Chapter 12 – First Fires
बरसात की बूंदों में भीगते ख्याल,
तू और मैं जैसे बंधे किसी मिसाल।
छोटे स्पर्श ने दिलों को छू लिया,
इश्क़ की लौ धीरे धीरे जला लिया।
The house was unusually quiet that night. Guests had left, relatives had retreated to their rooms, and the soft hum of the city drifted faintly through the open windows.
Trisha lay on her bed, the faint scent of jasmine and her own perfume mingling around her. The events of the past days—the wedding, the kitchen laughter, the first shared smiles—played on repeat in her mind. Her heart still raced at the thought of Abhineet's protective touch, his quiet gazes, and the rare moments of teasing.
She had tried to push these thoughts aside. She wasn't supposed to feel… this way. But tonight, alone, the warmth of his presence in her memory felt impossible to ignore.
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A soft knock on the door startled her.
"Trisha?" It was Abhineet's low voice.
"Come in," she whispered, smoothing the folds of her kurta nervously.
He entered quietly, carrying a glass of water. The lamplight caught his tall frame, the broad shoulders and strong jawline softened by the quiet of the night. He sat on the edge of the bed without asking, a small gesture of trust, and handed her the water.
"Thank you," she murmured, eyes downcast.
He watched her, patient, careful. "You've been quiet tonight."
"I… I was thinking," she admitted. "About everything."
Abhineet nodded. "I understand."
For a long moment, they just sat there, the silence comfortable yet charged. Trisha's fingers nervously twisted the edge of her dupatta, and he noticed.
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Slowly, he reached out, placing a steady hand over hers. The contact was gentle, deliberate, grounding.
"You've opened up a lot in the past days," he said quietly. "About your fears, your past… I want you to know you can tell me anything. Always."
Her throat tightened. Few had ever offered such understanding. And the weight of his words, combined with the warmth of his hand, made her chest ache with something she wasn't ready to name.
"I… I want to try," she whispered.
His thumb brushed her knuckles, a small, careful caress. "That's enough for now."
The intensity of the moment lingered. Trisha's pulse quickened as she realized he wasn't just standing beside her emotionally—he was here, physically, with patience, with care.
---
The air shifted subtly. Abhineet leaned just slightly closer, the warmth of his presence surrounding her. She felt the faint heat of his body, smelled the faint sandalwood scent that clung to his skin.
"You feel like you carry too much," he murmured, almost to himself. "I want to help you… not just with words."
Trisha's lips parted. "I… I don't know if I can trust myself with this."
"You don't have to," he said softly. "Just trust me."
For the first time in her life, she allowed herself to lean just slightly into him—not pressing, not clinging, simply leaning. His hand shifted to her back, steadying her, a promise of safety.
The brush of his fingers over her shoulder sent shivers down her spine. She felt light-headed, her heart thudding in her chest.
---
Minutes passed in quiet, careful closeness. He didn't push, didn't speak unnecessarily. His mere presence, the solid warmth of him, the understanding in his gaze, was enough.
"Abhineet…" she breathed.
He tilted his head slightly, silent permission in his eyes.
"I… I've never…" She stopped, words failing her.
He smiled faintly, a soft curve that made her chest tighten further. "I know," he whispered.
And in that whisper, she felt the unspoken promise of intimacy—not just physical, but emotional. A space where she could be vulnerable, where her past fears couldn't touch her.
---
Her hand slid lightly across his arm, tentative, almost seeking reassurance. He responded subtly, pressing his fingers against hers, a silent acknowledgment. The air between them was charged yet respectful, a slow burn of mutual understanding.
Her pulse raced as she realized how close they were—so close that a single movement could bridge the distance entirely. But he didn't rush her. He simply let her feel the warmth, the presence, the safe space.
It was intoxicating.
---
Eventually, Trisha leaned back slightly, catching her breath. "I… I need a moment," she whispered.
He nodded, releasing her hand slowly, giving her space. "Take all the time you need. I'm here."
The intensity of their closeness lingered even after she leaned back, lying on the bed. She felt a strange combination of relief and anticipation. Relief that she wasn't alone with her fears. Anticipation for the trust and closeness that could come—gradually, safely, intentionally.
---
Before leaving, he bent slightly, brushing a gentle kiss on her forehead. A soft, careful gesture that carried more promise than words ever could.
"Goodnight," he murmured.
"Goodnight," she whispered back, heart pounding.
As he stepped out, closing the door quietly behind him, Trisha's fingers lingered where his had touched hers. For the first time, she allowed herself to hope. Hope that their pasts—his guilt, her abuse—could coexist with the beginnings of trust, warmth, and even desire.
And in the quiet of the night, as Mumbai's distant hum surrounded her, Trisha realized something terrifying and exhilarating: she was starting to feel for him, and it wasn't fear anymore.
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✨ End of Chapter 12 ✨
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