01 Too Close To Touch
Niyati's POV
Most eighteen-year-olds talked about crushes like it was a joke.
Movie stars, boys from other schools, that new boy in tuition class - all in the same sentence. But not me.
I didn't care for teenage flings or school gossip. My world was smaller, quieter.
School from 8 to 1.
Tuitions by 3.
And every other evening - I ended up in the one place I shouldn't be: Diya's house.
She was my best friend since fifth grade. The loud one. The funny one. The one who knew everything about everyone - except me.
Especially not the part where I was in love with her brother.
Or whatever it was that made my stomach flip every time he looked in my direction.
Though, to be honest... he rarely did.
Ansh Raizada.
Twenty-one. Tall. Too calm for his own good. Smelled like musk and money.
Studied architecture. Lived in his own world. Had girls whispering about him, but he never paid attention.
Except maybe once.
And I lived on that memory like it was oxygen.
The school bell rang at 1:10. I walked out, bag slung on one shoulder, earbuds in - listening to the same three songs I always did when I was nervous.
I wasn't sure what made me feel that way today.
Actually, I did.
It was Tuesday.
And on Tuesdays, Ansh came home early from college.
I reached Diya's place a little after 2. She opened the door barefoot, phone in hand, already ranting about something she saw on Instagram.
I nodded along, fake-laughed, did all the best friend things - but my eyes were already searching.
And then I saw him.
He walked out of the kitchen, casually sipping from a glass of water, white t-shirt slightly damp from sweat - maybe gym? Maybe a run?
His fingers pushed his hair back lazily, and my heart forgot its job.
He didn't look at me.
He never did.
But I watched him like I had memorized him a thousand times already.
And the worst part?
I had.
"Water?" Diya asked, already heading upstairs. "I'm going to change real quick. You know where the glasses are."
I nodded, my voice caught somewhere between yes and don't go.
The moment she disappeared up the stairs, the air shifted.
It was just me and him in the living room now.
Ansh was leaning against the kitchen counter, scrolling on his phone, still sipping from the same glass. Casual. Effortlessly unreadable.
I took a deep breath and stepped forward, walking into the kitchen like I wasn't hyper-aware of every movement he made.
"Excuse me," I murmured, voice soft but deliberate, as I reached for the cabinet just above his head.
He didn't move out of the way.
Instead, he looked up. Not at me - at the glass in his hand, at the counter, at anywhere but my face.
But still... he didn't move.
I reached up anyway, pretending not to notice the limited space, the closeness, the way my arm brushed against his as I opened the cabinet.
My fingers shook. Just a little.
There was enough room for me to stand slightly to the side - but I didn't.
I stood right there, close enough to feel the warmth of his body against mine, close enough to hear the sharp breath he took when my hair grazed his arm.
He still said nothing.
But I saw the way his jaw clenched when I stepped down.
Glass in hand, I offered him a smile. Innocent. Harmless.
"Thank you," I said.
He raised an eyebrow slightly, still not fully meeting my eyes.
"For what?"
I tilted my head, playing dumb. "For not moving."
And with that, I turned around and walked out of the kitchen - heart pounding, skin burning, pulse screaming.
Maybe he didn't look at me like I wanted him to.
And that was enough to keep me going.
For now.
Diya came bouncing back downstairs minutes later, in her comfy cotton shorts and oversized hoodie - her wet hair wrapped in a towel like a crown.
I had already set our textbooks out on the dining table, open but untouched.
"Ugh," she groaned as she flopped onto the chair beside me. "I hate algebra."
"Same," I murmured, flipping through my book. But truthfully, I hadn't read a single word. My mind was still in that kitchen.
Still thinking about the way Ansh hadn't moved.
Still feeling the ghost of his presence against my arm.
"So," Diya chirped, pencil tapping on the table. "If X is the number of chocolate bars, and Y is the money... why am I failing at life?"
I laughed - the sound coming out more like a breath. "Maybe X is cursed."
We spent the next ten minutes half-solving equations, half-doodling in the margins. Diya was distracted; I was possessed.
And then I heard it.
The bathroom door upstairs opened, and footsteps padded down the hallway.
I didn't even need to look up to know it was him.
My pulse quickened.
Casual, casual - I told myself, eyes glued to the page. But the moment he reached the stairs, I couldn't help it.
I looked.
Ansh came down slowly, lazily toweling his wet hair, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. He was wearing a plain black t-shirt that clung to him, a pair of loose joggers that hung low on his hips.
His skin was flushed from the hot shower - warm, golden, alive.
I stared.
