16-06-2025, 03:46 AM
The rain grew louder now, a soft crescendo against the metal roof. Inside, the warmth between them grew impossibly thick.
Her eyes dropped to his lips for the briefest flicker, and then she said — barely above a whisper, “I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier.”
“But you did,” he replied, echoing her.
“And I meant it,” she said.
Their faces were close. Too close.
He could feel her breath, the faint scent of sandalwood in her hair, the warmth of her body radiating inches from his.
And then ...
She leaned forward… and kissed him.
A slow, deliberate kiss on his cheek.
But it wasn’t quick. It wasn’t fleeting.
Her lips lingered, brushing softly along his skin, pressing just enough to feel the shape of him.
Her fingers rose, resting lightly on his chest, not pushing, not pulling—just grounding herself.
And her lips stayed there—longer than he could process—warm, trembling, and full of something she hadn’t dared express in words.
Abhi closed his eyes.
His breathing slowed.
The rain outside muted the world.
And inside the car, time slowed — all that existed was the imprint of her lips, the fluttering press of her body so close, the silk of her saree brushing his forearm, and that dizzying feeling of something unspoken finally cracking through the surface.
When she finally pulled back, her face didn’t move far. Their eyes met — quiet, tangled, searching.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever say it again,” she whispered. “But I needed you to feel it.”
He could only nod.
She adjusted her pallu slowly, her movements graceful but shaken — and opened the door.
“I’ll see you,” she said, without looking back.
She disappeared into the rain, her form dissolving into the misty evening.
Abhi sat in the car, motionless, one hand still on the gear stick, the other subconsciously touching his cheek where her kiss still burned.
A slow smile broke across his face — confused, guilty, thrilled, stunned — all at once.
He whispered to himself, “What were we even doing…”
But the warmth inside him said — whatever it was, it had just become real.
Her eyes dropped to his lips for the briefest flicker, and then she said — barely above a whisper, “I shouldn’t have said what I said earlier.”
“But you did,” he replied, echoing her.
“And I meant it,” she said.
Their faces were close. Too close.
He could feel her breath, the faint scent of sandalwood in her hair, the warmth of her body radiating inches from his.
And then ...
She leaned forward… and kissed him.
A slow, deliberate kiss on his cheek.
But it wasn’t quick. It wasn’t fleeting.
Her lips lingered, brushing softly along his skin, pressing just enough to feel the shape of him.
Her fingers rose, resting lightly on his chest, not pushing, not pulling—just grounding herself.
And her lips stayed there—longer than he could process—warm, trembling, and full of something she hadn’t dared express in words.
Abhi closed his eyes.
His breathing slowed.
The rain outside muted the world.
And inside the car, time slowed — all that existed was the imprint of her lips, the fluttering press of her body so close, the silk of her saree brushing his forearm, and that dizzying feeling of something unspoken finally cracking through the surface.
When she finally pulled back, her face didn’t move far. Their eyes met — quiet, tangled, searching.
“I don’t know if I’ll ever say it again,” she whispered. “But I needed you to feel it.”
He could only nod.
She adjusted her pallu slowly, her movements graceful but shaken — and opened the door.
“I’ll see you,” she said, without looking back.
She disappeared into the rain, her form dissolving into the misty evening.
Abhi sat in the car, motionless, one hand still on the gear stick, the other subconsciously touching his cheek where her kiss still burned.
A slow smile broke across his face — confused, guilty, thrilled, stunned — all at once.
He whispered to himself, “What were we even doing…”
But the warmth inside him said — whatever it was, it had just become real.
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