“I still do,” he added.
This time, she didn’t look away.
“You don’t know what I carry,” she said, voice like velvet over fire.
“I don’t want to carry it,” he replied. “I just want to touch it. Even if it burns me.”
And she let her fingers touch his.
Not invitation.
Permission.
Chapter VII: Slow Fires
The departmental gathering was meaningless—stale samosas, milky tea, laughter too loud and too rehearsed. But Kalpana was there. Blue cotton saree. Kohl rimmed eyes. Hair open like a confession.
She looked like something just unwrapped.
Avinash watched from across the room. But didn’t approach. Not yet.
Amit did.
He stayed after the others left, standing too long by the noticeboard. Waiting.
She approached him, her walk unhurried, deliberate.
“You stayed,” she said.
He didn’t look at her. “I didn’t want the night to let go of me just yet.”
She leaned beside him, not touching—but so close he could feel the heat of her breath.
“You always look like you’re listening,” she murmured.
“I am,” he said. “Even when nothing is said.”
Her shoulder brushed his. He didn’t move. Her perfume wrapped around him—faint rose, wet earth, and something unmistakably her.
“You think too much,” she whispered.
“Only about you.”
That silenced them both.
She tilted her head. Their lips were inches apart. But they didn’t kiss.
Because the almost was hotter than the act.
Because sometimes the body isn’t ready to fall.
It wants to hover on the edge.
Chapter VIII: The Edge of Knowing
She stood in front of the mirror that night again.
The cotton saree still hugged her, damp from rain. Her nipples strained against the blouse. Her skin glistened—not from water, but from want.
She didn’t touch herself.
She didn’t need to.
Her body remembered.
Avinash’s voice. Amit’s gaze. Her son’s silence.
Desire did not demand climax.
Sometimes, it only needed to be seen.
To be acknowledged.
To be allowed to rise, curl, stretch inside the ribcage like a sleeping serpent.
Kalpana lay back, breathing slowly.
Tonight, she didn’t want relief.
She wanted ache.
She wanted the exquisite pain of waiting.
Chapter IX: The Quiet Between Us
Vivek
He couldn’t erase her.
Not the memory.
Not the new truth.
She hadn’t betrayed him. She had simply revealed herself. And that… that was harder.
He remembered the curve of her wet blouse. The shimmer of skin not meant to be seen.
And the worst part?
He didn’t feel disgust.
He felt envy.
She was alive. Raw. Lit from within.
And he… he was a boy lost in smoke and guilt.
He didn’t hate her.
He hated how much he wanted to understand her.
And how much he feared that he already did.
Chapter X: The Weight of His Gaze
Amit
He had always been the quiet one. But since that night, silence had become sacred.
He watched her—not like prey.
But like worship.
He memorized her laugh. The arch of her foot. The slow grace of her hands.
He didn’t dream of undressing her.
He dreamed of kneeling.
Of kissing her wrist.
Of placing his cheek against her thigh and breathing her in.
He hadn’t touched her again.
But his whole body waited for the moment she would let him.