unspoken confession

She was sandwiched between me and the wall, gasping for breath—I could sense it. And so was mine.

I stared into her eyes, and an acute jab ran through my chest. Her eyes had gone misty.

Raising my hand, I touched her cheek, my fingers mapping the gentle line of her temple. The air between us—or perhaps something deeper—continued to thicken. It wasn't as if we had never stood this close, but this was different. The way I was staring at my best friend. the things I was thinking of doing to her. None of it was normal.

For a fleeting instant, my heart howled—forget everything, just kiss those shuddering lips.

She glared at me, fighting to push back, but my hold on her didn't loosen. My arm was encircling her waist, holding firm so she couldn't even fit in a sliver of space between us. Releasing her for an instant? No way.

"Rakshit, stop this! Let me go!"

Her tone was acerbic with rage as she struggled against my grip.

But I didn't budge.

"No," I said, my eyes fixed on hers.

"What do you even want, huh?" she snapped, her fists striking weakly at my chest. Before she could wriggle free, I grasped her wrist, holding her hands over her head.

"I want to tell you what's on my mind. You can't just try me like this."

"You think this is easy for me?" My words were harsh, the burden of it all crushing me. "Seeing Mom unhappy? Having you push me away like this? Seeing you hurt and misunderstanding me ,It's driving me crazy."

"Why does it even matter to you, huh?" she threw back at me, her tone cracking. "Why do you care if I'm hurt? If I get it wrong? What difference does it make to you?"

"You were the one who was pleased about this marriage, weren't you? And now, when it's all unraveling, you're suddenly—"

Her words sting like a slap, every one of them cutting deeper.

"You said it was wrong when your mom married my dad. That it was wrong when you lived here. And my mom? You called her a burden to you."

Her voice trembled, but the fury in her eyes did not waver.

"How could you do that, Rakshit? Tell me something! Other people may say whatever they wish about my mother, but you can't. I won't let them. You have to get you, but you never do. You cared for your mother, Aaliyah, or any other girl that struts down the street, but you never cared for me."

They were slipping past her tight-closed lips, pouring out like a dam burst.

"If you did, you wouldn't have let this marriage take place. You wouldn't have taken Riya to your room directly in front of me. You wouldn't have seared my heart like this."

She just continued, spilling everything she had kept hidden within her. And I just stood there, listening, allowing every single word to penetrate deep inside me.

How stupid was I?

I had never actually known her, had I? I had never even made the effort. I never realized the way she cared for me—never even noticed my own emotions—until I saw her in that scarlet bodycon dress… preparing for someone else.

Aching emptiness wrenched in my chest.

How blind had I been? How many times had I hurt her without even realizing it? And now, she was drifting away. The girl I had always considered mine, the one I had unknowingly held close to my heart—she was drifting further and further away.

If I continued being this idiot, I was going to lose her.

The one girl who meant the world to me.

The person who had secured a permanent spot in my heart.

What had we reduced ourselves to? We were here, looking at each other, but separated by a wall neither of us could cross.

And this was the same girl I wanted to shatter every single limit for.

No matter the price.

"I'm sorry," I finally said, my voice clogged with remorse. "I don't even know what else to say."

I gulped. "I wish I'd understood sooner that I was hurting you so much. What I said to you about your mom. it was terrible. But I can't erase what she did to you, Radhya."

"You matter to me," I whispered. "As much as my own breath. I can't think past you, Radhya. I know I screwed up." I edged back a little. "But I swear, I'll make it right. I promise I will."

My fingers went to her face once more, my thumbs stroking her cheeks, tracing the curve of her lips.

"But I can't see you walk away from me. I can't take this distance anymore," I whispered, my thumb tracing the curve of her lower lip.

She said nothing.

She simply stared at me—silent, unblinking.

And in that moment, there was nothing left to say.

This wasn't a love confession.

But we both knew exactly what it was.

And then

The air between us still hung, full of everything not said. But the quiet no longer was a bad thing. It was taut. Full of waiting.

Her breathing was unbalanced, her chest still against me.

She was no longer struggling.

Her pinned hands now lay against my chest, fingers crumpled a little into my shirt as she anchored herself.

I raised my hand once more, sweeping my thumb across her cheek, my fingers caressing the tender skin of her jaw. Her eyes closed briefly, her lashes quivering, before she gradually opened them once more, meeting my eyes with something I could not quite read.

"I should hate you," she breathed, but there was no actual rage in her words.

I released a low laugh, leaning my head to one side. "Do you?"

She didn't reply.

Instead, her mouth opened a fraction, her breath warm on my skin.

I stepped slowly forward, filling the final distance between us. My hands dropped down to her waist, drawing her in just a little more, just close enough to sense the shape of her body against mine.

"You push me away if you'd like," I whispered, my lips an inch from hers.

She didn't.

But instead leaned in—a tiny fraction, just enough that I could sense the nervous caress of her breath.

That was all the invitation I needed.

I tilted my head, my lips brushing against hers in a slow, gentle kiss.

There was no hurry, no urgency—only the soft comprehension that this moment, this sensation, had been inescapable all along.

She dissolved against me, her hands clutching the front of my shirt as if she required something to grab onto. I pushed deeper into the kiss, savoring the heat of her, the softness, the manner in which she breathed into me as if she had ceased struggling against something she never really wanted to fight.

When I drew back, her eyes were half-closed, her lips still parted slightly.

"This changes everything," she breathed.

I smiled, pushing a strand of hair behind her ear.

"It was already changing, Radhya. We just refused to see it."

She didn't dispute it.

Instead, she leaned her forehead against mine, her fingers drawing absent patterns on my chest.

For the first time in a very long time…

Everything felt right.