05 Our First Kiss
The sun had barely climbed up when my eyes popped open. Sleep had been a joke last night—how could I possibly rest after… that? Every time I closed my eyes, his face, his voice, his touch replayed in loops until I wanted to scream into the pillow.
So, before Diya could even stir, I slipped out, freshened up, and tiptoed to the kitchen.
Mrs. Raizada was already there, moving about with the calm efficiency of someone who’d been running this household forever. I smiled and wished, “Good morning, Aunty.”
“Good morning, beta.” She glanced at me warmly. “You’re up early? Couldn’t sleep because it’s a new place?”
Yeah right, I thought bitterly, biting down on my lip. Not because of a new place. Because of your son, Aunty… My stomach flipped at the memory, and I quickly pushed it away, plastering on a polite smile.
“Not really,” I said lightly. “I’m used to this house… just not staying overnight. But I think tonight I’ll be used to it as well.”
Her face softened. “That’s good, beta. Tea or coffee?”
“Tea, please.”
She nodded and turned to the stove. I breathed in relief, until I heard footsteps.
And then he walked in.
Ansh. Barefoot, hair messy, just in shorts with his shirt hanging loose in his hand.
My gaze snapped to him before I could stop myself. First his eyes met mine—those same eyes that haunted me last night—then my traitorous eyes slid lower. His neck. His shoulders. The broad chest still damp from a shower. The ridges of his abs.
I forgot to breathe.
And of course, he noticed. His mouth curved into a smirk, and my pulse went wild.
“Ansh!” Mrs. Raizada’s voice jolted me back. “Put on your shirt. We have a guest here.”
Heat shot up my face. Guest. That’s what I was—should be.
But Ansh just scoffed, casually tugging his shirt on. “Since when do you look at Niyati as a guest, Mom? You always say she’s one of us. Like our own family.”
That got me. My heart clenched. Because it was true. This family had always treated me like their own daughter. And yet here I was, with thoughts that weren’t even remotely sisterly.
I ducked my head, hiding my blush as he moved closer, coming to stand across from me at the counter. Mrs. Raizada asked, “Decaf for you, Ansh?”
“Yes, Mom,” he replied easily, leaning his elbows on the counter.
I could feel his eyes on me, burning into my skin. My shorts suddenly felt way too short, my top too thin. I tried to busy myself with my teacup, but every nerve screamed with awareness.
When I finally dared to glance up, he was still looking at me. Not just looking—studying. Like he could see everything I was trying so desperately to hide.
And God help me, I blushed harder.
Mrs. Raizada slid the steaming cup of decaf across the counter to Ansh, then turned to me with a smile. “I’ll just check if Mr. Raizada is awake.”
And just like that—she left.
My heart skipped. The kitchen suddenly felt too quiet, too heavy with everything unsaid between us. My hands fumbled around my teacup, desperate for something—anything—to distract me from the way his gaze was still locked on me.
I cleared my throat and blurted, “I should… I should go back to Diya’s room.”
I turned to leave, but before I could take a step, his hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist.
My breath caught.
In one swift tug, he pulled me back and pinned me against the counter, his body caging mine in. His closeness, his warmth—it was overwhelming, intoxicating.
“Where are you leaving so soon, Niyati?” His voice was low, teasing, dangerous.
“Ansh,” I stammered, my palms pressing weakly against his chest. “What are you doing? Leave me… someone might come. Aunty might—”
“That’s okay,” he cut me off, his smirk tugging at my sanity. “I’m ready to tell them. Tell them how I feel about you… and what all I want to do to you.”
My heart thundered so loud I thought he might hear it. “How do you… feel about me? And… what do you want to do to me?” My voice trembled, but the question hung between us, daring him.
His smirk deepened as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers grazing my skin like fire.
“I noticed you,” he murmured. “The way you look at me… your nervousness around me. I thought I was the only one feeling different all this while. But it seems you are too. And I don’t think it’s right to lie to each other anymore.”
Happiness exploded inside me so fiercely, it almost hurt. I couldn’t believe it—was I dreaming? Was he really saying this to me?
“And about what all I want to do to you…” His eyes darkened. “Let me show you.”
Before I could even breathe, his lips brushed my forehead, slow and lingering, then both my eyes, soft as whispers. My nose, feather-light. Then my cheeks, each kiss pulling me deeper into his spell.
And then—he stopped. His gaze flickered down to my lips, then back up to my eyes.
