The temple courtyard pulsed with life.It was a festival day, the air thick with the fragrance of incense and crushed jasmine, the rhythmic clang of bells echoing in the hot morning air. Vendors shouted over each other, balancing trays of marigold garlands and sandalwood paste. Families moved in clusters, children tugging at their parents' hands.
Amid all that noise, Ananya's world was painfully sharp. Every sound cut her nerves. Every breath lodged in her throat.
Her parents walked on either side of her, her father's stern stride never slowing, her mother clutching the end of her dupatta as if to tether her to obedience. Ananya kept her head bowed, but her eyes darted—sideways, across the crowd, through the chaos. Searching.
And there—Her heart jolted.
A figure at the far edge of the courtyard, too still for the bustle around him.Riyan.
Even at a distance, she knew him instantly. The tilt of his shoulders, the set of his jaw, the way his gaze skimmed the crowd as if nothing else existed. He looked different here, stripped of the safety of their classroom walls, reckless for standing so close to the lion's den.
She gripped the pleats of her churidar tighter. Fool. Brave, impossible fool.
He had never hated noise until now.
The chants, the bells, the hawkers—it drowned out the only sound he wanted, the rhythm of her breath. He shifted against the wall of the temple courtyard, eyes trained on every movement in the throng.
And then he saw her.
For one suspended moment, the crowd blurred away.
Ananya in her pale blue churidar, her braid falling like ink down her back, her face pale but steady. Her father beside her, her mother on the other side—guards in the shape of family.
But she looked up. Her eyes caught his.
The air slammed out of him.
Not fear, not hesitation—just a jolt of recognition so fierce it ached.
Almost Meeting
The temple steps became their battlefield.
Her parents paused at the entrance, joining the queue for offerings. Ananya's breath stuttered. The crowd pressed and jostled, bodies shifting like waves. Riyan moved—three steps closer, then four—threading through devotees clutching coconuts and flowers.
They were barely an arm's length apart when a group of women surged between them, bright saris flashing. Ananya stumbled forward with her mother's tug. Riyan's hand twitched, reaching—Missed.
She bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from gasping aloud. Her parents hadn't noticed. Not yet.
Her father's sharp gaze flicked over the crowd, and Riyan melted back into the throng, swallowed by men lighting incense sticks.
Inside the temple, the air grew heavier. The priest's chants rose and fell, people pressing forward with offerings.
Ananya bent her head, palms pressed together. But her prayer wasn't to the deity. It was to the boy standing somewhere just out of sight. One chance. One moment. Please.
Her mother handed her a tray of flowers. As she reached out, her fingers brushed another hand—warm, calloused, trembling.
Her heart stopped.
Her gaze snapped sideways.Riyan.
So close she could see the thrum of his pulse at his throat, the heat in his dark eyes. He didn't speak. Didn't dare. But his hand lingered against hers, hidden beneath the tray of marigolds.
Her fingers curled before she could stop herself, catching his for a heartbeat.
Her mother turned.Ananya jerked the tray higher, breaking contact.
The moment was gone. But the fire it lit was not.
They moved again with the crowd, a slow shuffle toward the sanctum. The crush of bodies grew tighter, shoulders pressed, the air thick with sweat and smoke.
And in that crush—finally—they collided.
Someone pushed from behind, and Ananya stumbled sideways, straight into him.His arm caught her waist instinctively, steadying her, pulling her close enough that she could feel the hard beat of his heart against her ribs.
Her lips parted. The world spun around them—chants, bells, voices—but inside that press of bodies, there was only the raw, magnetic pull between them.
"Riyan—" she whispered, barely a breath.
He bent lower, his lips grazing her ear as he murmured, "I had to see you."
Their faces hovered—so close the edges blurred, the air sparking with the inevitability of it. Her breath caught. His grip tightened. And for one reckless second, hidden in the sea of worshippers, his mouth found hers.
A fleeting kiss, stolen and scorching.A collision of desperation more than tenderness, hidden behind the shifting shoulders of strangers.
It lasted no more than a heartbeat before she pulled back, panic flashing in her eyes. Her father had turned slightly, scanning the crowd.
Riyan let her go, his jaw hard, his eyes burning as if he'd branded her soul.
She slipped back into her mother's orbit, her lips tingling, her heart shattering under the weight of both fear and longing.
The rituals blurred. The sanctum's chants became a haze. She moved through the motions, bowing, offering flowers, pressing her forehead to stone—all while the echo of that kiss seared her lips.
Riyan stayed at the edge, never far, never near enough. Every time she dared a glance, he was there—watching, waiting, promising without words.
By the time her family began their descent down the temple steps, the air had shifted. She could feel it: suspicion creeping closer, the bubble beginning to tremble.
But she had felt him.She had tasted him.And that was enough to set her veins alight.