đź’ś.______..______..______.
Anaya's breath trembled in the hush of the hidden room, her heart pounding like temple bells mid-aarti—chaotic, sacred, and echoing with the memory of his lips on hers.
Rudra's presence was still wrapped around her like smoke—impossible to hold, impossible to escape.
His arm coiled around her waist, pulling her flush against him once again.
And this time, there was no pretense.
They had already crossed the line.
She gasped softly as he turned her to face him again, and his gaze dropped—just for a second—to her lips.
The same lips he had claimed.
Owned.
Her chest rose and fell sharply as his jaw brushed her collarbone, his breath fanning across her neck like a dangerous promise.
"I kissed you..." he whispered in English, the words molten silk. "And I can't stop thinking about it."
Then—he buried his face in the crook of her neck, not to kiss... but to breathe her in.
Like he needed to memorize the scent of sin wrapped in silk.
"Velvet..." his voice cracked like thunder in a storm. "You know... I hate Holi."
Her brows furrowed gently, her heart trembling. "Par kyun?" she asked, her voice barely a breath.
Rudra chuckled—low, broken, against her skin. "Because it's loud. Messy. Pretend joy. But this..."
He inhaled her again.
"If this is what Holi means now... your skin, your scent, your damn lips still haunting mine—then I want it. Every year. Every day. Every breath."
That confession broke something inside her.
Her fingers, uncertain, clutched the edge of his kurta, the ghost of their kiss still burning between them.
She whispered, "Y-yeh room... yeh bhi secret tha?"
His smirk was slow. Wicked. But his eyes held too much emotion to be casual.
He brought his hand to her cheek, brushing it with reverence.
"It was. But not anymore. Not for you."
Then, without warning, he spun her—again—but slower this time.
More deliberate. More intimate.
He guided her toward the velvet sofa at the center of the room.
"Velvet," he murmured, voice rough, "I need to ask you something. Will you help this Devil? Even if I've already dragged you into hell?"
The word hung in the air.
Anaya's heart stuttered. Her lips parted, the memory of that kiss still blooming behind her eyelids like forbidden fire.
"R-Rudra... sab neeche party mein hamara intezaar kar rahe hain..."
He stilled. Just for a moment. And then—swift as a shadow—he turned her again, pinning her back to his chest.
His lips hovered near her ear, dangerously close.
"Hmm... Velvet," he rasped, a single finger tracing her spine through the fabric, "I want more. But I know you're scared. You should be."
His thumb skimmed her bottom lip—again.
"So I'll let go... for now."
But he didn't release her. Not yet.
Because the Devil never gives up his claim so easily.
She stood frozen, her body alive with every place he touched. Her heart pounded, wild and traitorous.
She shut her eyes for a heartbeat—just to feel his heartbeat.
And when she opened them, she whispered, "Can we go... downstairs now?"
He studied her. Slowly. Deeply.
Then finally, he cupped her face like a man who had already sinned—and knew he'd sin again.
"Okay," he whispered. "Let's go..."
He let her go.
But as they stepped out of that secret room—his fingers still brushing hers, his scent wrapped around her like an invisible shroud—Anaya knew:
That kiss wasn't the beginning.
It was the point of no return.
.______.🫣.______.🤍.______..______..______.💖
The soft click of the hidden door echoed behind them like the closing of a chapter—one neither of them were ready to end, yet both too afraid to continue. The corridor before them stretched out like a bridge between worlds. On one side, the sacred intimacy they'd just shared. On the other, the life waiting below—expectant, loud, and unknowing.
But the silence between them? It wasn't relief.
It was loud. Dense. Saturated with unspoken truths and hearts that had said too much without saying anything at all.
Anaya walked beside him, her dupatta fluttering with each hesitant step, her hand still wrapped in his—warm, protective, and far too steady for the chaos that stormed inside her.
Her heart was still caught in that room. Her breath still tangled in the echo of his voice, his touch, his kiss. Her thoughts? Wild. Spinning in a hundred directions, none of them making sense.
She wanted answers. But more than that—she wanted time to stop. Just for a second.
To breathe.
To understand what had just happened.
And then—like clockwork—he said it.
"Velvet."
The way he said it was... deliberate.
Not soft. Not teasing. Not even tender.
It was a summon.
Anaya's steps faltered.
She didn't respond immediately, her mind still stuck replaying the press of his lips on her forehead, the warmth of his breath against her neck, the way he had held her like she was both sacred and his undoing.
"Velvet."
Again. Closer now. A demand cloaked in a whisper.
She blinked, startled out of her daze. "H-huh? Kya?" she stammered, caught off guard by just how close he stood.
He didn't back away.
In fact, Rudra took another step forward, the air between them vanishing. His gaze—stormy, unreadable—searched hers. Not impatient, but intense. Deep. Like he was measuring her response.
"Main bula raha hoon, Anaya,"Â he said, his voice steady, commanding.
