𝟒. 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞𝐝

Roop led the way toward her room, her steps awkward, almost hesitant.

She could feel his gaze burning into her back—slow, deliberate, heavy like a storm brewing behind her.

Every breath she took felt stolen, every sound in the corridor muted except the steady rhythm of his shoes against the marble floor.

Deva followed her silently, a dark smirk ghosting his lips, his eyes tracing the delicate movement of her shoulders, the gentle sway of her hair.

There was something dangerously calm about him—like a predator watching his prey not out of hunger, but fascination.

When they reached the door, Roop quickly unlocked it and stepped inside, hoping to speak, to fill the suffocating silence—

But before a single word could escape her lips, she felt it—his nearness.

His heat.

His breath fanned across the nape of her neck, warm and intoxicating. The air between them thickened, and her body went rigid. Her eyes fluttered closed, and her breathing faltered, each inhale trembling against the fire licking beneath her skin.

“Roop…”

His voice was a low whisper, husky and dangerous, brushing against her ear like velvet and smoke.

She shivered. Goosebumps scattered along her skin.

“Turn around,” he murmured—calm, yet commanding. It wasn’t a request. It was an order wrapped in silk.

She hesitated, fingers curling against her dupatta, but something in his tone—something magnetic and irresistible—made her obey.

Slowly, she turned.

And the world narrowed to just them.

His breath ghosted over her face. The distance between them was barely there—so close that even air would’ve struggled to pass.

His eyes, deep amber and burning with something unspoken, held hers captive.

Without a word, his hands slid upward, teasingly slow, until they found her waist. His fingers brushed against her curves, firm yet reverent, before pulling her gently but possessively against his broad chest. The contrast of his strength and her fragility sent a shiver through her.

Instinctively, her hands found his chest—her touch light, trembling, seeking balance.

“Aankhein kholiye, Roop,” he whispered, voice velvet-soft but laced with authority.

("Open your eyes, Roop")

Her lashes trembled. The sound of her name in his tone made her heart race like a drum of chaos inside her ribcage.

And then she looked up—

The clash of ocean and amber.

Her blue eyes met his molten gaze, and time fractured.

There was no lust there—only a depth that scared her. He looked at her as if she was something holy, something he had waited lifetimes to find.

His gaze worshipped her, memorized her, and yet there was something darker swirling beneath—something that wanted to own her, claim her soul.

Her heart beat painfully in her chest.

Her mind screamed to look away, but her body didn’t listen.

He lifted her easily, placing her feet atop his shoes, closing the last trace of distance between them. Now their breaths mingled, their lips a breath apart—so close that if either of them dared to speak, their mouths would touch.

Neither moved.

Neither blinked.

It was a silent war—a magnetic pull that neither could resist nor define.

And just when the air was about to break, a voice shattered the moment.

“Didi! Mumma—”

("Sister! Mom---")

Roohi’s voice sliced through the tension like lightning.

Roop startled, stepping back as though the spell had broken. Her cheeks flushed crimson. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, avoiding his eyes. Deva only smirked, the corner of his lips curving darkly at her reaction.

“Lagta hai jiju ko kamra kuch zyada hi accha laga,” Roohi teased, grinning wide. “Keh rahi thi, Mumma ne aap dono ko dinner ke liye bulaya hai neeche. Aur zyada der mat kijiye ga!”

("It seems like brother-in-law like the room way too much, well I came to say that Mom called you guys downstairs for dinner. And don't take much time!")

And before Roop could scold her, Roohi giggled and ran downstairs.

Deva’s gaze lingered on Roop. He took a slow step forward, the air around him charged again.

She instinctively placed a hand on his chest to stop him, her smile shy, trembling, but her eyes giving away too much.

He chuckled, low and dark, the sound brushing against her skin like a secret.

As she turned and left, he stayed behind for a second, his hand brushing over his chest—the very place where she had touched him—as if trying to feel her warmth again.

