As the morning light filtered softly through the thin curtains, Avani found herself lingering longer in bed than she had intended. The golden hue kissed her skin, inviting her to stay wrapped in the cocoon of blankets a while more, yet the day's demands tugged relentlessly. With a resigned sigh, she pushed herself upright, the familiar ache of tiredness still clinging to her limbs.
She moved through her morning routine with a hurried grace, fingers deftly weaving her hair into a loose braid that fell over her shoulder. Slipping into her favorite faded jeans and a comfortable kurta, Avani felt the familiar blend of anticipation and restraint settle within her chest. She grabbed her bag, adjusted the strap over her shoulder, and stepped out into the world.
The college campus was already alive—voices collided in a lively symphony, punctuated by the shrill honking of autos at the gates. Groups of boys lingered near the chai stall, steam rising from paper cups as they chatted animatedly. The spicy aroma mingled with the dusty air, grounding the moment in vibrant reality.
Avani walked purposefully past a cluster of seniors lounging against the wall, their whistles slicing through the air. One boy’s voice called after her teasingly, "Avani, ek smile toh de do yaar!" But she didn’t flinch, her gaze fixed ahead. These empty gestures felt like noise—too loud, too brash, layers of shallow bravado that she no longer wished to entertain.
Inside the classroom, Kayra beckoned her with a playful grin. "Finally! Madam, kal raat fir se Netflix binge?" she teased, nudging Avani as she slid into the bench beside her.
Avani managed a faint smile, tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear. "Notes likh rahi thi," she replied, voice soft but steady.
Kayra’s eyes sparkled with mischief as she leaned in closer. "Notes, or some secret romance?" She elbowed her gently, laughter in her tone.
Avani chuckled lightly, flipping open her notebook, though her attention was already drifting. "Romance ka time kaha hai yaar. Final year hai. Abhi toh sirf practical files," she said, but the excuse felt hollow even to her.
The professor's lecture droned on, words blending into a dull backdrop as Avani’s pen danced absentmindedly across the margins. Unconsciously, her sketch took shape—a rough line tracing the curve of a jaw, the shadow of stubble, broad shoulders outlined in delicate strokes. Her heart quickened, and she snapped the notebook shut just as Kayra peeked over with a teasing grin.
Later, the canteen was alive with the mingled scents of fried samosas and steaming chai. Nearby, a group of boys argued passionately over cricket scores, their voices rising in excited bursts. Kayra leaned in, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "You know Amit from physics? He was asking about you today."
Avani’s eyes rolled subtly as she stirred her chai, the steam rising in little curls. "What did you tell him?" she asked, trying to sound indifferent.
Kayra smirked. "I told him not to waste his time. That you’re not interested."
There was a slight pause, then she added, "Seriously though, why not? He’s decent-looking."
Avani took a slow sip, hiding the faint, knowing smile that teased her lips. Decent-looking, maybe. But not who her mind craved. The sharp memory of Varun’s rugged stubble brushing against her skin, the strength in his hands, the silent command in his presence, surfaced unbidden. She shifted in her seat, pressing her thighs together beneath the table as heat flushed her cheeks.
"I just… don’t like boys," she murmured finally, the words tasting strange yet liberating.
Kayra burst out laughing, eyes wide. "What? Now you’re into girls?"
Avani shook her head, lips curving into a private smile. "No. Just… don’t like boys," she repeated, letting the ambiguity linger between them.
The ride home in the shared auto was a blur of noise and movement. Conversations floated past her, snippets of laughter and arguments melding into the hum of the city. Avani remained silent, her gaze tracing the familiar streets of Jaipur, yet her thoughts were tethered elsewhere—back to last night, to that fleeting moment when Varun’s gaze lingered a heartbeat too long.
By the time she reached her house, Ninad’s bike was parked in the driveway, and the warm, earthy scent of dal wafted from the kitchen where Niharika was busy cooking. Avani greeted her sister-in-law softly, then slipped away to her room, closing the door behind her with a gentle click.
She let her bag fall onto the floor and sank onto her bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling as the day’s interactions echoed in her mind. Surrounded by classmates, friends, and family, none stirred the fire that flared within her. Yet one glance from Varun, the night before, had ignited an ache that simmered beneath her skin, refusing to subside.
