An Inconvenient Flame

Chapter 62 {Part A}

Heyy everyone...so here is the new chapter.

But want to tell you all something before you start reading the chapter.

The relation between Abhiraj and Ishika has been built slowly, the consummation is not just a scene but a milestone in their story, involving all messing emotions and various dimensions. Hence I am splitting this chapter into two parts...Part A is more of a light chapter {daylight}. And Part B is going to be the scene, tension... softening moment {Night}.

I don't want to overstuff the chapter so hence Part A here.

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Morning finds its way in slowly.

Sunlight streams through the glass window, bright and steady, filling the bedroom with a quiet warmth. The curtains are open, lifting and settling with the breeze, letting in the cool scent of the forest that surrounds the house-earthy, green, alive.

I'm sitting on the sofa near the window, legs folded beneath me. I'm wearing a warm brown knit sweater that falls to my thighs, soft against my skin. My spectacles rest on my nose as I read, the paper spread open in my hands.

The Hindu.

The room smells faintly of morning air and lemon tea.

My laptop sits beside me on the table, notes filling the screen as I move between reading and typing without thinking too much about it. Important points. A line under a headline. A short comment added in the margins.

I take a sip of tea. Warm. Slightly sour. Exactly how I like it.

An apple lies nearby, a clean bite already taken out of it. I pick it up, take another bite, eyes still scanning the page as I chew slowly.

Outside the window, the forest stands dense and unmoving, tall trees filtering the light, their shadows shifting faintly as the breeze passes through.

I turn the page.

The room is quiet. Sunlight spills across the floor, catches on the arm of the sofa, settles on my hands.

I type another note.

I take another sip of tea and go back to reading.

I'm halfway through a column when the door of the room opens.

Not sound made.

The faint bitterness of coffee spread across the room. I don't look up.

He's freshly bathed. I can tell from the fresh cypress trailing him.

The sofa dips as he sits beside me. Ceramic touches wood softly as he sets his coffee down next to my tea.

I keep reading.

He watches me for a moment. As I feel his eyes on me.

"You're very focused," he murmurs.

"Mmm," I hum, eyes still on the page.

That's when his arms come around me.

Breaking my rhythm.

He pulls me back towards him, and makes me sit on his lap, the paper rustling in protest as I adjust.

I don't resist. I don't help either.

I just settle, resting my back against his chest, completely fitting.

His nose is cold.

That's the first thing that comes to my mind.

As it brushes along the side of my neck, deliberately.