My whole body shook as I clutched at his shirt, silently begging.
That was all the permission he needed.
He crushed his mouth to mine.
The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was hungry. Fierce. Like he’d been holding back for far too long. My back arched against the counter as his hands framed my face, his lips moving with urgent passion, stealing every ounce of air I had.
I kissed him back with equal desperation, my fingers twisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, closer, like I’d die if there was even an inch left between us. Heat flooded through me, every nerve alight, every inch of me alive under his touch.
When he finally broke away, we were both breathless, our foreheads pressed together, hearts racing in unison.
In that moment, I knew—there was no going back.
His lips lingered just above mine, our breaths mingling, heavy and ragged. My body was trembling, but not from fear—from wanting more.
Ansh’s thumb brushed over my lower lip, swollen from his kiss. He smirked faintly, the kind of smirk that made my stomach flip. “You taste even better than I imagined,” he murmured, his voice rough.
My knees nearly buckled. He imagined this too?
I didn’t have time to think before his mouth claimed mine again, hotter this time, deeper, hungrier. His tongue slipped against mine, coaxing, dominating, sending sparks shooting down my spine. I whimpered into the kiss, clutching him tighter, as though he was the only thing holding me up.
His hand slid from my cheek down to my waist, fingers pressing into the curve of my hip, tugging me closer until my body was flush against his. Heat poured off him, searing into me. I could feel every hard line of his chest, the strength in him, the danger in how badly I wanted him.
“Ansh…” I breathed against his mouth, half-plea, half-surrender.
“Shh…” he hushed me, lips trailing down the line of my jaw to the sensitive spot beneath my ear. My head fell back instinctively, granting him access, and he took it—his teeth grazing lightly, making me gasp.
Every nerve screamed with sensation. My hands fisted in his shirt, my body arching helplessly into his as his mouth wandered lower, pressing open-mouthed kisses down my throat.
And then his hand slid further—curling around my waist, fingertips brushing the edge of my top. My stomach tightened, butterflies turning violent in my chest.
“Do you know,” he whispered against my skin, “how hard it’s been to hold back around you?”
My breath hitched. Hold back? He wasn’t just curious—he’d been fighting this too.
I wanted to answer, but all I could manage was a strangled whimper as his thumb skimmed the bare skin of my waist beneath my shirt. My whole body burned under his touch, anticipation winding me tight.
Just as his hand began to inch higher—footsteps echoed in the hallway.
We froze.
Ansh pulled back slightly, eyes locked on mine, still wild with want. My lips tingled, my chest heaved, my entire body screaming at the interruption.
He smirked, wicked and unrepentant, whispering, “Later.”
And with a final brush of his thumb across my hip, he stepped away, leaving me breathless, shaking, and utterly ruined in the middle of the kitchen.
I barely had time to catch my breath when the footsteps grew louder—closer.
“Bhai? Niyati?”
Diya.
I almost jumped out of my skin.
Ansh moved first, smooth as if nothing had happened. He tugged his shirt down properly, grabbed his coffee cup, and leaned against the counter like the picture of casual. Meanwhile, I was standing there flushed, trembling, my lips swollen, my hair a mess from his hands.
God, I must’ve looked guilty as hell.
Diya shuffled into the kitchen, yawning, her hair a wild halo. “Why are you guys awake so early? It’s a Sunday.” She plopped onto one of the stools and reached for the bowl of cut fruit on the counter.
I forced my mouth into a smile, praying she couldn’t hear how fast my heart was hammering. “I—I woke up early. Couldn’t sleep.”
Her eyes squinted at me. “You look… weird. Did you have a nightmare or something?”
“Yes,” I blurted out too quickly. “No—I mean, not really. Just… restless.” My voice cracked, betraying me.
Ansh sipped his coffee, smirk hidden behind the rim of his mug. “Maybe she needs a nap later,” he drawled, eyes locked with mine over the cup, dark with meaning only I could read.
Heat shot through me, and I tore my gaze away instantly. Diya, oblivious, shoved another piece of apple in her mouth. “Yeah, maybe. You should rest later, Niyati. Exams are coming, don’t stress too much.”
I mumbled something in agreement, my throat tight.
The whole time, Ansh didn’t stop watching me. And every glance of his burned like fire on my skin—reminding me of what just happened… and what almost did.
If Diya hadn’t walked in—God, I didn’t even want to finish that thought.