"Jab main 'Velvet' bolun, mujhe turant jawab chahiye."
Anaya's breath caught.
It wasn't what he said—it was how he said it. Like the name Velvet wasn't a nickname anymore. It was a vow. A thread that tied her to something much larger than this corridor, this party... this moment.
Before she could reply, his hand reached out. Gently, he caught her wrist—his grip firm but not forceful. The pads of his fingers brushed over her skin, leaving behind a trail of heat and confusion.
Then, with a quiet reverence, he touched her cheek.
He wiped away a streak of blue from her face, his thumb moving slowly over her skin like she was precious. Fragile. Like she was the only real thing in a world that constantly lied to him.
"You look good in colors, Velvet."
His voice dipped, lower, silkier. A caress.
"Par mujhe tum zyada achhi lagti ho mere rang mein."
The words landed like thunder in her chest.
Her mouth parted, but no sound came. Her throat felt tight, her heart like it had skipped a beat—or ten.
What did he even mean? What was his color?
But she knew.
She felt it in every look, every word he said in a language only her soul seemed to understand.
He was claiming her. Not loudly. Not publicly. But with a quiet certainty that was far more dangerous.
And then, he called her again.
"Velvet."
This time, his voice was edged with something darker. Need? Frustration? Hunger?
She flinched slightly, not in fear—but in the terrifying realization that she would answer every single time he called her that. That somehow, she had already handed him that power.
"Main intezaar kar raha hoon..."
He leaned in, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, the back of his fingers grazing her skin.
"Jab tak tum wapas na aao, mein rukunga nahi."
The words. The meaning. The implication.
He wasn't talking about now. He was talking about always.
Anaya blinked rapidly, trying to ground herself in the moment, to keep her voice even.
"Haan! Haan... samajh gayi," she said, but even to her own ears, she sounded breathless. Unsteady. Like a girl walking a tightrope with no safety net.
Rudra didn't move.
He just tilted his head slightly and asked, "Kya samajh gayi?"
That everything's changed.
That I might be falling.
That you're dangerous and I want you anyway.
But she couldn't say any of that.
So she gave him a half-smile. Shaky. Desperate.
"Yahi... ki humein neeche jaana hai. Sab wait kar rahe honge..."
She took a step forward, trying to reclaim her space—her sanity.
But Rudra?
He pulled her back.
Not by her wrist.
By her waist.
Her back met his chest with a thud that knocked the breath out of her, his palm splayed against her stomach as he held her still. Like he needed to feel her. Anchor himself to her.
His lips brushed against her temple, sending a jolt down her spine.
"Not so fast, Velvet."
She stiffened. "K-kya chahiye ab?"
His whisper grazed her ear like sin wrapped in silk.
"A promise."
One word. Heavy as a curse. Soft as prayer.
Anaya turned slowly, her face inches from his.
"Promise?" she echoed, voice trembling. "Kaisa vaada?"
"Ek simple sa."
His smile was soft, but his eyes... oh, they were anything but.
"That no matter what happens... tum meri tarah dekhti rahogi. Samajhti rahogi."
She tried to step back, but his arms stayed firm.
"There's no need—"
"I need it."
His voice was quiet but resolute. That steel-edged softness that left no room for denial.
Her heart raced. Her body betrayed her with a slow, reluctant nod.
"O-okay... theek hai. Promise."
He exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding his breath. Then, gently, reverently, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to her forehead.
A kiss that wasn't about passion.
It was devotion.
It was a claim.
It was a beginning.
"Good," he whispered. "Now you'll do something for me."
That sentence sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn't a favor.
It was a trigger. A door. A contract.
She tried to protest, but his hand found hers again, fingers lacing with hers as naturally as breathing.
"Don't worry, Velvet," he said with a crooked smirk.
"It's not hard... not for my Velvet."
And just like that, they turned.
One step. Then another.
The grand staircase came into view, lined with petals, laughter below, music echoing faintly.
Each step she took down the staircase, her bangles clinked softly against her wrists, but she barely heard them. Her entire focus was on the space between their hands.
His grip didn't loosen.
Not once.
The world was watching. But he wasn't pretending.
And Anaya? Her heart was screaming now.
Why is he still holding my hand like this means something?
Is this just for show... or am I already his?
She looked at him once.
Just once.
And she knew.
Something had changed.
Not in the world.
In her.
.______.đź’–.______.đź’–.______.đź“‘đź“‘.______..______..______.
Meanwhile, Poolside...
The air near the pool felt like a sigh after a storm—light, fragrant with wet marigolds and crushed gulal, carrying the hum of distant laughter and rippling water. But beneath the bright colors of Holi, something far darker stirred—two hearts, stubborn and simmering, beating against restraint.
Janvi yanked her hand free, fury flashing in her eyes like a spark too close to a firecracker.
"Chhodo mera haath, main akeli chal sakti hoon!"
(Let go of my hand, I can walk on my own!)
