College life brings freedom I've never known, and with it, the chance to live closer to Aditya. Moving into the same apartment feels surreal, like stepping into a dream I never dared imagine. Every morning I wake up and see him stretching, hair tousled, sunlight spilling across his face. My heart does an involuntary flip—every day, a small thrill, a reminder that this is real, that he's mine.
"Good morning," he murmurs one morning, voice low, carrying that sleepy warmth that makes my chest tighten.
I smile, brushing past him to grab coffee. "Morning," I whisper, though my thoughts are entirely elsewhere.
He leans against the counter, watching me, that faint smirk tugging at his lips. "You're distracted," he says, teasing, though I can feel the concern beneath.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "It's nothing. Just… college stuff, deadlines. You know how it is."
He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the warmth radiating from his body. "You can tell me anything, you know. Don't carry it alone."
I hesitate, but the trust I've built over months—and the closeness of our living arrangement—forces the words out. "Sometimes I feel… overwhelmed. There's so much to do, so much expected of me. And I don't want to disappoint anyone… including you."
His eyes soften, and he cups my face in his hands. "You could never disappoint me," he whispers. "I want to support you, always. Every step, every choice, every mistake. I'm here."
A shiver runs down my spine. His closeness, his touch, the weight of his words—everything feels electric. I feel exposed, vulnerable, yet completely safe. It's intoxicating, this combination of desire and trust.
As days pass, living together changes everything. I learn the little things—the way he folds his clothes meticulously, the soft hums he makes while cooking, the way his eyes light up when he's passionate about something. I become obsessed with him in ways I don't fully understand. His scent lingers on the couch, on the pillow, and every time I brush past it, my heart skips.
We spend weekends alone, creating our own world. Movie nights turn into long conversations under dim lights, holding hands, brushing fingers, stealing gentle kisses. Sometimes, he leans in so close that I feel his breath on my cheek, and my body responds without thought. It's an intensity I've never felt, the way my heart pounds in my chest when he's near, the ache in my limbs when he moves away.
Yet, life isn't all bliss. College pressures weigh on both of us. I want to take internships abroad; he's hesitant, bound by family responsibilities. Arguments flare—not loud, destructive fights, but tense silences and sharp words that sting deeper than any shouting match.
"You're always thinking about the future, about where you want to go," he says one evening, tension tight in his jaw. "But what about now? What about us?"
I bite my lip, tears pricking my eyes. "I am thinking about us! But I can't ignore my dreams. I need to do this—for me, for my family."
He steps closer, lowering his voice, almost pleading. "And I support your dreams. I just… don't want to lose you in the process."
I shake my head, frustrated and emotional. "You won't lose me. But I need you to trust me, to let me chase this without feeling abandoned."
We stay silent for a long while, the tension thick, heavy with unspoken fears. But then, slowly, he pulls me into an embrace, holding me tight. "We'll figure this out," he whispers. "Every time, we'll find our way back to each other."
And he's right. Every argument, every tense moment, only brings us closer. I realize that love isn't just butterflies and kisses—it's compromise, understanding, patience. It's standing together, even when life feels like it's pulling us in opposite directions.
Nights at home are our sanctuary. We lie together, sharing whispers and laughter, tracing patterns on each other's skin. Sometimes, he holds me so close I can feel his heartbeat, and I feel a profound sense of belonging. Other times, our hands brush, a spark igniting a heat I don't fully understand yet. I'm sixteen, learning what desire, intimacy, and trust truly feel like, and with him, I want to learn everything.
Living together, I discover the depth of obsession, attachment, and love. Every glance, every touch, every soft word becomes a thread weaving us together. I can't imagine life without him, and I don't want to. He isn't just my boyfriend—he's my anchor, my safe place, my type.
Even in moments of tension or disagreement, even when life tests us, I know one thing for certain: he is mine, and I am his. And nothing—no distance, no fear, no storm—can change that.