The kitchen had gone so quiet that Rudra swore he could hear his own heartbeat echoing off the tiled walls. His hand, still holding that forgotten spoon, hung uselessly by his side as Ayaan leaned closer.
A hesitant breath.
A flutter of courage.
And then—
Their noses brushed.
Just the faintest, feather-light touch. Enough to make Rudra's entire body jolt like a struck chord. His lips parted, an involuntary intake of air betraying the storm raging inside him.
But before he could move—before he could even think—Ayaan pulled back.
The warmth vanished.
"I… I'll just grab some water," Ayaan murmured, voice too soft, too casual, as if nothing had happened. He turned quickly, escaping to the living room, leaving Rudra rooted in place.
Rudra blinked, throat tight. He didn't understand. He never understood with Ayaan.
Why pull away?
Why give him that taste of closeness only to vanish?
He turned slightly, catching sight of Ayaan across the room. His lover—if that was even the right word, when they had never kissed—was gulping water like he'd been parched for days. His profile was calm, almost ordinary. But Rudra wasn't fooled.
Because Ayaan hadn't looked at him once.
Because something had flashed in his eyes before he turned away.
Because he didn't know what Ayaan was thinking.
And Rudra hated not knowing.
His chest burned with something unnamable—want, confusion, the ache of being so close to something he had never allowed himself.
They had never kissed. Not once.
Ayaan always spoke to him through texts, through late-night calls, through gentle gestures that made no sense to Rudra's world of sharp contracts and colder people. And Rudra had never asked for more.
Partly because he didn't know how.
Partly because… he wasn't sure he could handle it.
Now, standing in his own kitchen with his pulse still racing, Rudra realized just how much that single brush of a nose—so small, so fleeting—could undo him.
And the worst part?
He couldn't tell what Ayaan wanted.
To be continued....