Avni’s eyes widened for a moment as she landed against his chest. That closeness—his hand tight around her wrist, his breath brushing too near—sent a shiver she hated to feel. She scoffed, tilting her chin high as if unaffected, though inside her pulse raced in a way that betrayed her.

Guru, however, didn’t let go. His jaw tightened, eyes locked on her with a storm brewing in them. It wasn’t just anger—it was jealousy, raw and unspoken. The fact that she had dared to take Sahil’s name lit a fire in him he couldn’t hide.

And Avni? She smirked faintly, knowing exactly what she had done. Yet deep down, seeing the fury in his eyes stirred something sharp inside her too. Jealousy—messy, reckless—tightened in her chest, though she would never admit it out loud.

Both stood still, trapped in that moment, each too stubborn to confess, yet both too shaken to break away.

“Mujhe jana hai…” she muttered, struggling against his hold, her palms pressing against his chest to push him away.
["I want to go…"]

But instead of letting go, Guru’s grip only tightened. With a sudden, rough pull, he drew her even closer, his hand sliding to her bare waist. The touch was searing, firm, possessive.

Avni’s breath caught, her lips parting instinctively as his large, calloused palm rested against her skin. Her heart hammered in her chest, caught between anger and something she refused to name. The heat of his hold clashed with the chill of her defiance, leaving her stunned for a moment too long.

His eyes burned down at her, fierce and unrelenting, as if daring her to say Sahil’s name again.

A smirk curved on her lips as she caught the flicker in his eyes. He hated losing ground, and she loved pushing him to it. They both knew how stubborn they were—locked in a battle where neither would bow down.

Avni parted her lips deliberately, her voice laced with provocation.
“Sahil ka birth—”

But before the word could leave her tongue, his hand shot up, fingers wrapping firmly around her neck. Not harsh, not gentle—just enough to make her breath hitch, to tilt her face toward his. Her eyes widened, caught between shock and defiance, as his thumb brushed along her skin with a rough, possessive graze.

Then his lips came close—so close she felt the heat of his breath ghosting over her parted mouth. Her chest rose and fell in uneven waves, her pulse racing under his touch. He hovered there, torturing her with the closeness, their mouths just a whisper apart, as if this was the only way he could silence her.

The air turned heavy, thick with heat and tension. She didn’t move, he didn’t pull back—both caught in the fire they had unknowingly set ablaze.

She whispered his name—soft, trembling, yet heavy with unspoken invitation.
“Guru…”

His eyes closed for a moment, every muscle in him taut with desire. The sound of her voice, the closeness of her body, the way her chest pressed lightly against him—it was nearly unbearable. His rough hand slid along her waist, pulling her just a fraction closer, asserting the dominance he’d always felt but rarely shown.

Her body betrayed her in subtle ways—she leaned slightly into him, lips parting as a soft breath escaped, a shiver running down her spine. Every inch of her ached with the unspoken need to close the space between them, to feel the heat of him fully—but she stayed just barely in control, matching his intensity with her own simmering fire.

His head dipped, lips hovering inches from hers, eyes dark, heart pounding, every nerve alive. It was almost too much—the closeness, the scent of him, the magnetism of their stubborn, possessive desire.

Then, suddenly, the sound of children laughing and playing reached them from across the party. The spell shattered. Both froze, heat still radiating from their bodies, but neither able to meet the other’s eyes.

Instinctively, she pushed him, creating distance—but almost immediately realized what she’d done. She brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, glanced around, voice tight but steady

“Mujhe jana hai… sorry…”

And without another word, she walked away.

Avni’s figure disappeared into the crowd, but the moment she left seemed to stretch, leaving a burning emptiness in its wake. Guru’s fist clenched tightly, jaw locking as his fingers instinctively caressed the hand that had just held her waist.

A growl escaped his throat, low and dangerous, before he slammed his fist against the wall. Pain shot up his arm, but he barely registered it—his mind and body were consumed by the memory of her.

He looked down at his hand, the hand that had felt the press of her body, the warmth of her skin against him. Even now, he could still feel her—the subtle curve of her waist, the heat of her body, the shiver that had run through her.

Images replayed in his mind: her face so close to his, lips slightly parted, eyes half-closed at his touch. The memory made his chest tighten, pulse spike. He wanted to touch her again, to feel her, to claim her in a way his reason told him was wrong—but some primal part of him didn’t care.

