Restless Nights. Five days. Five days since the kiss. Since everything changed.

Tara hadn’t had a single peaceful night since then. Every time she closed her eyes, it was there—his lips on hers, the warmth of his touch, the way the world had stopped in that moment. The memory crept into her thoughts at the worst times, making her stomach twist with something she wasn’t ready to name.

She was starting to think it had been a mistake. If it wasn’t, then why did it haunt her like this?

Shoving the thoughts away, she groggily got out of bed and went about her morning routine, hoping that sticking to normalcy would help.

She threw on an all-black outfit—casual, simple, something that wouldn’t draw too much attention. A deep breath, a final glance in the mirror, and she was out the door, deciding to grab breakfast before facing the day.

Maybe if she focused on something as mundane as food, she could forget.

Maybe.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

Tara walked into the bustling breakfast hall, barely registering the people around her. Her mind was elsewhere, stuck in a never-ending loop of thoughts she wished she could escape.

“Tara!”

She blinked, looking up to see Ishan waving at her from across the room, his usual grin firmly in place. She returned the greeting with a small nod, but just as she stepped forward—

BAM.

She crashed into something solid. No—someone.

Her breath hitched as she staggered back, but before she could fall, strong hands gripped her arms, steadying her. The scent of something familiar—woodsy, fresh—filled her senses. She looked up, heart hammering.

Shubman.

For a second, time froze.

His hands, firm yet gentle, held her in place. His gaze, dark and unreadable, locked onto hers. Tara felt her skin tingle where his fingers had been.

He let go as soon as she was steady, stepping back as though the contact had burned him.

“S-Sorry,” Tara stammered, brushing her hair behind her ear.

“No, it was my fault,” Shubman muttered, voice stiff, his eyes flickering away from hers.

The air between them crackled with tension, but before either of them could process it, Shubman turned on his heel, about to walk away.

“Wait,” Tara blurted out.

He stopped but didn’t look at her.

“This… this is enough,” she said, taking a shaky breath. “We need to talk.”

Shubman hesitated for a moment, then finally exhaled. “Somewhere private?”

She nodded.

As they left together, Ishan watched them with a knowing smirk, shaking his head. “About damn time,” he muttered under his breath.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

The garden was quiet, wrapped in the soft hush of early morning. A thin mist clung to the grass, and the air smelled of damp earth and blooming jasmine. The sun had barely risen, its pale light stretching over the treetops, but there was no warmth in it yet. Everything felt cold.

Tara sat on the wooden bench, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, fingers toying with the hem of her sweater. She couldn’t meet his eyes. Across from her, Shubman leaned against a tree, arms crossed, his face unreadable. He wasn’t looking at her either.

The silence stretched. Neither of them moved. Neither of them spoke.

Then, finally—

“It was a mistake,” Tara said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Shubman exhaled through his nose, slow and measured. His expression didn’t change, but when he spoke, his voice was clipped, careful. “Yeah. It was.”

The words settled between them, heavy and absolute. And yet—

Tara’s fingers curled tighter around her sweater. “Then why does it feel like this?” she asked, almost to herself.

Shubman shifted but didn’t step forward. His arms stayed crossed, his jaw still set tight. “I don’t know,” he admitted. A pause, then—quieter—“But it shouldn’t.”

Tara turned to look at him, really look. The tension in his shoulders, the way his fingers curled into fists at his sides, the way he refused to meet her gaze—it was all there, written across his body. He wasn’t indifferent. He wasn’t unaffected.

Her throat felt tight. “Are we going to pretend it never happened?”

His eyes flickered, just for a second, before he looked away. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “We have to.”

Tara inhaled sharply, nodding even though the words made something inside her twist. “Right.” She forced out a small laugh, but it was hollow. “For the sake of our friendship, right?”

Shubman didn’t answer right away. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, rougher. “Yeah.”

The garden remained eerily still, the weight of their words settling in the cold morning air. Tara’s heart pounded against her ribs, but she kept her hands steady, clasped together in her lap. She had said it. He had agreed. It was supposed to be that simple.

But it wasn’t.

Shubman exhaled sharply, his fingers flexing at his sides before he crossed his arms again, as if holding himself together. His gaze flickered toward her, then away, staring past the trees like they held the answers he couldn’t find.

