15 ~ Her jealousy, His kiss
I sat in the passenger seat, my body trembling.
Not from the cold but from him.
From the way his eyes kept flickering toward me, dark and intense, even as he tried to focus on the road. From the way his jaw tightened every time I shifted in my seat. From the way the air between us felt charged, electric, dangerous.
My clothes were soaked.
The white crop top clung to my skin like a second layer, transparent and revealing. I could feel the fabric sticking to every curve, every contour.
I pulled at the hem of my top, trying to cover myself but it only made things worse.
Because in my attempt to hide my waist, I accidentally pulled the neckline down.
I felt the cool air against my chest. I looked down and gasped.
The neckline had dipped, revealing the swell of my breasts. The slight cleavage was visible now, soft and pale against the wet fabric.
Oh God. My face burning.
I yanked it back up.
I saw his eyes drop, just for a fraction of a second, darkening with something that made my stomach flip.
I kept my eyes fixed on the dashboard, pretending I hadn't noticed.
Pretending I hadn't seen the way his gaze had traced the curve.
Pretending I hadn't felt the heat spreading through my body.
He ran his hand through his hair.
The movement was casual. Unthinking. But it made my breath catch.
His fingers tangled in the wet strands, pushing them back from his forehead. Water droplets scattered, catching the dim light of the dashboard. The gesture was so simple, so ordinary, and yet it made me forget how to breathe.
I could feel his gaze on me, heavy and intense. The weight of it pressed against my skin like a physical touch.
He turned on the radio.
The sound filled the car, soft and melodic. It was some FM channel, playing old Hindi songs. The kind of songs that made you feel things you didn't want to feel.
The song 'Aapke pyaar mein' by Alka Yagnik began and I froze on my place.
I was trying to avoid looking at him.
I couldn't help but listen to the lyrics.
Aap jo is tarah se tadpayenge...
My blood went cold.
Aise aalam mein pagal ho jaayenge...
No no no... Anything but this.
Woh mil gaya jiski hume kab se talash thi...
Bechain si in saason mein janmo ki pyaas thi...
I froze.
My entire body went rigid. My hands clenched in my lap. My breathing became shallow, uneven.
The lyrics seemed to mock me. Every word felt like a confession, a truth I didn't want to admit.
I wanted to reach out and turn it off. I wanted to break the radio, smash it, do anything to make the music stop.
He reached for the radio. At the same time, I reached for it too.
Our fingers collided.
The touch was electric...a jolt of pure heat that shot through my entire body. His skin was warm against mine.
We both froze.
His fingers were still touching mine. Neither of us moved. Neither of us pulled away.
The song continued playing, the lyrics wrapping around us like a spell.
He stopped the music and I heaved.
I was waiting to reach home as soon as possible.
The car pulled up in front of my house finally.
The rain had slowed to a drizzle, the heavy downpour replaced by a soft, persistent mist that clung to the windshield. The streetlights cast golden pools of light on the wet road, making everything look dreamlike.
"Cafe mein kya soch rahe the?"
(What were you thinking about in the cafe?)
His jaw tightened.
The muscle in his cheek twitched. His fingers curled around the steering wheel, knuckles going white.
"Trust me," he said, his voice low and rough. "You don't want to know."
"Aesi kya baat hai."
(What is it?)
He turned to look at me.
And the moment our eyes met, I knew I'd made a mistake.
There was something in his gaze-something dark, hungry, primal. Something that made my breath catch and my heart race.
"Kya?" I whispered.
(What?)
He didn't answer.
Instead, he reached for me.
His hand wrapped around my arm, pulling me toward him. I gasped as my chest bumped against his, my body colliding with his warmth.
"Kartik..." I started.
But he didn't let me finish.
His other hand came up to my chin, tilting my face up to meet his gaze. His thumb brushed across my lower lip, feather-light, sending shivers down my spine.
"Tum jaanna chahti ho?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper. "Sach mein?"
(You want to know? Really?)
"I was thinking about Mukti," he said.
The words hit me like a slap.
He was thinking about Mukti.
My sister.
I felt a weird twist in my chest. Something sharp. Something painful.
I swallowed hard, my throat tight.
"Then why were you ignoring her on the engagement day?"
The question came out sharper than I intended.
I didn't realize what I'd said until I saw the smirk tugging at his lips.
"Jealous, Little Trouble?"
The nickname made my stomach flip.
His hand slid from my face to my waist, holding me in place. His grip was firm, possessive, making it impossible to escape.
He cupped my cheeks and I froze.
He leaned in closer, his lips hovering near my ear.
"Do you really want to know... Little Trouble?"