Every inch of him ached with desire, the craving raw and undeniable. He stood there, breathing heavily, hand pressed against the wall, the fire of her memory consuming him. The heat between them hadn’t faded—it had only intensified, sharp, dangerous, and impossible to ignore.

Avni set the empty glass down on the table, trying to tame the fire that still burned through her veins. She couldn’t believe what had almost happened just seconds ago. Her heartbeat was still racing, her breaths shallow and ragged—and she could even feel the memory of his warm, steady breathing against her.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to calm down, but the memory of the closeness—the press of his body, the heat of his hands on her waist, the almost-kiss—flashed in her mind so vividly that she jerked her eyes open.

“I can’t… this is too… wrong,” she murmured, voice tight, and reached for another glass of water, pouring it in almost a rush, as if trying to wash away the lingering ache of desire and the chaos of what had just passed between them.

“I should go home,” she thought, pushing herself up from the table. Her eyes swept the room, searching for Soori or Jai, needing some familiar anchor.

But then, as her gaze drifted across the crowd, it landed on him—Guru—standing there, watching, the memory of their closeness still simmering in her veins. Her heart skipped, and instinctively, she turned back, pretending she hadn’t seen him, hiding the storm of heat and confusion he still ignited inside her.

She looked up for a moment, her lips pressing into a small, reluctant pout, almost like a guilty child caught in the act. She didn’t want to face him—not now, not with the heat of his touch still clinging to her skin. But deep down she knew… she cant ignore him they live in same house.
With a sigh, she drew in a shaky breath.

“It’s fine… Avni. Nothing happened. Nothing at all. Don’t forget what he’s done to you,”

she whispered to herself, forcing the words out as if they could shield her.

Her chest tightened, but she straightened her shoulders, exhaled hard, and finally turned back, her face composed, pretending—just pretending—that nothing had happened at all.

He stopped right in front of her. For a heartbeat, neither of them spoke—silence pressing between them like an unspoken confession. She kept her eyes lowered, lashes brushing her cheeks, while he looked away, jaw tight.

Finally, he parted his lips to speak, but before a single word could escape, she cut him off.

“Mujhe ghar jana hai…” (I want to go home…)

Her voice was soft, low—so rare it almost startled him. She didn’t look at him when she added, “Soori aur Jai mil nahi rahe… unhe tum call karke bol do.” (I can’t find Soori and Jai… call them and tell them.)

He just nodded, pulling out his phone. The moment he heard Soori’s slurred voice on the other end, his brows furrowed. Jai’s laughter filtered in the background, equally drunk. His grip tightened on the phone, realization sinking in—they were both useless tonight.

“Apun chhod deta hai…” (I’ll drop you…) he said casually, sliding his phone back into his pocket.

“Kyu?” (Why?) The word slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. It caught him off guard, his brows lifting in faint surprise.
“Kyu? Koi dikkat?” (Why? Is there a problem?) he asked, a hint of challenge in his voice.

She blinked once, quickly shaking her head. “Nahi… chalo.” (No… let’s go.)

Without waiting for him, she turned and walked ahead, her steps fast, almost as if she wanted to escape the weight of his presence. He watched her back for a second, lips curling into a half-smirk, half-sigh, then gave his head a small shake before following.

There was still tension clinging to the air between them. The entire ride back, Avni had stubbornly kept her eyes away from him, and Guru hadn’t uttered a single word either. No matter how hard they pretended, the fire between them had already been lit.

The moment the jeep halted, she jumped out quickly and walked into the house without sparing him a glance. What she didn’t expect was that he parked properly and followed her inside.

“Tumhe wapis nahi jana?” (You’re not going back?) she asked, knowing well it was important for him to attend the party.

“Nahi.” (No.) His answer was short, final.

“You can go… main sare darwaze acche se lock karke hi soyungi.” (I’ll lock all the doors properly before sleeping.) She shrugged, pretending indifference, though she knew one thing—he would never leave her alone after the last incident.

He gave no reply. If anything, he was ignoring her more fiercely than she had been ignoring him. Folding her arms across her chest, Avni finally blurted out the real question burning her tongue.

“Tumhe Maya se milne nahi jana?” (Don’t you have to meet Maya?)

His steps faltered. He looked back at her over his shoulder, brows knitted in confusion, before scoffing lightly. “Kal apun use ghar hi la lega.” (I’ll bring her home tomorrow.)

Her eyes widened at his casual tone. Really? She let out a sharp little scoff of her own. “Okay.”

