An Inconvenient Flame

Chapter 61

Word limit: 8k+

I don't know why getting ready feels so complicated today.

The clothes are simple— off-shoulder top, straight pants, the two-inch heels that have never betrayed me. 

There's nothing dramatic about any of it. And still, I'm standing in front of the mirror staring at myself like the reflection might suddenly turn into someone more confident.

Behind me, I hear the quiet rustle of fabric. Abhiraj is getting dressed too. He doesn't make much noise. I glance at him over my shoulder. He's halfway dressed, shirt on, sleeves still down, hair damp.

I pick up the top and slip it on.

It fits exactly the way it's supposed to.
Which somehow makes me even more nervous.

I'm adjusting the neckline when I suddenly feel warmth at my back. 

"You okay?" Abhiraj asks, voice low, close enough that I feel the vibration in the air.

"Yeah," I say quickly.

He doesn't believe me, I can tell. But he doesn't question it. Instead, he reaches out and gently fixes the back of my top where the fabric had folded wrong. His fingers brush my upper back lightly.

"Hold still," he murmurs.

My breath stutters for a second.

He steps back when he's done, but not far.

I slip into my trousers, tuck the top neatly, and straighten up. When I go to get my heels, he watches me in the mirror. 

"Sit," he says softly, pointing toward ottoman.

I frown, confused but still sits.

He crouches down and adjusts the strap of my heel properly before I can even touch it.

"I can do it..." I say startled.

"I know," he says, finishing the buckle. "But I'm already doing it."

Something warm pools in my chest. He stands, offering his hand. I take it, letting him steady me as I rise. His fingers hold mine for a second longer than necessary before he lets go.

I turn back to the mirror, pick up my makeup pouch, and start doing my makeup not much—light base, mascara, nude lipstick and blush. My hands shake once, just slightly. I pretend it's nothing.

He notices anyway.

Abhiraj steps behind me again, but this time he doesn't touch me immediately. He just stands close, watching my reflection. It should make me nervous, but it strangely... steadies me.

I draw a thin brown line over my eyelid.

"You tied your hair?" he asks, eyes on the low bun.

"Yeah."

He moves before I can react, lifting his hand to my nape, thumb brushing a loose strand.

"This one will fall out later," he says quietly.

"It's fine," I whisper.

He doesn't move his hand.

For a second, his thumb rests right where my hairline meets skin...the warmest part of my neck. Applying a soft pressure.

Then he lowers his hand, fingertips grazing the back of my shoulder on their way down.

I don't react ...but my body does when I breathe him in. Warm wood, something crisp. I hate how much comfort it gives me.