Her voice cracked sharp, slicing the festive calm.
But Aarav Singhaniya? He didn't even blink. If anything, his lips quirked in a smirk that made her blood boil hotter than the midday sun.
"Main Aarav hoon, Mr. Singhaniya nahi. Naam se bulao. Aur ab... wahan baith jao."
(I'm Aarav, not Mr. Singhaniya. Call me by name. Now... sit there.)
He pointed to a chair by the shimmering blue of the pool and walked ahead like he owned the sky and the chaos beneath it—flicking imaginary dust off his kurta, as if her anger was nothing more than pollen in the breeze.
Janvi glared at his back. Her feet hesitated, but pride kept her spine straight. With a huff, she followed—each step of her heels echoing louder than her restraint, her dupatta trailing behind like a sash of protest.
He sat, sprawling like royalty, lazy and lethal.
She took the seat beside him—but just barely. A chasm of tension stretched between their chairs, filled with unsaid words and too much history.
Aarav's gaze drifted her way, slow and deliberate.
Then, in a voice unexpectedly low, he murmured,
"Tum yahan ho... mujhe laga nahi tha ki tum aayegi."
(You're here... didn't think you'd come.)
Janvi scoffed without turning.
"Main yahan apne doston ke liye hoon. Jaise pehle bhi bola tha."
(I'm here for my friends. Like I told you.)
But her indifference cracked the moment her eyes caught movement by the grand staircase.
Two silhouettes.
Fingers entwined.
Rudra and Anaya.
Descending like royalty. Like myth.
Her heart stuttered.
She stood without thinking, pulled by instinct, by curiosity—or maybe by something far more dangerous.
But Aarav was quicker.
His hand caught her arm, firm but not forceful, guiding her back down.
"Mat jao. Baaki logon ko disturb mat karo... especially un naye naye lovebirds ko."
(Don't go. Don't disturb others... especially those newly minted lovebirds.)
Janvi dropped into her seat with a thud, fury flaring in her cheeks.
"Main koi Rubi jaisi idiot nahi hoon. Samjhe?"
(I'm not some idiot like Rubi. Understand?)
It was sharp. Unapologetic. Honest.
Aarav turned to her fully now. His smirk faded—replaced by something quieter. Pride, maybe. Amusement, definitely. Admiration, though he'd rather swallow sand than admit it.
She wasn't delicate. She wasn't fake.
She was fire—wild, raw, untamed.
And she didn't care to be held.
He leaned back, crossing one leg over the other with a lazy grace.
"Ria ka plan mat spoil karna. Bechari kitni mehnat kar rahi hai bhai aur Anaya ko close lane mein."
(Don't ruin Ria's plan. The poor girl's trying so hard to bring bhai and Anaya closer.)
Then, nodding toward another lounging figure, his voice dropped with mischief.
"Ravi ko bhi bhang pila diya hai usne... abhi thodi der mein asar dikhne wala hai."
(She gave Ravi bhang too... the effects will show soon.)
Janvi rolled her eyes so hard they almost fell out of her head.
"Fine. Tum theek bol rahe ho. Waise bhi mujhe ghar jaana chahiye."
(Fine. You're right. I should head home anyway.)
She started to rise, brushing invisible creases from her kurta.
But the second she turned—he moved again.
Faster.
This time his grip was harder, firmer.
Real.
And she stumbled.
Not to the floor.
To him.
Her breath caught.
Aarav's arms circled her before she even realized she was falling. One hand gripped her forearm, the other curved instinctively around her waist, steadying her mid-air like a scene straight out of a dream or a dare.
Their faces—too close.
Her dupatta fluttered between them, the scent of gulal and jasmine mingling with tension.
For a moment, the world dulled. The music faded. The colors dimmed.
It was just them.
Her soft gasps.
His unreadable eyes.
The sound of their own wild hearts.
"Tum... pagal ho kya? Mujhe jaane do!"
(Are you crazy?! Let me go!) she hissed, breathless.
But Aarav didn't move.
His gaze stayed locked, as if he was trying to read every line of her soul.
"Main samajhta tha tum annoying ho... par tum toh kuch aur hi nikli."
(I used to think you were annoying... but you're something else.)
Her cheeks turned crimson, caught between embarrassment and something far deeper.
"Main jaa rahi hoon. Ab toh sach mein."
(I'm leaving now. For real this time.)
He let her go, slowly. Almost reluctantly.
But not before leaving a trace of his heat behind.
And that look...
That damn look in his eyes.
It lingered. Teased. Promised.
"Phir se gir jaogi toh?"
(What if you fall again?)
Aarav tilted his head, smirk laced with something dangerous.
"Hamesha ke liye pakadna padega."
(Then I might have to hold you... forever.)
Janvi's jaw dropped.
"Shut up!" she hissed, turning away in furious, awkward steps.
He watched her go.
Smiling.
Because she hadn't denied the fall.
And she hadn't stopped him from catching her.
Not really.