Introduction
Arya narrates a tender moment with Vikram, exploring their mutual shyness and budding intimacy, culminating in a late-night connection that deepens their bond as they navigate the unspoken nuances of their relationship.
This is Arya, taking over the narration from Vikram for a while. So, after all the confessions and the concert fiasco, this guy kissed me for the first time. You might think, “Aren’t you two married? Didn’t you take further steps?” The answer is, not yet, actually.
The reason is that we’re both shy about it. We decided to fully know and understand each other before taking things further. But we both know that we like each other a lot. I’m not sure whether he sees me as someone he’s fine being intimate with. I mean, I don’t mind—in fact, I’m totally for it. I hope you don’t mind me admitting that. Of course, he compliments me on my looks and all, but isn’t he willing to show any form of intimacy? These were my thoughts until the concert fiasco.
For the first time in a month, Vikram touched me somewhere other than my hand—on my head. Of course, I punch him in the stomach or smack his shoulder as banter, but this guy never does such things. I mean, he doesn’t stop me from doing this, but he isn’t taking any steps, which confuses me.
When all these thoughts were running through my mind, he called me and said that we had reached our stop. I looked at him, standing two feet away when there was an empty seat literally beside me. He didn’t dare to look into my eyes. We got home by 11:30 pm—pretty late, but luckily tomorrow is Sunday, and anyhow we are going to stick to bed until 11:00 am.
He went straight to the bath, and I was too lazy for that, lying on my bed. All I could think was, Will he touch me ever again? Of course, we sleep in the same bed, but there is a life-size Gojo Satorou pillow between us. Sometimes I feel like saying, “Dude! I’m fine with you being a little inappropriate at the moment.” But as I said, we are shy to admit it, and I’m also waiting for him to speak out himself. Am I wrong?
Just when my mind was drifting into ideas of teasing him or luring him, he came out of the bathroom shirtless. That’s a first. Generally, he changes into pajamas in the bathroom itself. His hair was wet, and his body looked like he had a hot shower. He was drying his hair with a towel. “You better cover your body with it,” I thought, trying to keep my face away from showing my surprise. He casually mentioned his clothes were in his wardrobe and left to wear something on top. He looked a bit thinner than he usually does, maybe because of the clothes and he’s hopping towards his wardrobe.
After five minutes, he came out in a white tank top. During those five minutes, I changed into my usual baggy tee and shorts. Seeing him like that made me think, “If he can take this step, why can’t I?”
My sadism started to take over my conscience, but my love handles calmed it down.
He sat on the other side of the bed, looking at an email from a client. “He’s too lazy for a freelance website developer,” I thought, glancing at him out of the corner of my eye. He was on my left side, his face glowing in the phone light. I could see the shadow of his dimple, and for some reason, I wanted to touch it. Just as I was about to reach out, he looked at me. I quickly turned my attention to the alarm clock, shooing away imaginary dust. It’s not like I’ve never touched him before, but now I’m unclear about my intentions.
I think he got an idea of what I was doing because I caught a light smile on his face. My face turned red with awkwardness. I’m quite strong with words, but when it comes to actions, I get nervous about starting things. I didn’t know how to begin. He later turned off the lights, and the room was filled with the glow from the night lamp and our phones.
After a few minutes, I got a message from him saying, “Are you okay with it?” I stared at the screen, confused. “About what?” I asked. He replied, “The kiss thing. I was just on a high and didn’t think about how you’d feel. If I made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry.”
This guy!!! If I were uncomfortable or didn’t want it, I would have said so. If I really didn’t want it, I would’ve just beaten the shit out of him. But I literally pulled him back toward me—how the hell did he think I’d be uncomfortable?
I typed back, “It’s okay.” He liked the message.
Now I was perfectly confused about how to proceed with the conversation. How the hell am I supposed to respond to a liked message? I was staring at the text, trying to think of what to say next when he messaged again: “Am I okay?” I replied, “In what?” I watched him typing the word “kissing…” on his phone. Before he could finish, I quickly typed, “It was nice, to be honest.”
He responded, “Hope I’m not bad for a first-timer.” I shot back, “You should have told me beforehand so that I would have taken some mint before the concert. I’m sure I tasted like onions and cheese.” He sent a laughing emoji. Then he started typing again: “Hope that won’t be the last.”
“Of course, it won’t be the last,” I thought as I raised my leg to lay on Gojo who’s between us. But when I rested my leg on it, it felt surprisingly sturdier than before, that’s not gojo. I looked over, and there he was, pushing my Gojo away. My legs were on his. For the first time, I didn’t mind Gojo not being beside me at night.
I quickly moved my leg, turning to the other side, and swiftly asked, “I’m so sorry, but why did you push my Gojo?” He showed me his screen. It wasn’t WhatsApp, but Keep Notes, with a message that said, “Why is he between me and my wife?”
*“My wife!?”* Wow! Quite a way to show jealousy, I thought as I turned towards him. My cheek accidentally caressed against his lips—it was cold. We both startled slightly. He immediately typed, “I’m sorry, that wasn’t intentional.”
*Dude! I want it to be.*
He went back to WhatsApp and typed, “It was honestly very sweet of you to confess there.” I replied, “Well, I said what I felt.” He then said, “It really meant a lot to me. It felt like you spoke in my love language.” I sent a heart emoji.
“What’s your language?” He typed next, straight to the point, this time. I hesitated for a moment, then typed, “Don’t judge me, but I like holding people I like, or them holding me.” He quickly responded, “That explains the life-size pillow and holding hands for a longer time. So its physical touch, isn’t it?”
I suddenly felt gentle warmth on my waist, sending a shiver up my spine. I turned, and there he was, just a few inches away, his eyes reflecting the soft glow of the night lamp. The darkness cocooned us, but I could feel the heat rising to my cheeks, turning them a deep shade of red. I looked at him, noticing the uncertainty in his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing or how I would react.
For a moment, I hesitated. But then, I gently took his hand, guiding it to say, “Not my waist, Vikram…”
He paused, his expression softening. His hands moved slowly, asking, “But why?”
How could I explain? My love handles are a sensitive spot, something I’d always been self-conscious about.
But before I could respond, his fingers began to move again, saying, “I’ve always wanted to…”
His words felt like a gentle kiss on an old scar, a touch of affection that soothed a wound I didn’t even realize was there. This guy really does read me a bit, I thought.
I couldn’t help but shout, “You!” in a louder tone and wrapped my arm around him. My vision wasn’t great in the darkness, but I could tell he was enjoying it. And for the first time in two years, I didn’t mind Gojo sleeping on the floor.