The Line That Shouldn’t Cross

August 8, 2009 – 2:35 AM – Jadavpur

The night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and lake water, the soft rustling of leaves the only sound filling the silence. Dakuriah Lake stretched beyond the villa's backyard, its surface dark and endless, reflecting the sliver of the waning moon.

Aritra hadn't moved.

Katherine's arms were still around him, her body warm against his back. It was strange, foreign even—this kind of closeness. He was used to people keeping their distance, measuring their words around him, fearing him or respecting him, but never this.

Never a quiet, unspoken intimacy.

Her fingers, gripping the fabric of his shirt, loosened just slightly as if she were waiting for him to pull away.

He didn't.

Instead, he turned.

Slowly, carefully—until they were facing each other in the dim glow of the villa's outdoor lights. The shadows danced across her face, catching the way her messy blonde hair curled over her shoulders, the way the loose neckline of her oversized T-shirt slipped slightly, revealing the delicate line of her collarbone.

She shouldn't look this soft.

She shouldn't look at him like this.

Katherine met his gaze, her lips parting slightly as if she wanted to say something—but the words never came.

Neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

The space between them felt like a thread stretched too tight, fragile, waiting to snap.

Aritra was the first to break the silence.

"You should go back inside."

His voice was lower than usual, rough in a way he didn't intend.

Katherine didn't listen.

Instead, her eyes flickered to his lips for just a fraction of a second— a movement so quick he almost thought he imagined it. But he hadn't.

Because suddenly, it felt inevitable.

The moment her fingers curled around his wrist, holding him in place—

The moment she exhaled, a breath too shallow, too nervous—

Aritra closed the distance.

It wasn't rushed. It wasn't desperate. It was slow, deliberate—like the first move in a game neither of them had expected to play.

Katherine's breath hitched just as their lips met, her grip on his wrist tightening instinctively. The taste of her was warm, faintly sweet, like mint and something softer, something dangerous.

She should have pulled away.

But she didn't.

Instead, she leaned in.

And that was Aritra's undoing.

One hand slid up, fingers threading through her hair, tilting her head back just slightly, deepening the kiss. The night air was cold, but her skin was warm, her pulse racing against his fingertips.

Katherine gasped softly against his lips, the sound barely more than a whisper—but it sent a sharp jolt down his spine.

It was a mistake.

They both knew it.

And yet, neither of them stopped.

Her hands had moved up to his chest, gripping the front of his shirt, almost as if she needed something to anchor herself. He could feel the tension in her muscles, the way her body fought between instinct and hesitation.

When Aritra finally pulled back, just barely, Katherine's eyes were still closed, her lips slightly parted, her breath uneven.

For a moment, she didn't open them.

As if she were afraid of reality crashing back in.

But when she did, when her blue eyes flickered up to meet his, there was something there.

Something neither of them could name.

Aritra's jaw clenched. This was dangerous.

She wasn't supposed to matter.

She wasn't supposed to look at him like that.

Like she was seeing more than what he allowed the world to see.

Katherine exhaled, stepping back slightly, her fingers brushing over her lips like she was trying to process what had just happened.

Aritra let her.

Let her have this moment to decide what came next.

But she didn't run.

She didn't pretend it hadn't happened.

Instead, she swallowed hard and whispered, "Goodnight, Aritra."

And then—she turned and disappeared into the villa.

Leaving Aritra standing in the cold night air, his pulse still not steady.

August 8, 2009 – 9:00 AM – Jadavpur Villa

Sunlight filtered through the large glass windows, casting golden streaks across the wooden floor.

Katherine sat at the breakfast table, stirring her tea absentmindedly.

Across from her, Aritra was silent.

Neither of them had mentioned the night before.

Not when they woke up.

Not when they crossed paths in the hallway.

Not when she found herself, once again, watching him.

She hated how her body reacted—how the memory of his lips, his warmth, still lingered on her skin.

She hated it even more when her phone rang.

Her father.

Her stomach twisted as she hesitated, then stood and stepped onto the balcony to take the call.

"You haven't called me in days." His voice was sharp, clipped. "You're getting too comfortable."

Katherine's grip tightened around the phone.

I know.

But she didn't say it.

Instead, she forced a calm tone. "I've been gathering information. I told you—this takes time."

There was silence.

Then, her father spoke again.

"No more delays. I need you to get deeper into his trust. His weaknesses, his vulnerabilities—everything."

Katherine felt her chest tighten.

He wanted Aritra's weaknesses.

But last night, Aritra hadn't felt like a target.

He had felt… like something else.

Something far more dangerous.

She inhaled sharply. No.

She couldn't think like this.

She had a job.

A purpose.

A mission.

And yet… why did it feel like she was losing control?

Her father's voice cut through her thoughts. "Do whatever it takes."

And then, the call ended.

Katherine lowered the phone slowly, her fingers trembling slightly.

She didn't know how long Aritra had been standing there, watching her.

But when she turned around, he was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Expression unreadable.

Katherine's throat felt dry.

Did he hear?

She opened her mouth—to say what, she didn't know.

But before she could speak, Aritra did.

"You looked guilty just now."

Katherine's heart pounded. "What?"

Aritra didn't blink. "I don't know why." His voice was quiet. "But you did."

Katherine's fingers curled into her palm.

She should lie.

She should say something, anything.

But the words wouldn't come.

Because she didn't know if she was lying to him.

Or to herself.

And for the first time—that terrified her.