27 Ansh, Dont You Dare. #2
His hand rested firmly against the curve of her waist; her fingers curled gently over his shoulder. Neither of them looked away. The grand venue, the music, the swirling crowd, and the long months of silence blurred completely out of existence.
In that shared, breathless pause, their eyes said everything their lips were still too terrified to utter: they were two foolish hearts, entirely consumed, desperately playing the same game of love.
Niyati spun out once more at his gentle touch, her dress flaring under the lights, before he pulled her right back toward his chest. She landed softly against him, her hand resting flat over his heart, feeling its thudding rhythm echoing her own thoughts.
As the melody swelled to a crescendo, Ansh dipped her low, his hand supporting her weight effortlessly.
Niyati gasped lightly, her hands clutching his shoulders as she looked up into his dark, intense eyes. The world around them-the glowing lights, the shouting crowd, Diya and Shaurya somewhere in the distance-completely faded away.
In that suspended second, beneath the glow of the chandelier and the rhythm of the music, there were no unsaid pasts, no painful distance, and no fear of getting hurt. There was only the heat of his hand on her back, the breathless smile on her lips, and two hearts beating in perfect, overdue sync.
My heart was hammering against my ribs so violently I was certain he could feel it through the midnight-blue fabric of his suit.
When Ansh pulled me up from that dip, bringing me back to chest-to-chest proximity, the sheer intensity of his gaze paralyzed me. His dark eyes held mine with a raw, agonizing vulnerability-a silent plea that shattered every single wall I had spent months trying to build around my heart.
In that single, breathless second, the terrifying truth struck me with devastating clarity: my love for him hadn't faded. Not even a fraction. Not even a bit. It had simply been waiting, buried beneath my quiet fears, ready to ignite the moment his hand touched mine.
Standing this close to him, breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne mixed with the warmth of his skin, I realized I was completely, utterly defenseless.
The touch of his palm against my waist was sending sweet, painful shocks straight to my chest. My mind screamed at me to remember the distance, to remember why we had stepped back from each other, but my heart was begging me to melt right into his arms and never leave.
The emotional overload hit me like a sudden wave, taking my breath away. It was too much. The music, the crowd, the lingering unspoken words between us, and the overwhelming weight of loving him this deeply-it was suffocating me.
"Ansh..." I breathed out, my voice trembling so faintly it was nearly swallowed by the roaring tempo of the song.
His hand tightened just a fraction around mine, his forehead dipping slightly closer to mine, his eyes swimming with concern. "Niyati? Are you okay?"
I couldn't do this. I couldn't stay in his arms for another second without completely breaking down, without spilling every secret, every tear, and every drop of love I had been desperately hiding.
"I-I need some air," I managed to whisper, stepping back abruptly.
The physical separation felt like pulling a warm blanket off in freezing cold, but I forced my fingers to slip out of his hand. His palm remained suspended in the air between us, his eyes widening in quiet shock as the sudden distance stretched between us once more.
"Niyati, wait-" he started, taking a half-step forward.
"I'll be right back. Please," I murmured, unable to look him in the eyes again for fear that I would turn right back into his arms.
Without waiting for his response, I gathered the heavy, shimmering skirts of my midnight-blue gown in my hands, turned around, and hurried off the dance floor, leaving him standing alone amidst the swirling, oblivious crowd.
They had loved each other so deeply-a love so pure that its sudden rupture had left her entirely hollow.
It had taken just one single, agonizing misunderstanding to tear their world apart. A moment of silence where words were needed most, leading to assumptions, pride, and an eventual rift that pulled him away from her life.
And when Ansh had finally returned-when he had realized his mistake, swallowed his pride, and tried to bridge the gap between them-it was Niyati who had built a wall. Not because she had stopped loving him, but because the pain of losing him once had nearly destroyed her.
The fear of opening her heart again, only for history to repeat itself, had kept her frozen in a state of quiet, protective distance. She loved him just as fiercely today as she had back then, but the fear of being abandoned a second time was a shadow she couldn't seem to shake.
A quiet teardrop escaped her lashes, trailing down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away with the back of her hand, taking a shuddering breath as she tried to pull her composure together.
Suddenly, the heavy wooden door of the restroom clicked open and shut.
Startled, Niyati turned around quickly, her heart skipping a beat.
Ansh stepped into the room.
Without breaking eye contact with her, he reached behind his back and smoothly turned the lock, the sharp click echoing in the quiet space.
He took two deliberate steps forward, scanning the rows of empty stalls beneath the partition doors to ensure they were completely alone. Satisfied that no one else was there, his dark eyes snapped right back to hers, filled with an intense, unyielding resolve.
Niyati gasped softly, her back pressing against the marble vanity as her eyes widened in shock. "Ansh... what are you doing here? This is the girls' restroom!"
Ansh didn't hesitate, taking another slow, steady step toward her until the distance between them practically evaporated. His gaze locked onto hers with a quiet, powerful conviction that made her breath hitch.
"I came for you," he said softly, his voice steady, low, and laced with everything he had been holding back.