The craving deepened, unrelenting.
Family dinner passed in a haze of polite conversation and shared smiles, but once alone, her textbooks lay unopened on the desk. Instead, her fingers traced the screen of her phone, returning time and again to the same bookmarked website, a secret indulgence. Hours later, sleep finally claimed her, exhausted from the electric torment of desire.
The following day, the lecture hall buzzed with its usual chorus. Chalk scraped against the blackboard, the professor’s voice a low murmur beneath the tide of whispered side conversations. Avani sat near the window, her gaze fixed on the notebook before her, but her mind drifted far away from the intricate complexities of organic chemistry.
Her pen tapped rhythmically against the margin, where she had begun sketching half a face—a strong jawline, the rough texture of a beard, the graceful slope of broad shoulders. Panic flickered when Kayra leaned over to remind her about an upcoming assignment; she quickly erased the drawing, tucking the notebook closed.
It wasn’t that she hadn’t tried—tried to find something real with boys before. Two years had slipped away, swallowed by a relationship that left her hollow and disillusioned. The memory tightened her jaw as she recalled the early days: his sweet messages, his soft promises, calling her "princess" with a sincerity she had wanted to believe.
She remembered their first time with a mixture of hope and heartbreak—the nervous trembling, the whispered assurances that this would change everything. But nothing changed. Instead, it was a lonely, painful dance where he chased his own pleasure, oblivious to her needs. He was quick to finish, indifferent to her silence, her efforts to guide him dismissed as foolish fantasies drawn from the movies.
“You watch too many videos, Avu,” he had scoffed. “Real life isn’t like that.”
Real life with him had been a bitter disappointment. She had faked smiles, faked moans, even faked the little gasps so he wouldn’t feel inadequate. But inside, she hated every moment. Their love fractured beneath the weight of jealousy and constant fights, leaving her numb rather than sorrowful—only an overwhelming sensation of wasted time.
Now, in the noisy canteen surrounded by laughter and chatter, she felt nothing but a hollow emptiness whenever she thought of those nights. She didn’t want boys anymore—not the ones obsessed with selfies, nor the ones bragging drunkenly in the corner. Not the ones who left her aching and ignored.
She craved something different—the kind of men she’d seen in the secret corners of the internet. Men who knew exactly where to touch, how to hold, how to unravel her in ways she had never allowed herself to hope for.
Men who took without asking, with dark, commanding hunger.
Her fingers stirred the chai in her cup absently, watching the swirling patterns of tea and milk. In her mind, a vivid, private film played—scenes drenched in shadow and desire. She imagined herself pressed against a cold, deserted corridor wall, wrists pinned above her head, lips muffled to silence her desperate gasps. She pictured herself bent over a cluttered desk, skirt hiked high, panties tugged aside, taken with reckless abandon even as voices echoed from a nearby room.
Her thighs clenched involuntarily beneath the table.
In these fantasies, the faces blurred—but sometimes, unmistakably, it was Varun. The strong curve of his throat, the scrape of his beard, the lazy dominance of his stance. He slipped inside her mind uninvited, a dark shadow that knotted her stomach and scorched her skin.
She loathed how effortlessly he infiltrated her thoughts. A casual word, a glance lingering just a moment too long—those small moments echoed in her mind, replaying endlessly.
That night, back in her room, Avani tried to focus on her studies again. She laid out her notes, highlighted a couple of lines, but the words blurred before her eyes. Her thoughts spiraled—first to her ex, the way he had been selfish and hurried, then to Varun, imagining him claiming her with the raw intensity she’d only dared to dream of.
Shame never surfaced. Only the hunger. And with it, a fierce, unyielding craving she no longer wanted to deny.
She sank back onto her bed, the thin sheet pulled tight beneath her chin. Eyes closed, she let her hand wander down her body, moving with purpose and longing. She didn’t need a screen to conjure the images; her mind brimmed with enough—past disappointments, new obsessions, and fantasies that grew darker, wilder, with each passing night.
The night deepened, and sleep finally came, soft and heavy, carrying her into dreams lit by the flickering flame of desire.