The first time Vihaan saw Aisha, she was arguing with a street vendor over the price of mangoes. Sunlight danced on her caramel skin, her dark eyes sharp with determination. He smirked, amused.

“You drive a hard bargain,” he murmured, stepping closer. She turned, brows raised. “And you eavesdrop.”

That was how it started.

Vihaan was her best friend’s older brother—off-limits, too arrogant for his own good. And Aisha? She was fire and wit, the kind of trouble he shouldn’t crave.

Their paths crossed often. Aisha would visit his house, pretending not to notice when Vihaan’s gaze lingered a little too long. He would pass by her workplace, offering casual smirks that made her stomach flip. The tension simmered, an unsaid challenge in every glance.

Then came the rain.

Aisha had stayed late at Vihaan’s house, waiting for her friend. But the storm outside raged, making leaving impossible. Vihaan leaned against the kitchen counter, watching her.

“You could stay the night,” he suggested.

“In your room?” she teased, raising a brow.

His lips twitched. “If you want.”

She scoffed but didn't miss the way his voice dropped, how his fingers flexed like he was resisting the urge to touch her.

The moment stretched, charged with something undeniable.

“I should go to bed,” she whispered.

Vihaan took a slow step forward. “Do you want to?”

Aisha swallowed. The air was thick with heat, with the weight of what they’d both been ignoring. His gaze dropped to her lips, and for the first time, she didn’t look away.

“Goodnight, Vihaan,” she murmured, but her voice wavered.

He exhaled, smirking as he stepped back. “For now.”

And with that, the slow burn continued—hotter, hungrier, and inevitable.

---

Aisha barely slept that night. Every time she closed her eyes, she felt the weight of Vihaan’s gaze, the deep timber of his voice replaying in her mind. Do you want to? Damn him.

By morning, the rain had stopped, but the storm inside her hadn’t.

She stepped into the kitchen, hoping to leave before he woke up. But there he was, leaning against the counter, coffee mug in hand, looking unfairly good in a plain white t-shirt and sweats.

“You’re up early,” he noted, smirking over the rim of his cup.

“I have places to be.” She avoided his eyes, reaching for a glass. But the moment she did, Vihaan was there—too close, his body brushing hers as he placed a plate of toast beside her.

“Eat first.” His voice was low, firm.

She should’ve stepped back. She should’ve ignored the way heat crept up her spine. Instead, she turned, eyes locking onto his. “You always this bossy?”

His smirk deepened. “Only when someone needs it.”

Aisha scoffed, grabbing the toast, if only to break the tension. But Vihaan? He wasn’t done.

As she took a bite, he leaned in, fingers trailing the countertop beside her, caging her in. His scent—fresh soap and something purely him—wrapped around her senses.

“You avoided me last night,” he murmured.

Her heart pounded. “I went to bed.”

“Too fast.” His fingers ghosted over her wrist, teasing. “Like you were running.”

“I don’t run from you.” The words came out breathier than intended.

Vihaan tilted his head, studying her. Then, so lightly it was maddening, his thumb brushed the corner of her lips, catching a stray crumb.

Aisha sucked in a breath.

“Good,” he murmured, his voice dropping. “Because I don’t chase.”

Liar.

The way he was looking at her—like he wanted to close the space, like he wanted to ruin her—it told a different story.

But before she could call him out, before she could do something reckless, his phone buzzed on the counter.

He glanced at it, then back at her. “Go ahead, run now.”

Aisha grabbed her bag, but as she stepped past him, she felt it—his fingers trailing the back of her hand, brief, fleeting, intentional.

It was a warning.

Or maybe, an invitation.

Either way, she knew one thing for sure—this slow burn was only getting hotter.

Aisha told herself she wouldn’t think about Vihaan. She failed miserably.

For the next few days, every touch, every look, every damn word between them replayed in her mind. And the worst part? He knew. He could see it in the way she hesitated before speaking, in the way her breath hitched when he got too close.

And Vihaan? He was having the time of his life.

At gatherings, he’d sit beside her, his knee brushing hers under the table. When she reached for something, he’d be quicker, his fingers lingering against hers a little too long. And when she spoke, he listened—really listened—his dark eyes drinking her in like he enjoyed watching her unravel.

It was a game. A slow, wicked game.

And tonight, Aisha was done pretending she wasn’t playing too.

