Vyom paused for a fraction of a second. He hadn’t seen her in nearly a year and a half. He had made every excuse possible not to visit home, not even for the summer holidays. Her naturally dark brown hair now fell in long, platinum blonde waves with faint, strategically placed pink highlights. The bright afternoon sun hit her skin, making her golden complexion literally glow. She was wearing a tight, mint-green short Kurti paired fearlessly with ripped denim shorts—a perfect blend of modern Chandigarh chic and traditional cuts. The thin, breathable fabric clung desperately to her heavy breasts, the soft weight of them pushing visibly against the cotton embroidery. The kurti stopped mid-thigh, exposing her thick, smooth, creamy legs.
He swallowed hard. His throat felt like sandpaper. Why the fuck is she looking so hot?
“Tu late hai, hamesha di tarah,” he managed to say, keeping his voice strictly flat.
“Tainu ki? You’re welcome, waise vi,” she smirked. She brushed past him to enter.
The First Contact. Her soft, bare shoulder rubbed heavily against his chest. A sudden, intoxicating wave of pure sandalwood, sweet vanilla, and the raw, musky scent of female sweat hit his nose. The accidental friction of her soft body against his firm chest sent a forbidden, electric shockwave straight down his spine. His breath hitched.
For Vyom, the apartment instantly felt incredibly small and suffocating.
Urvin stopped and looked around the empty, dark, bachelor pad. “Waheguru. Tu sach vich aise reh raha hai? So tragic, yaar. Lagda hai mainu hi eh kachra saaf karna paina hai.” She pointed sharply at his dirty socks resting on the coffee table.
“Minimalist haiga eh,” he shrugged, trying his hardest to ignore how her firm, heavy ass shifted perfectly under the denim shorts when she moved.
“Yeh tera kachra hai, minimalist nahi.”
Urvin held her palm out flat. “Chabiyan de meri,” she demanded, raising her perfect eyebrows expectantly.
“Kitchen counter te payian ne.”
She brushed past him again, her hips swaying with a deliberate, hypnotic rhythm as she walked down the hall to drop her backpack. A few moments later, she went back outside. Soon, she returned carrying a tall indoor plant in a heavy pot, placing it unceremoniously in the corner near the couch.
“Tainu yaad hai jab bachpan vich meri baazu tooti si, aur tu ek good big brother di tarah meri help karda si?” Urvin huffed, wiping a single drop of sweat from her deep cleavage before leaving the apartment again.
Vyom rolled his eyes and followed her down to her beat-up car. His eyes widened in horror when he saw the absolute mountain of luggage she had brought. Suitcases, massive plastic tubs, and milk crates full of plants, cacti, and flowers he couldn’t even name.
“Wah. Tu apna poora jungle yahan laa rahi hai?”
“Yeh ‘hamara’ ghar hai ab, Vyom. Main tere is sadde hue, badbudaar bachelor pad vich aise nahi rahungi jithe tere socks har jagah pade hon!”
The old, familiar rhythm of their verbal sparring came back far too easily for both of them.
