CHAPTER 36
ANIKA
I haven’t stopped thinking about that night.
It’s been three days since Aarav walked out of the shower with nothing but a towel and a smirk that has permanently branded itself into my frontal lobe. Three days since he leaned over me like a scene out of a fever dream and said those four stupid words: “But you are, Anika.”
And I hate it.
Not the moment itself. That was... fine. Nice, even. Too nice. But the after part—the echo of it, the way my brain keeps replaying his voice, his expression, the warmth of his fingers curling around mine like it was the most natural thing in the world? That’s the part I hate.
Because I don’t know what to do with it.
Because he’s been saying things since. Not outright romantic, nothing you could really call a confession, but small, offhand comments that land like grenades in my chest. Like when he handed me a cup of tea yesterday and casually said, “Made it how you like it.” Or this morning, when he saw me shivering in the living room and dropped a hoodie onto my lap without a word.
“Thought you were cold,” he said, like he hadn’t just handed me a weapon of emotional mass destruction.
And then he smiled.
A tiny, barely-there smile that wrecked my whole equilibrium.
I hate that it’s working. I hate that I’m unraveling like some stupid ball of yarn just because he’s being... soft.
Ugh.
To make things worse—or better, depending on how I look at it—it’s a long weekend. Holi’s coming up next week, and Aditi decided it was the perfect time for a little family trip to the farmhouse. A break, she called it. After everything that’s been happening.
I didn’t argue. I mean, I wanted to. I wanted to say no, that being in close quarters with Aarav while my brain’s on a romance loop is not my idea of a break.
I mean, I do share a room with him, but at home I only have to think about ways of avoiding him during the night, which is fairly easy; I just pretend to sleep.
But here he will be beside me almost always.
Aditi made her puppy-eyes face, and Maa looked so excited, and everyone else jumped on the plan like it was some kind of therapy retreat.
So now I’m here.
At the farmhouse.
In Aarav’s orbit again, pretending I’m fine.
The Malhotras have always had multiple properties; I used to spend a lot of time in their garden during childhood, but this is my first time visiting their farmhouse. It’s exquisite, a blend of modern and traditional architecture. But what's the use of this beauty if all I can think about is him?
The sky is overcast, the promise of rain hanging heavy in the air. Global warming is dangerous. March and rain? I step outside, the cool breeze brushing against my skin, and look up just as the first drops begin to fall. There’s something magical about the rain, something that always draws me in.
I hear footsteps behind me and turn back to find him walking towards me. Great. Just what I need.
“You won’t dance?” He asks as he leans to the other pillar, his hands in his pocket, but his veiny arms are on full display. Man, that’s so unfair.
“I’ll fall sick,” I reply, my voice barely above a whisper.
He smirks. “Since when did you care?”
I glance away, memories flooding back of the early days of our marriage, of dancing in the rain and the inevitable cold that followed.
“Didn’t you say dancing in the rain is reckless?” His face falls a bit, and then realization draws in; he pushes off the pillar and comes closer to me. I hold my breath and clench my fist to not let the nearness make me spiral.
His fingers run against my jaw like a breeze as he whispers, “You can be reckless around me.”
My breath stutters. My entire body feels like it’s been dunked in ice and fire at the same time. That one sentence—delivered so quietly, like a secret meant only for me—lodges itself right under my ribs.
I don’t have time to respond. The clouds give up their lazy promise, and suddenly the rain is no longer gentle—it’s pouring.
A sharp gasp leaves me as cold droplets hit my skin, soaking through my kurti in seconds. Aarav doesn’t move away. In fact, he steps closer, and with that same infuriating smirk tugging at his lips, extends a hand.
“Dance with me.”
I hesitate, heart pounding. “You do remember you suck at dancing, right?”
He chuckles. “I was a child then. Give me a try.” I hesitantly give my hand in his hand, and—oh god—he twirls me.
Just like that. No warning.
I stumble into his arms with a wet laugh, hands instinctively clutching at his biceps for balance. They’re warm and solid and very unfair. He leads easily, like he’s done this a hundred times, and I follow because some ridiculous part of me wants to. Needs to.
The rain is heavy now, drumming on the tiles, soaking everything. His shirt clings to him, nearly transparent, outlining every line and dip of his torso, and my entire nervous system screams in protest at how obscene this situation is.
We twirl, our feet splashing through shallow puddles, the rhythm picking up with the thunder rumbling above us. His hands are everywhere—my waist, my back, skimming my palm. My heartbeat is everywhere too—in my ears, my chest, and my throat.
"They're cute." I hear Bhabhi's voice from somewhere behind us. I freeze mid-step and turn just in time to see Aditi and Bhabhi standing at the edge of the porch, holding onto each other, laughing like lunatics.
“Oh my god!” Aditi squeals. “Are we interrupting a movie moment?”
I try to back away, but Aarav doesn’t immediately let go. I shove lightly at his chest, mortified, and finally he releases me, stepping back with that maddeningly smug expression still on his face.
Bhabhi, now grinning ear to ear, holds out a towel. “Dry yourself before Chachi sees you and has a panic attack.”
I snatch the towel from her, my face burning. “Thanks.”
Aditi wiggles her brows. “So... ‘reckless around me,’ huh?”
I blink at her, horrified. “You heard that?!”
“Please,” she says, waving a hand. “You two were practically echoing through the hills.”
I bury my face in the towel. “I should go to the room.”
“You should,” Aditi says sweetly. “Before you kiss him next and give poor Bhabhi here a heart attack.” She nudges Bhabhi, who smiles sheepishly as she rubs her pregnant belly.
“Aditi!” I whisper-yell, scandalized. Bhabhi cackles.
I don’t even look back.
I just grab the towel tighter, mutter something unintelligible, and flee toward the house, my heart thudding like a runaway drumline.
Inside, I slam the bedroom door shut behind me, press my back against it, and close my eyes.
God help me.
I think I’m in trouble.