Moonlit

viii

Avani's room was decorated in the themes of periwinkle and ivory. It was her oasis, a pearl oyster where she could spend hours in.

She lay on her plush bed, feeling the smooth, airy bedsheets caress her skin. Her room smelt of lavenders and vanilla and the fireplace was charmed to burn a pale flame instead of its usual fiery red, maintaining the ambience.

Whenever someone visited her room, they were usually shocked. They expected dark shades of black, green or perhaps red and purple. The peaceful aura of the room was very unlike the stormy presence of Avani, who usually had trouble sitting still for even a moment.

But Avani thought her room suited her well. If she could not have peace inside her, she would force it from the outside. An odd sentiment, but she had never been the one for philosophy.

Avani knew Tom would find her later, and she would be lying if she said she didn't want him to. Still, the idea of ideally waiting for him didn't seem too appealing. So she decided on taking a shower.

Then she changed into her silk nightgown, a soft flimsy article that reached up to her knees. She lay back again on her bed, this time, her skin cold from the shower. Her hair smelt of coconut and almonds. It was oddly therapeutic.

She heard a knock. She waited a good minute before she opened the door.

Tom stepped in, and Avani peered into the hallways of her house, making sure no one had seen him enter her room. Then she locked the door, leaning against it as watched Tom assess her room.

"Your room is not what I expected it to be."

Avani lazily picked at her nails. "I've been told that before."

Tom watched her room with great detail. A person's chambers told a lot about them.

She had a huge four-poster bed in the middle of the room, and instead of curtains, long strings of pearls hung from the rods. They looked real.

Her room screamed wealth, and somehow, it irked Tom. He had grown up in poverty, and even now, he could not afford the luxury the Chaudhrys lived in.

Apart from Tom and Avani's age difference, their childhood and economic conditions were too at a space of miles. No wonder the two of them were so different. They barely passed two hours without arguing.

"Why did you tell my father that I smoked," Avani asked, stepping towards him.

"It was an honest mistake."

"No, it wasn't."

Tom chewed his lip before chuckling lowly. "No, it wasn't."

Avani scoffed. "Arsehole."

Tom stepped before her, towering over her frame with his imposing presence and height. He caressed her cheek, tucking a midnight wave behind her ear. His hand crept behind her head, fingers slowly grasping her hair. He pulled her head back slowly. When she resisted, he tugged slightly.

"Say that again, I dare you," he said.

"You can't threaten me in my own house, Tom."

"Yes? Why is that?"

Avani looked up into his dark eyes, her own fluttering when she felt his hand place feathery touches on the back of her thighs.

"My father is downstairs. I'll scream."

Tom smirked at that, harshly pulling at her hair. Her eyes watered with the burn on her scalp.

"Alright, scream then."

For once, she thought he was going to place a silencing charm on the room, but instead, he did something much worse. He landed his lips on the curve of her throat, and Avani gasped slightly.