I closed my eyes.
One hand drifted to her hair, fingers moving slowly through silk strands I could no longer pretend I hadn’t wanted to touch. My heart beat in defiance of everything I told myself about control, about boundaries.
The moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting shadows across the room. Her bracelet glinted faintly, catching the light as her hand rested gently over my chest.
Without thinking, I covered her hand with mine. Fingers wrapping around hers. Like a reflex. Like atruth.
She was already looking at me when I opened my eyes.
“Thank you…” I whispered.
She smiled. Then closed her eyes again, nuzzling into the side of my neck.
That was it.
That was the crack in the dam.
Her breath was soft and steady against my throat. Her body curled into mine like she’d always belonged there. Everything inside me burned with restraint; I was moments from losing.
I should’ve let go.
I didn’t.
My pulse betrayed me—loud and rapid in my chest—and she must’ve felt it.
“Manav…” Her voice, drowsy and fragile, reached me like a feather drifting across a minefield.
“Hmm…”
“For how long can I hold you?”
God.
I swallowed hard.
“For as long as birthday hugs are supposed to last,” I managed, each word more unsteady than the last.
She smiled faintly, murmuring, “Drunk Kiara likes you…”
My breath caught in my throat.
She was drunk, but the words still lodged deep inside me.
“Okay…” I whispered, unsure if I was agreeing with her or pleading with myself to remember this meant nothing.
“You know… I always wanted someone to give me birthday hugs…” Her voice was as quiet as silk fraying at the edges. Then came her whisper again, floating somewhere between sleep and sadness. “Why don’t you celebrate your birthday?”
“It’s late,” I said, my hand still resting on hers. “You should sleep.”
“Is it because of balloons?” she asked gently. “Are you… scared of them?”
A soft laugh escaped me. But the lump in my throat was already rising.
She wanted honesty.
But honesty with Kiara meant exposure. And if I said too much, I wouldn’t be able to undo what came after.
The words slipped out before I could pull them back.
