Yagini.
I hear her giggle and the sound of retreating footsteps.
My jaw drops. “Did your sister just—?”
“Yes,” Dhruv says flatly. “She absolutely did.”
Locked Doors and Some strokes
DHRUV
I have never been attacked by so many emotions at once.
I’m still staring at the door—now firmly closed, the faint echo of Yagini’s laughter still ringing in my ears—when it really sinks in. One minute ago, she was standing there with that wicked glint in her eyes, the kind she’s perfected over years of being younger, sharper, and far too entertained by my misery.
Now?
We’re locked in.
Till morning.
I don’t know whether to laugh, yell, or march down the corridor and personally revoke her dessert privileges for the next decade.
My chest feels tight. Not in a bad way, but in a dangerous way.
I turn slowly, as if moving too fast might shatter something fragile in the air, and that’s when I see Sitara.
She’s standing near the bed, completely still, her eyes widened almost alarmingly as they lift to meet mine. There’s confusion there. Surprise. And something else I refuse to name because I don’t trust myself with it.
“What just happened?” she asks.
Her voice is soft. Too soft for what my heart is doing.
I chuckle before I can stop myself, the sound coming out slightly breathless, and then I sigh, running a hand through my hair. “We’re… locked in here till morning.”
I rub the back of my neck, suddenly very aware of my body, of the room, of her. “Before you panic—nothing has to happen. I promise. I intend to give you all the space and time you need. I know this is… a lot.”
What I don’t say: that I’ve waited years to be this close to her and still don’t trust myself to breathe properly in her presence.
What I don’t say: that this stupid, one-sided love I carry has been my quiet companion for so long that I don’t know who I am without it.
She doesn’t respond immediately.
Instead, she moves—slowly, cautiously—and sits on the edge of the bed. Her hands fold in her lap, fingers fidgeting with the edge of her saree, and my eyes betray me by following the movement.
“So what happens now?” she whispers.
The question isn’t just about tonight. I hear it in the way her voice trembles slightly, the way her shoulders rise and fall with a breath she doesn’t seem fully aware of.
And before I can overthink it—before fear convinces me to retreat into safe, boring silence—I blurt out, “Let’s play a game.”
The words surprise both of us.
Her eyebrows lift instantly. “A… game?”
I blink. Me? Suggesting a game? I don’t play games. I plan meetings. I solve problems. I negotiate crises. Games aren’t my territory.
“I—” I start, then stop, realizing I don’t actually have a plan. Brilliant, Dhruv. Absolutely brilliant.
