An Inconvenient Flame

Chapter 50

It has been a few days since we got that intimately close. And I don't know,

It just feels as if a different kind of peace has settled between us, like an quiet melody that neither of us acknowledges out loud, yet it lingers in the air. 

We are lighter, freer, as if the weight that held us back has finally loosened its grip.

Abhiraj smiles more now, the ones... reaching his eyes. I feel it in myself too.

My steps have a little more bounce, my voice is a little softer, my laughter comes a little easier.

We talk more, not about anything grand, just the little things.

What to order for dinner, why my romantic fictions are better than his thrillers and autobiographies, how I can never find my hair tie even though I have a million of them.

And then there's the flirting. It's new. Subtle, unintentional, and yet, undeniably there.

We never flirted with each other. Can you believe it, an year knowing each other and no flirting.

Just to be on safer side, I don't know how to flirt even.

 "Do you always talk this much?" Abhiraj teased yesterday.

"Only when I have an audience who actually listens," I shot back, tilting my head.

He had smirked, shaking his head, but his eyes lingered on me for a moment too long.

Even today, when I walked into the living room, his gaze flickered over me... just for a second... but it was enough to make me aware of his presence, his attention.

There is something playful in our dynamic now, something that wasn't there before.

A brush of hands when passing each other, a teasing remark disguised as casual banter, the way his fingers lingered on my wrist for just a moment longer than necessary when handing me my coffee this morning.

It's effortless, yet electric.

And I can't help but allow myself to drown in these little joys and  surreal moments.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The evening sun cast a golden glow over the forest garden, painting everything in warm amber hues.

The stone paths gleamed softly under the garden lights, and the air is rich with the scent of fresh earth and fallen flowers.

A gentle breeze rustles through the trees, carrying the soft chime of the wind bells and the distant murmur of the water fountain.

Ishika sits cross-legged on the grass beside Ivaan, her fingers sifting through a basket of fallen flowers.

Ivaan, seated nearby with his sketchbook on his lap, is focused on capturing the scenery with the bright colors of his crayons.

"The trees look a little too blue," Ishika says teasingly, peeking at his work.

Ivaan giggles, waving his paintbrush like a wand, "that's because they are magical trees, Mumma."

She laughs softly, shaking her head at his antics. 

 Ishika, feeling the evening breeze against her skin, picks up a few fresh flowers from her basket and began threading them together.

She isn't sure what she was making, maybe a bracelet,  just something to keep her hands busy.

The petals are soft, their fragrance calming.

She brings one close to her nose, smiling at the scent, before continuing to tie them together.

"I think I'll make a bracelet," she muses aloud.