The kiss should have been the end. It should have scared them into silence, into retreat. But instead, it lit something neither of them could put out.
One meeting turned into two. Then three. Little stolen pockets of time carved out of the suffocating days—between classes Ananya was forced to attend, between the watchful eyes of her family, in the edges of night where shadows swallowed them whole.
Sometimes it was just a glance across a crowded corridor, his gaze pinning her in place until she flushed and tore her eyes away. Sometimes it was a note tucked under her plate in the canteen, a scribbled "still breathing because of you". And sometimes, when the risk was highest, it was his hand brushing hers as they passed, the electric shock of contact leaving her dizzy.
And then there were the meetings.
Behind the library wall. The abandoned staircase in the old science block. The shuttered classroom that no one bothered with anymore. Always quick, always breathless, always desperate. Each kiss was a gamble, each whisper a defiance. But the danger only made it sweeter.
"Do you know how insane this is?" Ananya whispered one evening, her back pressed against the wall of the old classroom, Riyan's shadow blotting out the dim light.
"Yes," he murmured, his lips hovering near hers, his grin reckless. "That's why it's perfect."
Her laugh died in a gasp as his mouth found hers, and the world shrank to heat and heartbeat.
But fire cannot burn unseen forever.
One night, as she slipped back through the garden gate of her house, shawl tugged close, she froze. A figure shifted near the veranda. Her father. He wasn't supposed to be there—he was supposed to be asleep.
The gate creaked in her hand, loud as thunder in the silence.
"Ananya?" His voice cut the dark, sharp, suspicious.
Her heart nearly stopped.
She ducked quickly, pretending to fumble with her anklet, forcing her voice steady. "It broke. I went outside to fix it… I didn't want to wake anyone."
Silence stretched, heavy, unbearable. His gaze lingered too long, eyes narrowing. But at last, he turned away with a mutter.
She slipped inside, knees weak, chest heaving.
Back in her room, she pressed a hand to her lips, still swollen from Riyan's kiss only minutes ago. The thrill of being with him warred with the terror of almost being caught.
And yet, even with fear still choking her, one thought burned clearer than ever:
She would do it again.