Her best friend had invited her over for a movie night, and of course, Vihaan was there. He was stretched out on the couch, one arm draped over the back, his gaze finding hers the moment she walked in.

“You made it,” he murmured, voice smooth as silk.

Aisha smirked. “Disappointed?”

“Not in the slightest.”

The air between them crackled, but she ignored it, settling on the opposite end of the couch. If Vihaan was going to play with fire, she’d make damn sure he got burned too.

Halfway through the movie, the lights were dim, and their friend had fallen asleep in the recliner. That’s when it happened—Vihaan shifted, stretching his leg out, his foot nudging against her ankle.

Aisha didn’t move.

He did it again, slow and deliberate, his bare skin brushing against hers. She swallowed, pulse spiking, but she wasn’t about to let him win.

So she turned slightly, her fingers drifting to the edge of his knee, tracing just enough to make him notice. She felt him stiffen, his breath hitching—just for a second.

Good.

“Careful,” Vihaan murmured, voice low. “You don’t want to start something you can’t finish.”

Aisha’s lips curved. “Who says I won’t finish it?”

His eyes darkened, and suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she was in control anymore.

Vihaan shifted forward, his hand resting on the cushion between them. Close. Too close. “You like pushing me, huh?”

“I like winning.”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, but there was something else in his gaze now—something heavier, more dangerous.

The silence stretched, thick and suffocating, until he finally murmured, “Then tell me, Aisha—who’s winning right now?”

Because as much as she wanted to believe she had the upper hand, the truth was crystal clear.

They were both losing.

Or maybe, just maybe… they were about to lose themselves to each other.

---

The air between them was tight, charged with something neither of them wanted to name. Aisha could hear the sound of her own breathing, shallow and unsteady. Vihaan was watching her—no, studying her, like he was waiting for her to crack first.

And she almost did.

Almost leaned in. Almost let herself fall into whatever wicked trap he was setting.

But then—buzz.

His phone vibrated on the coffee table. The spell broke.

Vihaan exhaled, tilting his head, his tongue running over his bottom lip like he was biting back words he shouldn’t say. Then, just as lazily, he leaned back, stretching his arms behind his head.

Aisha hated how good he looked doing it.

“Looks like you get to escape—for now,” he murmured.

She scoffed, standing before she lost whatever common sense she had left. “Escape? You wish.”

His smirk widened, but he didn’t stop her when she grabbed her bag and left.

But she knew.

This wasn’t over. Not even close.

---

Days passed, but the tension never faded.

At her best friend’s house. At casual hangouts. Even in places Vihaan shouldn’t have been, somehow, he was.

Like now.

Aisha stood at the café counter, waiting for her coffee when she felt it—the weight of a gaze burning into her back. She didn’t have to turn around to know who it was.

“You stalking me now?” she teased, grabbing her drink.

Vihaan, leaning against the counter, took his own coffee with a smirk. “Maybe you’re just always where I want to be.”

Aisha rolled her eyes, ignoring the way her stomach flipped. “Try harder, Vihaan.”

“I am trying.” His voice was quieter now, lower. “You’re just stubborn.”

Aisha took a slow sip, buying herself time. “And you love a challenge, huh?”

Vihaan leaned in slightly, his fingers ghosting over the back of her hand—light, teasing, but enough to make her heart slam against her ribs.

“You have no idea,” he murmured.

Aisha swallowed hard, but she didn’t pull away. She should’ve. She knew she should’ve.

Instead, she asked, “What exactly are you trying to do here?”

Vihaan’s eyes darkened. “You tell me, Aisha. Because the way I see it…” He took a step closer, forcing her back against the counter, his voice dropping to a murmur. “You’ve been playing with fire just as much as I have.”

Aisha sucked in a breath, the scent of him clouding every rational thought she had. “And if I have?”

His lips curved, wicked and slow. “Then maybe it’s time you let yourself burn.”

Her fingers clenched around her cup. The heat wasn’t just in his words—it was everywhere. In the way he looked at her, in the way his breath brushed her cheek, in the way her pulse pounded so loud she swore he could hear it.

And then, just as casually as he had trapped her, Vihaan pulled back, taking a sip of his coffee like he hadn’t just turned her entire world upside down.

“See you around, Aisha.”

And with that, he walked away—leaving her standing there, breathless, heart racing, and completely wrecked.

Aisha had had enough.

Enough of the stolen glances. Enough of Vihaan’s teasing smirks, his hands that lingered just long enough to drive her insane. Enough of the way he looked at her like he was already imagining how she’d sound beneath him.

