The courtyard outside the college library shimmered with sun-drenched laughter. Students lingered in little groups, their chatter rising like petals in the breeze.
Hiya stood by the stone bench, giggling at something Sourav had just said — her pink scarf dancing behind her, lips glossed with ease, cheeks flushed with the sunlight and warmth of attention.
She didn't notice the gaze cutting through the crowd.
Sourav leaned in, his fingers brushing the edge of her notebook.
"You missed this part," he said, voice low. "Let me show—"
A shadow fell between them.
Before she could turn, her wrist was seized — not painfully, but with a force that ignited sparks beneath her skin. The touch was warm, steady, commanding.
She gasped softly.
Dev.
He didn't speak.
Didn't spare Sourav a glance.
His jaw was tight. His eyes unreadable. But his grip? Undeniable.
He walked.
And she followed — no, was pulled — led through the maze of the college walls, her scarf trailing like the end of a sentence unspoken. They didn't stop until they reached a narrow side corridor, wrapped in shadow and hush.
Then — he turned.
She barely had time to breathe before her back met the cold, hard wall.
Her breath caught.
He was close.
So close, the air between them felt thick. Heavy. Almost wet with anticipation.
His hand found her waist — not cautiously, not delicately — but like it belonged there. Like it had been waiting.
Hiya froze.
Her heartbeat thundered against her ribs, her legs suddenly unsure of themselves.
Then his other hand rose, cupping her cheek. Fingers trembling as they grazed her skin. His thumb rested beneath her lip. His forehead leaned toward hers.
She whispered his name —
"Dev…?"
But he didn't answer.
His breath fanned against her lips — ragged, uneven. And in that second, something in him cracked.
And he kissed her.
No prelude.
No permission.
Just fire.
Raw, desperate, uncontainable. A kiss that spoke of sleepless nights and stolen glances and everything he'd buried inside for far too long. His mouth crushed hers like it was the only truth left.
Hiya stiffened — only for a second.
Then her fingers reached — instinctively — fisting the front of his shirt, grounding herself in his chest as her knees gave way beneath the weight of it all. Her lips parted under his, shyly at first, then melting into the heat.
She didn't know how to breathe.
Didn't know if she wanted to.
The kiss ended in fragments — with Dev pulling back just enough to inhale, just enough to study her dazed face.
His thumb brushed the corner of her mouth.
"Don't let anyone else touch you."
The words were low, guttural — half-command, half-plea.
Then he turned. Walked away.
Left her leaning against the wall — lips tingling, body trembling, the scent of him still pressed into her skin.
Hiya didn't sleep that night.
Every time she closed her eyes, she felt him again — the press of his chest, the heat in his breath, the possessive tremor of his hands.
She hugged her pillow, curled inwards, legs drawn tight like something in her body had unraveled and was still trying to put itself back together.
Her lips still felt swollen.
Her heartbeat hadn't slowed since.
What was this?
Not love.
Not yet.
But it lived beneath her skin now — in the place between fear and fascination.
A heat.
A longing.
A tremble of desire that made her stomach twist and her thighs press together, confused and aching and breathless.
She didn't know how to name it.
But she knew this:
Dev had lit a fire in her that would not go out easily.
And something inside her…
was beginning to burn for more.