A dangerous calm settled over his face. Something possessive, something not entirely gentle stirred within him.

Then, with his mask back in place, Deva followed her downstairs—his eyes still carrying the shadow of the fire she had unknowingly lit.

**************

I bolted down the stairs, my chest heaving, every step feeling heavier than the last. When I reached the last stair, I paused, hands flying to my chest, trying to steady the wild rhythm of my heartbeat.

“Oh God… that was… terrifyingly good,” I whispered to myself, my voice trembling slightly. The words felt inadequate, a feeble attempt to capture the storm that had just passed through me. My mind was a whirlpool of confusion, exhilaration, and something darker I couldn’t name.

Taking a slow, deliberate breath, I tried to calm myself, smoothing the folds of my anarkali with shaking fingers. Each movement felt surreal, as if the air around me still held a trace of him — the warmth of his presence, the heat of those intense, amber eyes lingering in my chest.

I stepped carefully into the dining room. The soft hum of laughter, the clinking of cutlery, and the light chatter of family immediately enveloped me like a protective cloak. Everyone seemed immersed in the simple joy of the evening — stories, smiles, and shared jokes filling the space with warmth. For a moment, I longed to lose myself entirely in that ordinary comfort.

And then… the soft, deliberate sound of polished leather on marble echoed down the stairs.

Deva.

I froze for a heartbeat, my pulse skipping again. The smirk I had seen earlier flickered in my mind, and my hands tightened instinctively around the edge of the serving tray. His presence, even from a distance, was magnetic—almost dangerous. My mind screamed at me to behave normally, yet every fiber of me remembered how close, how real he had been just moments ago.

Quickly, I turned, trying to anchor myself in routine. I moved toward the dining table, picking up dishes and utensils, my fingers trembling slightly as I helped my mother arrange everything neatly. Every movement was deliberate, an effort to distract my mind from the lingering heat of him — the warmth of his breath, the weight of his gaze, the subtle pull of his presence that refused to let me forget.

Even as I focused on setting the table, I could feel him watching, silently descending the stairs. The soft sound of his steps was calm, measured, controlled, yet it carried an unspoken promise of intensity. My chest tightened, and I couldn’t stop a shiver from running down my spine.

I stole a quick glance at him — his eyes scanning the room, landing, perhaps intentionally, on me for a fraction longer than necessary. That smirk, calm yet teasing, made my stomach flutter in a way that was both thrilling and terrifying. I reminded myself to breathe, to act normal, even though every instinct in me wanted to run back to the room, to disappear, to let him see nothing but the storm he had stirred inside me.

Yet, as I set down the last dish, a part of me—the part that feared and craved simultaneously—knew I wouldn’t be able to forget this evening anytime soon. Not his smirk. Not the warmth of his presence. Not the way the air had shifted between us, charged and electric, leaving my chest aching and my mind alight with unsaid words.

And still, he descended the final step with that darkly confident ease, every movement deliberate, as if the world itself had slowed for him. My hands tightened on the tray again, and I forced myself to smile, nodding at my mother as I tried to anchor myself in the ordinary, while my heart refused to settle.

************

I descended the final step and found her standing there, assisting her mother, the soft folds of her red anarkali catching the light.

The dining room buzzed with quiet chatter, the rich scent of spices weaving through the air like a slow, teasing current. I took my seat and scanned the table—everyone had settled except for her.

Her eyes flicked nervously across the chairs, hesitant, searching. The only empty seat was beside me. I allowed a slow, deliberate smirk to curl at the corner of my lips, noting how her shoulders stiffened the instant our eyes met.

“Roop beta, aajao, baitho yahan,” her mother’s gentle call floated over, a soft nudge toward her place.

(Roop beta, come, sit here, won’t you?)

She lowered herself carefully onto the chair beside me, cheeks flushed, hands folded neatly in her lap. I leaned back slightly, giving her just enough room, my gaze tracing the delicate curve of her collarbone.

