My Ex - Crush

Episode 43

Deepika's POV:

I felt my breath hitch as Arjun's fingers brushed against my lips. His eyes widened in complete shock, like he hadn’t planned it at all.

What is he trying to tell me? What does he expect me to do? My mind was racing with a hundred different thoughts, each one more confusing than the last.

Arjun quickly pulled his hand back, his face turning crimson as he turned toward the sink. He grabbed the mug from my hand, carefully placing it inside, as if he needed to anchor himself to something solid to regain his composure.

I stumbled back to the living room, my face on fire, my heart racing like it was trying to break free. What just happened? What did that touch mean? And why did he look as confused as I felt? My mind was spinning, unable to land on a single thought without it dissolving into a mess of emotions.

Arjun came back out a moment later, looking just as flustered as I was. He cleared his throat, his gaze not quite meeting mine. "Come in," he said, his voice softer, almost shy, as he motioned toward his room.

I followed him, my legs feeling unsteady, like they weren’t entirely under my control. As I stepped into his room, it was like walking into his world, an intimate space where every corner seemed to hold a piece of him.

My eyes roamed over his study desk, cluttered with drafting sheets and sketches. Above it, a small, slightly disorganized bookshelf leaned against the wall, filled with books and scattered notes. His pin-up board was full of scribbles, half-drawn diagrams, and motivational quotes in messy handwriting.

There was a wardrobe with a long mirror, covered in old stickers that looked like they’d been there since childhood. Cricket posters lined the walls, and there were scattered books and more of those little sketches pinned up, their lines rough and passionate.

The bed had a crumpled bedsheet thrown over it, his clothes in a careless pile on the chair, and a faint smell of him filled the air—a mix of aftershave and something distinctly Arjun.

"Shit," he muttered under his breath, quickly scooping up the pile of clothes and shoving them under the bed in a hurried attempt to make the room look less chaotic.

I half-laughed, unable to help the smile that tugged at my lips as I walked slowly around the room, touching his notes, running my fingers lightly over the edges of his sketches. Everything in here was so him—brilliant, scattered, full of life and energy.

He sat down on the bed and gestured for me to join him. I hesitated for a second, but then I sat beside him, pulling my feet up onto the mattress, trying to act casual even though my pulse was hammering in my ears.

"So, what do you think of my room?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes.

"It’s so...you," I said, my voice a little breathless. "Unique, messy, and somehow beautiful."

He chuckled, then leaned back casually on the bed beside me, his shoulder just inches away from mine. I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and suddenly, the room seemed even smaller, the air thicker.

His scent was all around me, the warmth of his presence wrapping around me like a blanket. 

My face felt hot, my breath coming a little too fast, the awareness of being alone with him in this small space overwhelming.

It was like every inch of the room was infused with him, and I couldn’t escape the pull of it.

I tried to admire the details of his room, the notes pinned up, the posters, but all I could think about was him—his closeness, his quiet breath, the way the bed dipped slightly under his weight.