Panic and heavy taboo guilt crashed into her. She forced her hazel eyes away, her face burning with intense humiliation and a dark arousal she absolutely refused to acknowledge.
“Shirt pa le, besharam,” she snapped, her voice trembling slightly. She rushed past him, intentionally pressing herself against the wall to avoid touching his wet, naked chest, and slammed the bathroom door shut behind her.
When she finally came out fifteen minutes later, fully dressed and composed, she smelled fresh coffee. She walked to the kitchen. Behind the counter, Vyom was using a massive kitchen knife to spread a thick, absurd layer of butter over heavily burnt toast.
“Breakfast vich koyle kha reha hai?” she asked, her voice steady, pouring herself a mug of coffee.
“Breakfast of champions hai yeh.”
“Haan, dikh reha hai,” she grumbled. She put fresh bread in the toaster, lowered the heat setting, and a minute later had two perfectly golden slices. She slid one onto her plate and put the other on his plate with a small, hesitant smile.
“Truce? Please? Main aisi ladai wale mahol vich nahi reh sakdi, Vyom.”
Suddenly, Vyom felt a sharp, unexpected pang of guilt. “Temporary ceasefire chalega?” he asked gently. He didn’t know why he always acted so defensively around her. He felt bad but kept quiet, hiding behind his food.
“Kuch na hone ton toh behtar hi hai.”
Thirty minutes later, Vyom was fully dressed, his heavy backpack slung over his broad shoulder. He walked past the bathroom mirror where his sister was applying light, subtle makeup. “Teri first class aaj hai ya kal?”
“Aaj!” she smiled brightly, batting her long lashes. “Forms and Mediums, phir Literature, aur last vich Art History.”
“Abhi vi bhookhi artist banne da shauk hai?”
“Dieting ton toh behtar hi hai. Patli rahungi,” she joked, trying her best to keep the fragile peace. “Waise vi, un boring formulas nu yaad karne ton toh accha hi hai jo computers ek second vich kar lende ne. Imaginary problems jo real life vich kabhi kaam nahi aayengi.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she cringed internally. She had just set their white flag on fire.
“Physics aur engineering imaginary nahi hote.”
“Haan, mainu pata hai. Sorry.” Urvin gave him a soft, apologetic pout, biting her lower lip nervously as she curled the ends of her hair.
“It’s alright,” he shrugged, his voice softening unexpectedly. “Boring shit toh hai. Main maanta hoon.”
They looked at each other for a long, awkward moment. The air between them suddenly felt very heavy, charged with a strange, undeniable electricity.
“Main shaam nu milda haan, Urvin,” he said, turning around to leave. “Aur zyada makeup mat lagaya kar. Tainu zaroorat nahi hai.”
As the front door clicked shut behind him, Urvin stood completely frozen in front of the mirror. A deep, hot blush spread rapidly across her cheeks. Her heart fluttered wildly in her chest.
Did he… just call me beautiful?
Urvin was the first to return home. She tossed her heavy bag on her bed and kicked off her shoes with a sigh of relief. In the kitchen, she opened the fridge and frowned. There was nothing inside except sauces and old vegetables. She knew she had to go grocery shopping soon. Not wanting to dirty a glass, she took a half-empty bottle of Tropicana mixed fruit juice, walked to the couch, and stretched her long, bare legs out.
