chapter 04

The school trip had been a disaster from the start. For Suyash, the air smelled of diesel and adolescent sweat, the kind that clung to the vinyl seats of the rickety charter bus. He'd spent the last five days avoiding her—the girl whose sharp eyes followed him like a hawk's. Her name was Anika, and the memory of their confrontation in the orphanage courtyard still burned in his mind. Now, as the bus idled outside the campsite, Suyash lingered until every other child had boarded. The engine growled impatiently.

"Yash! Hurry up!" the warden barked, her clipboard tapping against the door.

He climbed the steps, his stomach knotting. The bus was a cacophony of laughter and chatter, but his world narrowed to the back row where Anika sat. She didn't look up, but he felt her gaze like a physical weight. The overhead lights flickered as he stumbled down the aisle, searching for an empty seat.

There were none.

"Yash, beta," the warden called over the din, "sit between Riya and Anika. They've got space."

His throat tightened. "I—I'll stand."

Anika's voice cut through the noise, cool and deliberate. "There's room here. Unless you're scared."

A few kids snickered. Suyash's cheeks flamed as he slid into the narrow gap between the two girls. Riya, petite and oblivious, dozed against the window. Anika, however, sat rigid, her arms folded. The bus lurched forward, plunging them into darkness as the driver killed the interior lights.

The Darkness

Night swallowed the highway. The bus swayed like a ship in a storm, tossing Suyash's shoulders against Anika and Riya with every pothole. Anika's perfume—something sharp and floral—mixed with the stale air. He stared at his knees, fists clenched, until her whisper slithered into his ear:

"Five days. You didn't even look at me."

He froze. "I… I'm sorry."

"Sorry?" Her laugh was brittle. "You groped me like a thief, then hid like a rat."

The memory clawed at him: her startled cry, the way she'd recoiled when he'd touched her breast. "I didn't mean—"

"Shut up." Her hand brushed his thigh, and he jerked. "You think avoiding me fixes it?"

Suyash held his breath. Outside, headlights from passing trucks sliced through the dark, illuminating her face in flashes—a smirk, a glare, a mask he couldn't decipher.

The Game

Anika shifted, her knee pressing against his. "You owe me."

"Owe you what?"

"Pay attention."

Before he could react, her fingers interlaced with his. His pulse thundered as she guided his hand to her chest. The fabric of her uniform was thin, and beneath it, her heartbeat raced in time with his.

"Feel that?" she murmured. "You're not the only one scared."

He tried to pull back, but her grip tightened. "Wh-what are you doing?"

"Teaching you." Her breath hitched as she slid his hand under her shirt. "This is what you wanted, right?"

Her skin was fever-hot, and Suyash's mind short-circuited. This wasn't the Anika he knew—the girl who'd shoved him away, who'd threatened to report him. Now her nails dug into his wrist, insistent, dangerous.

"Anika, stop—"

"Too late." She leaned closer, her lips grazing his ear. "You started this. Now finish it."

The Storm

The bus hit a bump, jolting Riya awake. "Huh? We there yet?"

Anika yanked Suyash's hand away, smooth as a snake retreating. "Go back to sleep," she snapped.

Riya grumbled and slumped against the window. The darkness thickened again, but now it hummed with electricity. Anika's hand returned, this time creeping up his thigh.

"Don't move," she warned.

Suyash's thoughts splintered. This was wrong—terrifying, thrilling, wrong—but his body betrayed him, responding to every brush of her fingers. She traced the zipper of his jeans, and he bit his lip to stifle a whimper.

"See?" she whispered. "You like playing with fire."

He didn't. Or maybe he did. The line between fear and desire blurred as she unzipped him, her touch clinical yet relentless. The bus roared on, tires screeching, but all Suyash heard was the rush of blood in his ears.

The Aftermath

When it was over, Suyash collapsed against her shoulder, trembling. Anika wiped her hands on her skirt, her breathing uneven. "Pathetic," she muttered, though whether to him or herself, he couldn't tell.

Dawn crept through the windows as the bus pulled into the orphanage gates. Anika shoved him upright. "Remember this," she hissed. "One word to anyone, and I'll ruin you."

He nodded, numb.

Riya stirred, stretching. "Ugh, my neck! Did you sleep okay, Yash?"

"Yeah," he croaked. "Fine."

Anika was already halfway down the aisle, her braid swinging like a pendulum. Suyash watched her go, his legs jelly. In the harsh morning light, the night felt surreal—a fever dream etched into his skin.

The Reckoning

Days bled into weeks. Anika ignored him, her scorn replaced by icy indifference. But at night, lying on his narrow cot, Suyash replayed the bus ride in fragments: the scent of her hair, the heat of her anger, the way she'd weaponized his shame.

One evening, he found her alone in the laundry room. "Why?" he blurted. "Why did you… do that?"

She didn't look up from folding sheets. "Power, Yash. You took mine. I took yours."

"But—"

"Go." Her voice cracked. "Before I make you regret asking."

He fled, but not before catching the glint of tears in her eyes.

The Unspoken

Years later, at a reunion, Suyash spotted Anika across the room. She wore a tailored suit, her gaze as piercing as ever.

"You look well," she said, sipping her wine.

"You too."

The silence stretched, heavy with ghosts.

"Did you ever…?" he began.

"Tell anyone?" She smirked. "No. Some secrets are sharper when kept."

He nodded, the old shame curdling in his gut.

"Regret it?" she asked, softer now.

"Every day."

"Good." She turned to leave, then paused. "So do I."