17
The grueling weeks of semester finals turned their stolen library moments into online moments. Shreyash was buried in his final-year project, and Adhira was drowning in first-year engineering physics. But the physical distance only made the quiet hours of the night infinitely more dangerous.
Every night, at exactly 1:00 AM, her phone would vibrate.
Shreyash: You should be asleep. The physics exam is at 9 AM.
Adhira would smile into the dark of her bedroom, the screen illuminating her face.
Adhira: I can't sleep. The textbook is boring. Tell me something interesting.
Shreyash: The syllabus isn't designed to be entertaining, Adhi. Close your eyes.
Adhira: Tell me what you'd do if you were in my room right now.
The typing bubble would appear, vanish, appear again, and then disappear for five whole minutes. When his reply finally came, it was always steeped in the kind of helpless, desperate restraint that made her stomach flip.
Shreyash: I would take your phone away. And then I would probably forget how to breathe. Go to sleep, Adhira. Please.
Shreyash graduated a week later, standing tall and devastatingly handsome in his robes. He landed a high-level developer position at a top-tier tech firm right in the heart of the city.
And the moment Shreyash handed his offer letter to his mother, the traditional actions of their families slammed into high gear.
"Well, if his office is in the city, there is absolutely no sense in waiting three years," Adhira's mother declared one Sunday afternoon, balancing a cup of chai on her knee. Savita ji was sitting opposite her, nodding enthusiastically.
Adhira stood by the archway, her heart giving a wild, erratic thump. She looked across the living room at Shreyash. He was sitting stiffly next to Ayan, wearing a simple white button-down, his hands clasped tightly in his lap.
"Exactly," Savita ji agreed, her eyes gleaming with the efficiency of an Indian mother plotting a wedding. "Her college is right on the metro line. She can easily commute from our house. Why keep the children separated when everything is already settled?"
Ayan let out a loud, dramatic groan, burying his face in his hands. "You're just giving her away? Just like that? To him? Even I'm not married to Kavya and we've been engaged for years."
"Well, after Adhira it will be your turn Ayan," his mother said.
Ayan brightened. "Really," he said excitedly, "How fast can she get married?"
"Quiet, Ayan," his father scolded, before turning to Shreyash. "What do you say, son? Are you ready to take on a wife this soon?"
Shreyash's head snapped up. His eyes darted to Adhira, his chest rising in a sharp, sudden inhale.
The sheer panic of being put on the spot warred instantly with the dark, heavy longing that had been torturing him for months.
He swallowed hard, his neck immediately flushing that beautiful, tell-tale scarlet.
"I..." His voice cracked. He cleared his throat, staring rigidly at the carpet. "If... if that is what everyone wants. I will take good care of her, Uncle."
Adhira leaned against the archway, a slow, wicked, and entirely triumphant smile spreading across her lips. They were gonna live together. The thought sent a jolt of pure fire straight down to her toes.
Six months later, the house was unrecognizable, buried under a vibrant, chaotic explosion of marigolds, fairy lights, and shouting relatives.
The heavy beat of the dhol vibrated through the floorboards, mixing with the thick, intoxicating scents of roasting cumin, sweet jalebis, and fresh henna.
Adhira stood in front of the full-length mirror in the bridal suite, completely breathless.
The ruby-red bridal lehenga weighed almost fifteen pounds.
The silk was completely encrusted with heavy gold zari work, the skirt flaring out dramatically around her.
But it was the blouse that was the masterpiece.
It was a deep, sweetheart neckline with barely-there sleeves, stopping short to leave a generous, tantalizing stretch of her bare, golden waist exposed beneath the heavy jewelry.
"You look stunning, beta," her aunt murmured, pinning the sheer, glittering dupatta to her hair. "Time to go down. The groom is waiting in the hall before the pheras."
Adhira stepped out of the room, the heavy anklets chiming a seductive, rhythmic warning with every step she took.
The hallway was packed with rushing aunts and running cousins. At the far end, standing near the floral archway, was Shreyash.
He was wearing an ivory silk sherwani, intricately embroidered with gold thread, a maroon turban resting perfectly on his head. He looked like an absolute prince, regal, composed, and breath stealingly handsome. He was nodding politely to an elder, his hands clasped respectfully behind his back.
Adhira's blood hummed with a wicked, playful energy. She wasn't just going to walk down the stairs; she was going to completely dismantle him.
She moved through the crowd, deliberately taking the path that would lead her directly past him. As she closed the distance, Shreyash turned his head.
His dark eyes found her amidst the sea of people, and the polite smile on his face instantly vanished. He froze completely.
Adhira didn't stop. She kept walking, her dark eyes locking onto his. Just as she stepped within three feet of him, moving directly through his line of sight, she casually reached up and adjusted the heavy dupatta draped over her shoulder.
With a smooth, deliberate flick of her wrist, she pulled the sheer fabric back, fully exposing the deep, bare curve of her waist and the smooth dip of her lower back.
Shreyash's reaction was instantaneous.
He let out a sharp, audible choke, literally gagging on the air in his lungs.
His eyes went impossibly wide, his pupils dilating until his eyes looked almost entirely black.
The ivory of his sherwani only highlighted the violent, explosive red that instantly painted his neck, his jaw, and the tips of his ears.
For one agonizing, electric second, his gaze was completely anchored to her exposed skin, completely paralyzed by the sheer sensuality of it.
Then, his brain's emergency response kicked in.
Shreyash snapped his head away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his chest heaving under the heavy silk, completely short-circuiting in the middle of a crowded hallway.
He looked up at the ceiling, then down at his embroidered shoes, looking anywhere and everywhere except at her, his hands gripping the edge of a decorative table like it was a lifeline.
"Careful, Senior," Adhira murmured, her voice a sultry, teasing whisper as she glided past him, her silk skirt brushing teasingly against his legs. "We haven't even taken the vows yet, and you already look like you're going to pass out."
Shreyash didn't, he couldn't answer. He just stood there, burning from the inside out, completely helpless against the terrifying, exhilarating reality that this bold, beautiful girl was about to become his wife.