Tara bit the inside of her cheek, searching for something—anything—to say that would make this easier. “Do you—” She hesitated, voice catching in her throat. “Do you regret it?”

His jaw tightened. “What difference does it make?”

She frowned. “It makes a difference to me.”

Shubman let out a humorless chuckle, shaking his head. “Tara, what do you want me to say?” He finally looked at her, and for the first time that morning, his carefully controlled mask cracked. “That I wish it never happened? That I wish I could just forget?”

Her breath hitched. “Isn’t that what you want?”

Silence. His eyes searched hers, something unspoken lingering there—something raw, something he wasn’t ready to name.

He dragged a hand through his hair, letting out a slow breath. “I don’t know,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

The honesty in those three words was almost worse than a lie.

Tara’s fingers tightened around the fabric of her sweater, her chest aching with something she couldn’t push down anymore. “I keep telling myself it didn’t mean anything,” she said softly. “That it was just a moment. That we can move on.”

His throat bobbed as he swallowed. “And?”

She laughed, but there was no humor in it. “And it feels like I’m lying to myself.”

Shubman didn’t say anything, but the way his eyes darkened, the way his breath hitched ever so slightly—he understood.

Tara let out a shaky breath, forcing herself to keep going. “So tell me, if it was a mistake, if it meant nothing…” Her voice wavered as she met his gaze. “Then why does it feel like this?”

Shubman’s lips parted, like he had something to say, but no words came out.

The conversation should have ended there. They had said what needed to be said. They had set the rules.

They had agreed that the kiss was a mistake. But then why weren’t they moving?

The silence between them was thick, stretching unbearably, filling every inch of space that separated them.

Tara felt like she was suffocating under the weight of it, her own thoughts too loud, her heartbeat erratic.

She could feel Shubman’s gaze on her, unwavering, intense. She didn’t dare meet it.

Instead, she focused on her hands, curled into tight fists on her lap. Her knuckles had turned white from how hard she was gripping her own fingers. She needed to breathe. She needed to leave. She needed to do something before—

She glanced up.

And everything unraveled.

Shubman was looking at her, his expression unreadable, his dark eyes locked onto hers with a kind of intensity that sent a shiver down her spine.

There was something raw there, something restrained, something she didn’t have the courage to acknowledge.

Her breath caught in her throat.

Her fingers twitched against her lap, like she needed to hold on to something.

Shubman exhaled sharply and pushed off the tree he had been leaning against. His movements were slow, hesitant, like he was second-guessing every step. But still, he moved toward her.

Tara’s stomach twisted painfully.

She should stand up. She should take a step back. But she didn’t.

She sat frozen on the bench, watching as he closed the distance between them.

Her pulse thundered in her ears.

Shubman came to a stop just inches away from her, close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating off him, close enough that if she moved even slightly, their bodies would brush.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them breathed.

Tara looked up at him, her head tilting slightly on instinct. His gaze flickered down—just for a second—to her lips.

She swallowed.

Her heart pounded so hard she was sure he could hear it.

His fingers twitched at his sides, hesitating. Then, slowly—almost reluctantly—he reached out.

Tara’s entire body went still.

Shubman’s fingers barely grazed her arm, the lightest, most hesitant touch. It sent electricity shooting through her veins, an awareness so sharp it was almost painful.

His touch was featherlight, like he was testing, like he was giving her a chance to pull away.

But she didn’t.

Her breath turned shallow.

Her skin burned where his fingertips rested, a heat that spread all the way to her chest.

Shubman’s jaw tightened. His fingers flexed, as if battling the urge to tighten his grip. His throat bobbed as he swallowed.

Tara’s gaze flickered downward—his lips were so close. Too close.

The world felt eerily quiet.

The air around them thickened.

They weren’t thinking anymore.

They weren’t remembering the consequences.

They were just… feeling.

Shubman shifted slightly, the movement subtle but deliberate. His other hand lifted halfway, like he was going to cup her face, but then it faltered, as if he was at war with himself.

Tara tilted her chin up just slightly.

Her lips parted.

Their breaths mingled.

The space between them disappeared, reduced to nothing more than a whisper—

And then—

Reality crashed back.

