" she called, her voice echoing slightly off the tiles.
No reply.
The steady rhythm of the water persisted.
Her pulse quickened. "If that's you," she said, trying to sound casual, "this isn't funny."
Still nothing.
Then, footsteps-measured, unhurried, familiar.
Her heart slammed against her ribs.
"You're not supposed to be in here," she managed, a laugh slipping out despite herself. "I'm naked."
"I know," Tara's calm voice came from just outside the cubicle.
Ishaani stood inside the cubicle, her damp hair slicked back, skin still warm from the shower, her pulse betraying her with its erratic beats.
She cleared her throat, already exasperated.
"Tara," she said, "give me the towel." Outside the glass, Tara had made herself comfortable.
She sat on the sink counter as if she owned the place-one leg bent over the other dangling lazily, elbows braced behind her palms, her posture seemingly careless but never truly so.
The towel lay folded across her lap, pristine and out of reach.
"No," Tara said simply.
Ishaani stared at her silhouette through the fogged glass. "You're actually insane," she remarked.
"Hmm," Tara hummed. "Possibly."
"I'm dripping. I'm cold. And I'm naked."
Tara tilted her head, considering. "You seem fine."
Ishaani scoffed. "You're enjoying this way too much."
Tara smiled-slow, knowing, dangerous. "You noticed."
Ishaani dragged a hand down her face, water flicking from her fingers. "This is extortion."
"I prefer leverage," Tara replied smoothly.
"Vedika could walk in at any second."
"She won't," Tara said, her voice softening, smug. "She's on the phone. She paces when she argues."
Ishaani paused, suspicion creeping in. "You've been profiling my sister now?"
"I'm thorough," Tara responded with a hint of pride.
The steam moved and shifted around them. Ishaani exhaled, then laughed despite herself. "You're unbelievable."
"And yet," Tara said lightly, "you're still asking."
Ishaani hesitated, pride battling her vulnerability. Then, deliberately, she extended her arm out of the cubicle-a silent, unintentional power move.
Water trickled down it, tracing the muscle and sinew beneath flushed skin. Veins stood out starkly, a boxer's arm-strong, lived-in, unapologetic.
Tara's breath caught, just for half a second-enough.
"Oh," Tara murmured, eyes dropping. "You should've led with that."
"Stop staring," Ishaani muttered. "Towel. Please."
There it was. Not dramatic. Not loud. But real.
Tara reached for the towel, walked to the cubicle to handle it over, then hesitated.
She didn't let go.
Instead, her other hand lifted. Two fingers brushed Ishaani's wrist first, feather-light, almost accidental. Then, deliberately, she traced upward along the raised vein on her forearm.
The touch was slow, curious, reverent-a sensation that made Ishaani's mind short-circuit.
"Tara," Ishaani said again, her breath hitching.
"You're very... solid," Tara said quietly, her thumb pressing just enough to feel the pulse beneath. "Do you know that?"
Ishaani swallowed. "You're playing right now. Don't do that."
Tara smiled-and pulled. Not hard. Not enough. Just enough.
Ishaani stumbled forward half a step, startled by the intimacy, the suddenness. Her vision whitewashed briefly-heat, awareness, that sharp shock of being pulled into someone else's gravity.
Her free hand slapped against the glass for balance.
"Tara-"
"Careful," Tara murmured, still holding the towel, still holding her. "You asked."
They froze, so close that steam curled around them both. So close Ishaani could smell her-clean, familiar, grounding. The towel was the only barrier preventing exposure and catastrophe.
Tara pressed her thumb once more against the vein. Then she released both towel and touch simultaneously, stepping back as if burned.
"Dry off," Tara said, voice steady again, eyes firmly on Ishaani's face. "Before you fall and sue me."
Ishaani clutched the towel to herself, her chest rising fast, lips parted as if she'd forgotten how to use them.
"You are," she managed, "an absolute menace."
Tara smoothened imaginary wrinkles from her clothes, as she smirked. "And you," she said, glancing back with a glint in her eye, "shouldn't beg unless you're prepared for consequences."
She walked out. The door shut softly after the clicks of her heels.
Inside the cubicle, Ishaani leaned her forehead against the glass, clutching the towel tight, her heart trying to escape her ribcage.
"Naive idiot," she muttered to herself.
Outside, Tara paused in the hallway, her hand flexing once at her side. She could still feel the wetness on the pads of her fingers.
"Control," she whispered.
It didn't answer.
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