She(Avantika) had burned her world to get to him -Romantic- (1 Video) - Scene 4*

[ashuezy2]

Scene 2

The door slammed shut, cutting off the noise of the rain, but inside, the silence was even louder.
For ten seconds, nobody moved. Girish was breathing hard, staring at her. Avantika stood with her back against the door, water dripping from her muddy hem onto the floor.

"You’re shaking," Girish said. His voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it in days.
"Don't look at me," she snapped, but her voice cracked. She wiped a wet strand of hair from her face. "I look like a mess. I look like a disaster."
Girish took a step closer. "You look..." He stopped, swallowing hard. "It’s been three months, Avi. I thought you forgot about me."

"Forgot?" She laughed, but it sounded like a sob. She pushed herself off the door and shoved him back, her wet hands leaving marks on his chest. "I sit in those boring meetings, surrounded by all those important people, and all I think about is this. This room. The smell of paint and old wood. I’m going crazy, Girish."

He didn't wait anymore. He grabbed her.
His hands went straight for the saree. It was so heavy with water it felt like a heavy blanket. He started peeling it off her shoulder, his fingers fumbling because he was rushing.

"It’s ruined," he whispered, looking at the mud stains.
"Good," she hissed, her voice dropping low and deep. "I hate it. I hate who I have to be when I wear it. Get it off me. Peel it off."
The wet fabric made a heavy thwack sound as it hit the floor. Now she was standing there in just her deep-cut blouse and the petticoat underneath, shivering. The air from the ceiling fan hit her wet skin, making her tremble.

"You're freezing," he said, running his hands down her bare arms.
"I'm burning," she said, grabbing his face with both hands. "Touch me. No, harder. Stop talking and hold me."
He pulled her in, crushing her against him. Their clothes were wet and sticky, but neither of them cared. He kissed her neck, right where her pulse was jumping like crazy. She let out a sharp noise, half-gasp, half-moan, and arched her back, pressing her hips into him.
"Wait," Girish pulled back just an inch, his eyes dark. "Let me look at you."

"We don't have time for looking!" she yelled, panic rising in her voice. "The driver is circling the block. If he calls..."
"Let him call," Girish growled. He grabbed her by the waist and lifted her up.
She gasped as her feet left the floor. She was heavy, a full, curvy woman, but he lifted her like she weighed nothing. The floorboards creaked under them.
"God, you feel so good," he groaned into her ear. "You feel real. So heavy and real."

"Don't put me down," she ordered, wrapping her legs around him. "Don't you dare put me down."
He carried her to the middle of the room. He didn't make it to the bed. He pressed her against the wall, knocking a painting crooked.
It wasn't gentle. It was desperate. It was messy.

"Say it," she whispered into his ear, biting his shoulder. "Say you missed me."
"I was starving for you," he said, his hands moving all over her, frantic. "I was going out of my mind."
They moved to the bed, crashing onto it so hard the wooden frame hit the wall with a loud thud.
"Girish... Girish..." she kept saying his name, over and over, like she needed to make sure he was actually there.
She was loud. She didn't care who heard. She cried out, sharp and high, digging her nails into his back. "Harder," she begged. "Make me feel it. I want to feel everything I missed."

I could hear the wetness, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, intensified by the humidity and the sweat. The atmosphere in that room must have been thick enough to choke on. Pheromones, ozone, and musk.

A lamp on the side table got knocked over and smashed on the floor. Neither of them stopped. They didn't even flinch. The room was getting trashed, but it didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was them.
For the next twenty minutes, the only sounds in the room were the bed banging against the wall and the heavy slapping on the skin, the heavy rain on the tin roof, and their jagged, breathless noises. It was raw and sweaty and frantic.

Then, finally, it stopped.
The silence came back, but this time it felt heavy and satisfied. The room was hot. The air smelled like rain and sweat.
Girish lay on his back, staring at the ceiling. Avantika was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in her hands.
It was 58 minutes.

She stood up slowly. Her legs were shaky. She walked to the bathroom, and he heard the tap running. She had to go back to being the Diplomat's wife.
When she came out, she started picking up the wet, muddy red saree from the floor.

"I have to go," she whispered. Her voice sounded broken.
Girish sat up. "Don't. Stay here. Let it all burn down. Just stay."

She looked at him, wrapping the wet silk back around her body. "If I stay," she said quietly, "they will destroy you. I only go back so I can keep you safe."
She walked to the door and opened it. She didn't look back.

She walked out into the rain, back to the black car waiting on the main road. She was wet, her hair was a mess, and her clothes were ruined. But she looked different now. Her eyes were heavy and sleepy. Her lips were swollen. She looked like a woman who had just come back to life.