And tonight? Tonight, she was done playing.

The party was loud, but all Aisha could hear was the sound of her own heartbeat when Vihaan walked in. He wore black, sleeves rolled up just enough to show his forearms, hair tousled like he hadn’t even tried. Like he knew he didn’t have to.

His eyes found hers instantly.

Come here.

He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to.

Aisha tilted her chin, giving him a look that said make me.

Challenge accepted.

Minutes later, she was in the hallway, sipping her drink, pretending to be unbothered. But she felt him before he even touched her.

A hand ghosted over her waist. Warm. Dangerous.

“Running again?” Vihaan’s voice was just above a whisper, low enough that it made her shiver.

Aisha smirked, keeping her gaze ahead. “Who says I was running?”

He stepped closer. His chest brushed her back, his lips just inches from her ear. “Then why do you look like you’re waiting for me?”

Her breath hitched, but she refused to let him win. Instead, she turned—too fast, too reckless—and suddenly, she was right there. Inches away. His eyes flickered, dropping to her lips for just a second.

Her pulse thundered.

“Maybe I was,” she admitted, voice softer now.

Vihaan’s smirk faltered—just for a second. Just long enough for her to know she’d finally caught him off guard.

And then—snap.

One second, she was standing. The next, she was against the wall, Vihaan’s hands caging her in, his body flush against hers.

“You sure you’re ready for this?” His voice was rough, like he was barely holding on.

Aisha’s fingers curled into his shirt. “You talk too much.”

That was all it took.

His mouth crashed onto hers, fierce, hungry, like he’d been starving for this. Aisha gasped, but he swallowed the sound, deepening the kiss like he wanted to ruin her. And God—he was.

His hands were everywhere. On her waist, gripping her hip, sliding up her spine. Aisha barely registered when he lifted her slightly, pressing her harder against the wall, fitting their bodies perfectly together.

She should stop. She should breathe.

But she didn’t want to.

Didn’t want anything except more.

Vihaan pulled back just enough to look at her, breathing heavy, eyes dark. “I warned you,” he murmured, thumb brushing her swollen bottom lip.

Aisha smirked, dragging her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer again.

“Then shut up and finish what you started.”

And this time—neither of them held back.

Aisha didn’t regret it.

Not the way Vihaan had pinned her against the wall. Not the way his hands had gripped her like he was afraid she’d slip away. And definitely not the way he kissed her—deep, hungry, like he was finally giving in to something he’d been holding back for too long.

But now? In the quiet of her own room, fingers brushing over her swollen lips, she realized something far worse.

She wanted him again.

And that? That was a problem.

---

The next time she saw Vihaan, it was different.

No teasing. No lingering smirks.

Just heat.

It was at another gathering—casual, normal, safe. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

But the moment she stepped in, Vihaan’s gaze locked onto hers, dark and unreadable.

Aisha swallowed. She wasn’t sure what she expected—maybe a cocky remark, a smug little I told you so. But instead, he just watched her, silent, like he was waiting.

For what?

For her to regret it? For her to pretend it didn’t happen?

Too bad.

Because Aisha wasn’t about to pretend anything.

She grabbed a drink, leaned against the kitchen counter, and raised an eyebrow when he finally stepped closer. “So… we’re just standing here, staring at each other now?”

Vihaan exhaled, shaking his head with a smirk. But it wasn’t his usual teasing one. It was tighter, restrained. Like he was fighting something.

“You left that night,” he said simply.

Aisha shrugged. “What, you expected me to stay?”

His jaw clenched. “I expected you to say something.”

She scoffed. “What was there to say?”

Vihaan took another step forward. Close. Too close.

“I don’t know. Maybe that you wanted it.” His voice dropped. “That you still want it.”

Aisha’s fingers curled around her glass. “And if I do?”

His lips parted slightly—like that was what he’d been waiting for.

His hand brushed her hip, slow, deliberate. “Then we have a problem.”

Aisha shivered, but she held his gaze. “Why?”

Vihaan leaned in, breath warm against her cheek. “Because, Aisha… I don’t think I can stop anymore.”

Her pulse slammed.

This wasn’t like before. This wasn’t just teasing, a game they could play and then walk away from.

This? This was dangerous.

Because Vihaan wasn’t just saying he couldn’t stop.

He was daring her to admit that she couldn’t either.