14-06-2025, 05:46 AM
The Invitation, and Something More
The yoga session had ended, but neither of them moved quickly.
The sky was a pale, blossoming blue now, the heat of the sun just starting to warm the terrace tiles beneath their feet.
The world had returned to stillness, but a charge lingered in the air between them—like static before a storm. Or after one.
They rolled up their mats side by side, their hands brushing occasionally, their eyes meeting and then sliding away again—playful, loaded.
Meghana folded her mat with slow, practiced ease, then crouched to tuck it under her arm.
Her ponytail had loosened slightly, strands of hair now framing her face in a way that made her look both effortlessly alive and disarmingly soft.
She glanced over at Abhi, the corner of her mouth curling with quiet mischief.
“I’m cooking tonight,” she said lightly, as though commenting on the weather.
But her tone had weight—deliberate, carefully placed.
“Just something simple. You’re free… right?”
Abhi straightened, dusting his palms on his shorts, searching her eyes.
“I can be,” he said, half a smile forming. “Depends on what’s cooking.”
Her gaze didn’t flinch. “Flat 403,” she said, almost too casually. Then, after a beat:
“My husband’s out of town for a few days.”
She said it as if it meant nothing at all.
But it landed with gravity.
Abhi held her eyes a second longer, the moment thickening with every heartbeat.
He didn’t look away.
The yoga session had ended, but neither of them moved quickly.
The sky was a pale, blossoming blue now, the heat of the sun just starting to warm the terrace tiles beneath their feet.
The world had returned to stillness, but a charge lingered in the air between them—like static before a storm. Or after one.
They rolled up their mats side by side, their hands brushing occasionally, their eyes meeting and then sliding away again—playful, loaded.
Meghana folded her mat with slow, practiced ease, then crouched to tuck it under her arm.
Her ponytail had loosened slightly, strands of hair now framing her face in a way that made her look both effortlessly alive and disarmingly soft.
She glanced over at Abhi, the corner of her mouth curling with quiet mischief.
“I’m cooking tonight,” she said lightly, as though commenting on the weather.
But her tone had weight—deliberate, carefully placed.
“Just something simple. You’re free… right?”
Abhi straightened, dusting his palms on his shorts, searching her eyes.
“I can be,” he said, half a smile forming. “Depends on what’s cooking.”
Her gaze didn’t flinch. “Flat 403,” she said, almost too casually. Then, after a beat:
“My husband’s out of town for a few days.”
She said it as if it meant nothing at all.
But it landed with gravity.
Abhi held her eyes a second longer, the moment thickening with every heartbeat.
He didn’t look away.
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