A small mole caught my eye—a tiny imperfection on an otherwise flawless canvas—and my hands itched to trace it, but I resisted. Control, Deva, control.

The room filled with murmured conversations, laughter, and the occasional clinking of cutlery. Yet everything else blurred. She moved through the motions of the meal—the careful way she took her curry, leaving the paneer untouched.

Sweet dishes arrived, and she ignored them entirely, her attention fixed solely on the savory. Each small gesture, each subtle hesitation, each unspoken preference, I memorized with an almost obsessive precision.

“Beta, dono families ne discuss kiya hai… aur socha hai ki agle mahine engagement rakh lein. Kya bolti ho, Vineetha jii?” her mother’s voice, soft and pleased, floated above the table.

(Beta, both families have discussed and we thought of having the engagement next month. What do you say, Vineetha jii?)

“Jii, bilkul, sahi rahega. Baccho, tumhe koi problem toh nahi hai?” Mom said, eyes flicking toward us, smiling warmly.

(Yes, absolutely, that will be perfect. Children, you don’t have any objections, right?)

I caught her glance—a fleeting look as if seeking my approval. Her eyes, wide and honest, seemed to silently scream “yes.” My chest tightened with a dark satisfaction I didn’t bother hiding.

“Jii, hume koi problem nahi hai,” we replied in unison, our voices carrying a quiet, synchronized certainty.

("We don't have any problem")

A ripple of laughter swept through the room, the conversation flowing freely. But I barely noticed it. My gaze lingered on her as she dabbed at her lips with a napkin, pushed away the sweets without touching them, and carefully finished her food. Every movement was a private language she didn’t know I spoke fluently.

I leaned just slightly toward her, enough that the air between us thickened, subtle and electric. She didn’t flinch, didn’t look up, though I could almost feel the faint awareness in her muscles. Her soft honeyed scent drifted to me, intoxicating, addictive, almost dangerous. She was so… consuming.

Eventually, the meal drew to a close. Plates were cleared, tea was served, and the warmth of the room had shifted into a quiet, comfortable glow.

Mom and Ragini ji exchanged pleasantries, laughing softly, while the younger cousins whispered about trivial matters, giving the house a gentle hum of life.

Soon, it was time for us to depart, and the night outside had grown still and serene.

We gathered our belongings, exchanged warm, polite goodbyes, and embraced the Sharma family one last time before stepping out into the crisp night air.

I stayed at the doorway for a moment, watching her move. Even amidst the polite farewells, the controlled smiles, and the laughter echoing behind us, my gaze remained anchored to her.

She had no idea of the fire she had ignited with nothing more than her presence, her habits, her quiet, careful movements.

As we stepped out into the waiting cars, the cool night air brushing against my face, I felt the familiar, dark thrill coil in my chest, and I turned to glance at her again, as if memorising her face for the last time today.

She was mine to observe, mine to possess, and every moment she remained unaware of me only made the need stronger.

And yet, even as the engine roared and we departed, carrying us back to our private world, one thought burned clearly in my mind: the night had only just begun.

***************

I had already slipped under the sheets, the night wrapping me in its quiet embrace, yet sleep felt impossibly distant. His presence still lingered in every corner of my mind, a relentless, intoxicating shadow I could not shake. My thoughts of him were all-consuming, leaving me breathless, restless… alive in a way that frightened me.

The fragile peace of the night shattered with a sharp, piercing sound—my phone vibrating insistently on the bedside table. I reached for it, squinting at the screen. An unknown number.

Hesitation fluttered in my chest, but curiosity won.

I answered, my voice trembling slightly,

“Hello… kon hai?”

(Hello… who is this?)

Then I heard it. That voice. Slow, smooth, and unmi

stakable. My heart skipped. My lungs seemed to seize.

“Roop,” he said.

Just one word—and the world tilted. The calm of my room, the quiet of my own breath—all disappeared.

____________________