Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
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I was sitting in the passenger seat of Yashwardhan's car, and he was driving with an expression of utter satisfaction, like he had just conquered the world and was basking in the glory of his victory. It was almost amusing to see him like this—so pleased with himself, as if nothing could go wrong. He seemed so confident, so sure of himself, that I couldn’t resist trying to shake him a little.
“You don’t know what my kind of date is like,” I said, attempting to sound mysterious. “You might be scared.”
He smirked, that arrogant smirk that simultaneously irritated and intrigued me. Then he laughed, a deep, mocking sound that made my stomach flutter. “If you want to shoot me on our first date,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “I’ll still be happy to go on a date with you.”
Something about the way he casually joked about his death didn’t sit well with me. My heart skipped a beat, and without thinking, I reached out and placed my hand over his mouth to stop him from speaking further. The suddenness of my action surprised both of us. We were already close in the confines of the car, but now, with my hand over his mouth, we were even closer.
Yashwardhan froze for a half-second, clearly shocked by my action, but he recovered quickly. His eyes locked onto mine, and I felt the intensity of his gaze as if it were a physical touch. I tried to pull my hand back, embarrassed by my boldness, but before I could, he caught it. Instead of letting me go, he brought my hand closer to his mouth again, and to my utter disbelief, he sniffed it softly.
“Some actions have consequences,” he said, his voice low and teasing, “and as punishment, you have to keep your hand right here for the entire drive.”
He was smirking, obviously enjoying the situation far more than he should. I could feel his breath warm against my hand, and a shiver ran down my spine. I didn’t know why his proximity was affecting me so much, but I could barely think straight.
“I didn’t mean to…” I started, my voice trembling. “I just… I just couldn’t stand the thought of anyone dying because of me.” My voice dropped to a whisper, barely audible. I doubted he even heard the last part, but the memory of that night, the night that still gave me sleepless nights, haunted me.
I tried to pull my hand away again, but this time, instead of letting go, he gently bit down on my fingers, then licked the spot where his teeth had touched. The shock that coursed through me was indescribable. I sat there, frozen, my mind struggling to process what had just happened. He finally let go of my hand, but his smirk remained, and there was something else in his eyes—an emotion I couldn’t quite place, but one that sent my heart racing.
“What was that for?” I asked, my voice still trembling from the shock. “Don’t you think you’re crossing a line between profession and… whatever this is?”
He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at me with an intensity that made me feel like I was the only person in the world. It was as if he never wanted to look away, as if he were memorizing every detail of my face.