His voice was a whisper. Gentle and Intimate. It sent shivers down my spine, making my entire body tremble.
I felt his breath against my skin. Felt the warmth of his body pressed against mine.
"Kartik..." I gasped.
His fingers brushed against my cheek, feather-light. I felt the calluses on his palm, rough against my soft skin. His thumb traced my cheekbone, my jaw, the corner of my lips.
"Chahat," he breathed.
His thumb pressed gently against my lower lip.
"Kartik..."
"Shh."
I couldn't speak.
He leaned closer and I could feel his breath on my lips. Warm, soft and minty.
His eyes searched mine, dark and intense.
His finger roamed in my hair. I felt the way his fingers tightened in my hair, fisting the strands.
I gasped and my lips parted.
Slowly he decreased the distance and his lips brushed against mine.
Just barely.
The lightest touch. Like a whisper. Like a question.
I felt the warmth of his skin. The softness of his lips. The faint pressure that made my entire body ache.
My breath caught in my throat. My heart pounded so loudly I could hear it in my ears.
"Kartik..." I muttered but my words disappeared as he pressed his lips against mine fully.
Like he was savoring the moment. Like he wanted to remember every second of it.
His lips moved against mine, slow and deliberate. I felt his hand slide from my cheek to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair. He pulled me closer, deepening the kiss just slightly.
My lips parted.
And then reality crashed back in.
What am I doing?
I pushed against his chest, breaking the kiss.
"What are you...?" I gasped, my chest heaving. "You're engaged to my sister!"
He didn't look sorry or guilty.
He looked... amused.
He smirked and caressed my cheeks with his thumb, "Well, it's you who was so adamant on knowing what was running in my head in the cafe..."
His voice was smooth. Infuriating. Like he hadn't just kissed me senseless.
I stared at him, my heart pounding, my lips still tingling from his touch.
"Are you out of your fucking mind!"
He chuckled holding my jaw, "What do you think Trouble?"
I opened my mouth to respond when I heard footsteps.
I saw my mother coming toward the car.
I pushed his hand away and pulled back from him so fast that I bumped my head against the window.
I came out and saw mumma. She heaved with relief when she saw me.
"Chahat tum to bohot bheeg gayi ho."
(Chahat, you've gotten completely drenched.)
I was quite. My lips were still shivering with the kiss.
"Kartik beta!" My mother peered into the car, her face warm with concern. "You're completely soaked! Come inside, change your clothes. You'll get sick!"
He shook his head, his expression smooth and composed. "No. I'm getting late. I have to..."
"Nahi main kuch nahi sunungi!" My mother waved her hand dismissively. "You're not going anywhere in this rain. Come inside, have some tea. I'll get you some dry clothes."
(No, I'm not listening to anything!)
"Maa..."
"Kartik." My mother's voice was firm, maternal. "You're family now."
Family.
The word hit me like a slap.
I could see his jaw tighten. Could see the war waging behind his eyes.
But he couldn't refuse.
"Fine," he said flatly. "Just for a few minutes."
My mother beamed. "Excellent! Come!"
I followed him inside, my legs shaking, my heart pounding, my entire body on fire.
My mother was already bustling about, grabbing towels, asking me to change clothes and make tea.
He stood in the middle of the living room, dripping water onto the marble floor. His olive shirt was plastered to his chest, revealing every muscle, every contour.
I couldn't look away.
"Chahat," my mother called. "Go get some dry clothes from your father's cupboard."
She turned towards him gesturing towards the stairs
"Upar chale jaaiye. Main kapde bhejti hoon."
(Go upstairs. I'll send the clothes up.)
He nodded and started walking upstairs.
I changed my clothes the moment I stepped into my room.
I tossed the heavy soaked jeans and top over the chair with a relieved sigh.
Finally.
I slipped into my oversized cotton T-shirt and a pair of comfortable shorts, tying my hair into a messy bun.
I was exhausted.
"I just want to sleep," I muttered to myself.
I had barely settled onto my bed when...
"Chaaahat!" Mumma's voice echoed from downstairs.
Dragging my feet, I made my way downstairs.
The moment Mumma looked at me, her expression changed.
"Yeh kya pehen rakkha hai tumne?"
(What are you wearing?)
I frowned. "What?"
"Tumhare hone wale jijaji ghar pe hain aur tum shorts pehenkar ghoom rahi ho?"
(Your future brother-in-law is in the house, and you're walking around in shorts?)
I looked down at my clothes.
"Mumma, please." I rubbed my eyes tiredly. "Main sone jaa rahi hoon. Aapne mujhe neeche kyun bulaya, woh bataiye."
(Mom, please. I'm going to sleep. Just tell me why you called me downstairs.)