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stormed into her room, leaving him in the hallway, his silence just as maddening as his words.

Guru walked inside her room, leaning against the doorway. His eyes followed her silently as she yanked her earring out and tossed it on the table, movements harsh, almost angry—as if everything around her was irritating her.

“Kuch hua hai?” (Did something happen?) he asked, voice calm but steady.

“Nahi…” (No…) she shot back, rough and clipped, not even glancing at him.

“Kisi ne kuch kaha?” (Did someone say something?) he pressed again.

“Nahi.” Her reply was short, sharp, her fingers fumbling with the second earring.

“Apun ne kuch kiya?”

(Did I do something?)

The question slipped out, his jaw tightening as flashes of their earlier moment crossed his mind—her lips, his hand, the closeness he almost lost control to.

This time, she froze. Slowly, she pulled the earring off, then slammed it on the table with a loud clink. Her eyes finally snapped to him, burning, accusing.

“Yes.”

But the very next second she snapped again, her voice louder, defensive.
“Nahi!!”

Guru frowned, baffled, watching her turn away. He wasn’t used to seeing her this restless, this unpredictable. He tried to make sense of it—maybe it was just her mood, maybe her period. As per his knowledge it could cause mood swings, but this much? He hadn’t expected this storm.

She finally stilled, noticing he was still standing there at the door, watching. Her voice came out cold, dismissive.

“Tum ja sakte ho… jise ghar lana hai la sakte ho.” (You can go… bring home whoever you want.)

She slid off a few bangles from her wrist, tossing them carelessly on the table with a sharp clatter.

“Waise bhi mujhe kisike beech aane mein koi interest nahi hai. Tum use chaho toh poori zindagi yaha rakh lo… mujhe konsa yaha poori zindagi rehna hai…” (Anyway, I’ve got no interest in coming between you and anyone. If you want, you can keep her here your whole life… it’s not like I’m going to stay here my whole life anyway.)

She kept going, words pouring out, sharp and fast, while Guru stood there frowning. Half of what she was saying was flying right over his head—too twisted, too layered for him to decode.

“Normal hai, sabki past life hoti hai… mere bhi boyfriends the. Aur waise bhi, tumhe toh lambe baal wali ladkiya pasand hai—uske toh bohot lambe baal hai…” (It’s normal, everyone has a past life… I had boyfriends too. And anyway, you like girls with long hair—she has very long hair…)

Her voice dripped with sarcasm as she gathered her hair up in a bun, deliberately, like throwing a taunt at him.

“Kiske lambe baal hai?” (Whose long hair?) Guru asked suddenly, his tone heavy, eyes narrowing.

Avni inhaled sharply, then turned, pressing her back against the table. Crossing her arms over her chest, she gave him a scoff and a glare that could cut glass.

"Are you playing with me? Me maya ki baat kar rahi hu...jiske sath tum bike me chale gaye or mujhe soori ke sath bhej diya"

“Are you playing with me? Obviously, I’m talking about Maya. The one with long hair you like so much—the one you took with you on the bike to Sahil’s party, while you sent me off with Soori.”

Her words tumbled out, sharp and restless, before she could stop them. Guru stared at her, surprised—then the realization dawned on him. A soft chuckle escaped his lips, unbothered, amused.

That laugh made her burn. Her fists clenched at her sides, her voice rising.
“Niklo yaha se!” (Get out of here!)

But instead of stepping back, he did the opposite. He stared at her, smiling like an idiot, daring and teasing. Taking a deliberate step closer, he cupped her face with his palm, his fingers pressing lightly against her cheeks, stopping her words in their tracks.

“Tumhe jisse affair rakhna ho rakho… par meri life mein interfere mat karna. Main kisi se bhi baat karu, kyun na woh Sa—” she began, but before she could finish Sahil’s name, Guru’s hand shot up to her neck, pulling her close, closing every inch of space between them. His lips claimed hers in a single, searing kiss, firm and possessive, devouring her lips with a heat that left her breathless.

His thumb brushed over her skin, silencing the name she was about to speak. Even the thought of Sahil’s name on her lips seemed to ignite something dark and possessive inside him. His eyes bore into hers, a storm of jealousy and desire, holding her completely in place.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead nearly touching hers, his eyes dark and smoldering, he whispered,
“Maya… ek murgi hai.”

Her pulse raced, lips still tingling from the kiss, cheeks flushed. For a moment, neither moved, the tension between them crackling like electricity.