Both of them jerked away at the same time, like they had been jolted awake from a trance.

Tara shot up from the bench so quickly that she nearly lost her footing.

Shubman took a large step back, his breathing uneven, his expression unreadable but unmistakably tense.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

The energy crackling in the air hadn’t disappeared, but it was laced with something heavier now—frustration, confusion, restraint.

Tara sucked in a sharp breath, pressing her lips together as she turned away, her hands clenched into fists by her sides.

Shubman ran a hand through his hair, muttering something under his breath.

His voice was low, strained. “Shit.”

Tara closed her eyes for a moment, trying to steady herself. When she opened them, she forced her voice to be even. “This was a mistake.”

Shubman let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Didn’t we already establish that?”

Tara flinched at his tone.

He wasn’t wrong.

And yet, the ache in her chest didn’t agree.

She exhaled, shaking her head, as if trying to physically rid herself of whatever this was. “Then we should act like it.”

Shubman finally looked at her again. His gaze was unreadable, but something flickered in it—something heavy, something unspoken.

“Yeah.” His voice was quieter this time.

Neither of them moved.

₊‧.°.⋆✮⋆.°.‧₊

The heavy silence between Tara and Shubman was suffocating. Neither of them spoke, both trying to process what had just almost happened.

Then, out of nowhere—

“Well, well, well.”

The voice, laced with amusement, made them jolt apart like guilty teenagers caught sneaking around.

Virat Kohli.

Jogging toward them, dressed in his workout gear, his usual confident smirk in place.

Shubman let out a silent groan, rubbing a hand over his face. Tara quickly crossed her arms over her chest, trying to compose herself.

Virat came to a stop in front of them, hands on his hips. He looked between the two, his smirk widening. “Didn’t mean to interrupt... whatever this is.”

“There’s nothing to interrupt,” Tara said quickly, a little too defensively.

Virat’s eyebrow quirked. “Really?” He tilted his head slightly, amusement dancing in his eyes. “Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I walked in on something very interesting.”

Shubman cleared his throat, obviously trying to maintain his usual cool exterior. “What do you want, Virat?”

Virat chuckled. “Relax, lover boy, I’m not here to pry. Not that I need to—you two are very easy to read.”

Tara stiffened. “We are not.”

Virat shot her an incredulous look. “Tara, you just flinched like I caught you robbing a bank.”

She clenched her jaw, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response.

Shubman sighed. “Virat, just get to the point.”

Virat grinned, clearly enjoying himself. “Fine, fine. Just came to tell you two—there’s a party tonight. Big one. Everyone’s coming. I expect to see you both there.”

Tara hesitated. “A party?”

Virat nodded. “Yep. Drinks, music, good vibes. Just what you need to get rid of all this pent-up energy.” His smirk deepened at their simultaneous eye-rolls. “You’re coming, right?”

Shubman sighed. “I guess.”

Virat clapped him on the shoulder. “That’s the spirit.” Then he turned to Tara. “And you?”

Tara shifted her weight, still feeling the remnants of the tension between her and Shubman. “I’ll think about it.”

Virat let out an exaggerated groan. “Wrong answer. Try again.”

Tara narrowed her eyes at him. “I said—”

“She’s coming,” Shubman cut in.

Tara’s head snapped to him. “Excuse me?”

Shubman shrugged, his expression unreadable. “You might as well.”

Virat’s eyes flicked between them before he let out a laugh. “Oh, this is so entertaining.”

Tara shot him a glare. “Glad we could amuse you.”

Virat smirked, stepping back. “You always do. Now, I’ll leave you two lovebirds to… whatever you were doing.”

“Virat—”

“Bye, Virat,” Shubman cut in, clearly done with the conversation.

Virat threw them one last wink before jogging away.

Tara exhaled sharply, running a hand through her hair. “That man is insufferable.”

Shubman let out a low chuckle. “He’s not wrong, though.”

She turned to him sharply. “About what?”

His gaze flickered to hers, something unreadable passing through his expression. “Nothing.”

Tara wanted to argue. She wanted to push. But instead, she just sighed. “Fine. We’re going to the party.”

Shubman nodded. “Looks like it.”

But as they both turned to walk away, neither of them could shake the feeling that tonight would change everything.