Dil Beparwah | ✔

fifty five

||CHAPTER 55||
《¤》

┊A R V I K A┊

A little buzzed, very much shaken. A burn in my chest that intensified in gradual undercurrents, until it rendered me breathless and gasping for more, diving without measure, just yearning to turn weightless for that one moment. His mouth captured mine in such haste that for a second there, my mind turned completely blank and only instincts took over, practiced and passionate and relieved—so fùçķìñģ relieved.

My grip on his shoulder made him inch forward, a clash of tongues unable to restrain any longer. His palm firmly held my face in position, almost effortless, until he crouched down to be at my level, pouring everything he couldn't say out loud and tracing it against my lips instead.

I didn't want to pull back, but I had to. I was a mess, physically, emotionally, career-wise—but it felt so good, being around him, near him, with him. May be the booze had taken advantage of all my knotted strands, and perhaps admitting it to him would lead to a colossal wreckage... but for once, I felt ready, ready to bask in the music, come what may.

Despite the biting cold of the night, sweat lined his forehead. He didn't retract, or move. Closed eyes, light panting. Warm breaths mixing, thumbs tracing my cheeks, so delicate that I almost wondered if I was wrong, if the way I felt about him was something he couldn't reciprocate, so letting me down slowly was the easiest route he could take. Millions of reasons in his favor, just one in mine, protesting to be heard.

"Vika..." Strained, soft.

I sucked in a breath too, almost waiting for the Are you out of your mind? and How reckless can you be?, repeating phrases that I'd heard so much over the past year that it rang even in the silences. For reckless I had been, and my mind was in places I never imagined it to be.

"I—" he began, hazy, breathless, confused. "I... fùçķ–"

"–I get it, it's okay–"

"Shh," his thumb came upon my lips, smudging it, parting them open until I could feel his words hovering over them. "Do you even realize how much I've missed you?"

As if my lungs had expanded all of a sudden, the weight that had been sinking me, now lifted off my chest. Clumps of his hair twisted in my grip, absorbing the relieved smile spreading on his face.

"Sach mein?"

"Yaar Vika," he groaned, "you're such a fùçķìñģ airhead at times."

Swearing under his breath, he lifted me up and backed me down on the rickety cot. All coherent thoughts of protests stifled through another outlet, anchored to his prowess. So, under the blanket of stars and a sheet that could barely contain us both, we let the night consummate our wordless commitments.