I couldn't help it.
Every nerve in my body felt drawn to him like iron to a magnet - silent, stubborn, dangerous.
He was drying his hair with one hand, his other hand raking through it. A bead of water slipped down the side of his neck, disappearing beneath his shirt.
I bit my lip.
God.
How was it legal for someone to look like that?
"Earth to Niyati?" Diya snapped her fingers in front of me, pulling me out of my daze.
I blinked. My pencil had frozen mid-air.
"I- what?" I stammered.
"You've been staring at the same page for five minutes," she teased. "What are you thinking about?"
Your brother, my mind whispered. Your brother in that damn shirt. Your brother with wet hair. Your brother I shouldn't want.
"Nothing," I said quickly, dropping my eyes. "Just zoned out."
Ansh passed behind us toward the fridge, his presence sending an electric ripple through the air. I could feel the heat radiating off him even though he wasn't touching me. I smelled his cologne, fresh soap, and the faintest trace of something smoky.
And then-he opened the fridge. Leaned forward.
His shirt lifted just a little at the back, exposing a line of skin above his waistband.
I swallowed.
"Seriously, you okay?" Diya asked, oblivious, drawing a diagram on her page.
"Yeah," I said, clearing my throat. "Just... hungry."
Lie.
I was starving - but not for food.
The wall clock chimed softly-11:42 PM.
I was still sitting on Diya's bed, pretending to revise for the chemistry test that no one actually cared about. Diya had already surrendered to sleep an hour ago, curled up under her blanket, snoring softly with her notes hanging off the edge of the bed.
Just then, aunty knocked gently on the door, peeking in. "Niyati beta, it's quite late. Why don't you go home now? I'll ask Ansh to drop you-it's not safe to walk alone."
Ansh? My heart skipped an unnatural beat.
"No, aunty-it's okay, we live nearby-"
But before I could finish, I heard his voice from the living room.
"I'll walk her," he said casually. Just like that.
Aunty smiled. "See? Done."
I quickly gathered my books, stuffing them into my tote, trying to calm the ridiculous butterflies that had taken over my stomach.
He was already waiting by the door.
White hoodie. Track pants. Hair slightly messy like he had just ruffled it.
He looked warm. And dangerous. And perfect.
I muttered a quiet thank you to aunty and followed him out.
The street outside was nearly silent-just the occasional bark of a stray dog and the soft hum of street lamps buzzing above. A slight breeze danced through the trees lining the pavement.
We walked side by side, close enough that our arms occasionally brushed. I pretended to look ahead, but my body was too aware of him. Of everything about him.
His scent. His height. His quiet confidence.
"Didn't think you'd stay that late," he said, his voice low, nearly teasing.
I shrugged, suddenly shy. "We were... studying."
He glanced at me from the corner of his eye. "Right. Studying."
I turned to look at him, slightly offended. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"That you've been stuck on the same page for two hours," he chuckled. "Saw you through the glass door."
My cheeks burned.
I had no idea he had been watching.
"You were watching me?" I asked, surprised.
He stopped walking.
Just like that.
I turned, confused-until I realized how close we were now. His eyes locked onto mine under the faint yellow glow of the streetlight.
"I wasn't watching," he said softly.
"I was noticing."
God.
My breath hitched.
That word. That voice.
The way he said it-it wasn't innocent. Not even close.
We stood there, eyes tangled. No one moved.
I suddenly became aware of how fast my heart was beating. How warm my skin felt despite the breeze. How loud the silence was between us.
He took a small step forward.
And I didn't step back.
My back hit the brick wall of someone's boundary fence. He didn't touch me-but stood so close I could feel the heat radiating off him.
"You know you don't have to pretend with me," he murmured, eyes flickering down to my lips and back. "I see the way you look at me, Niyati."
My lips parted. I should've said something. Denied it. Laughed it off.
But I didn't.
Because I did look at him like that.
And right now... I wanted him to keep noticing.
His hand came up-slow, deliberate-and gently brushed a stray hair away from my face. His fingers lingered on my cheek for a second too long.
I could barely breathe.
But I felt nothing. I was waiting for his touch but nothing.
Then, I came to the reality. He was two steps away me maintaining distance and all that was my day-dream.. Oops, night dream.
"You should go in," he said, stepping back.
I blinked, still stunned.
"Goodnight, Niyati."
And just like that, he walked away-back the way we came-like he hadn't just burned me alive with one look.
I stood frozen for a full minute before fumbling for my keys.
My fingers trembled. My chest ached in the best kind of way.
I was so screwed.
But God... I wanted to be.