Ninad was animated on the phone, his voice buoyant as he shared the news with his family. "This year, the society has entrusted our family with organizing the Holi celebrations at the nearby ground. It's a big responsibility," he said, a spark of excitement lighting his tone.
Breakfast filled the kitchen with the comforting aroma of fresh parathas sizzling in ghee, the clinking of utensils punctuated by the constant buzz of Ninad's phone, alive with group chats and messages from relatives and neighbors.
Between mouthfuls, Ninad grinned. "Holi's going to be huge this year. Everyone from the mohalla is coming, even the Sharma cousins. And of course, Varun will be here—like he always is."
Avani maintained her composure, sipping her tea with a calm exterior, but inside, her stomach fluttered unpredictably. Just the simple mention of Varun’s name ignited a warming ember deep within her. She quickly dropped her gaze to her phone, pretending to scroll so neither Ninad nor Niharika would catch the subtle curve of her lips betraying her feelings.
Niharika chimed in teasingly, "Good, because otherwise you two would only be throwing colors, drinking bhang, and beating drums. At least Varun takes care of the organizing."
Ninad laughed warmly. "Exactly. He’s bringing the speakers and handling the light and sound setup this year."
Avani pushed her plate aside, the appetite suddenly gone. She mumbled, "I’m running late," and hurried to gather her bag.
Stepping onto the street, she flagged down an auto-rickshaw and allowed herself a genuine smile, the first in hours. Just two days until Holi. Two days until she’d see him again.
The college campus buzzed with the frenetic energy of Holi preparations. Students darted through corridors, faces streaked with vibrant dry colors, laughter ricocheting across the gates. Avani brushed a pale streak of pink powder from her sleeve and slipped inside the building.
Classes blurred into one another, a haze of lectures and lab experiments, until she was walking down the corridor after her final class. Suddenly, a tall, lean boy from another section stepped in front of her. His eyes flickered nervously as he extended a small chocolate bar.
"Avani... I, um, really like you. Would you... maybe be my girlfriend?" His voice was tentative, barely above a whisper.
For a moment, the hallway stilled. A few students nearby glanced over, curiosity piqued.
Avani blinked, then shook her head firmly. "No, sorry." Without waiting for a response, she stepped past him, leaving him standing awkwardly, the chocolate still grasped in his trembling hand.
Her heart remained steady, untouched by excitement or regret.
By the time classes ended, Avani spotted Kayra and Sonal waving at her from a corner table in the canteen. They had already claimed their spot, plates of steaming samosas between them.
"Madam Avani, turning down proposals in the corridor now?" Sonal teased as Avani joined them. "The poor boy looked like he might cry."
Kayra giggled. "You’re ruthless. He’s been staring at you for months."
Avani shrugged, lifting her chai. "I didn’t ask him to."
They exchanged amused looks before bursting into laughter. Avani smiled faintly, reclining in her chair. Outwardly, she appeared relaxed, but her mind drifted elsewhere—toward the upcoming festival, the swirling colors, the rhythmic drums, and the man whose name sent ripples through her stomach.
When Avani returned home, the house embraced her with the comforting scents of dinner preparations. Ninad sat at the head of the table, absorbed in his phone, while Niharika ladled dal into bowls with practiced ease.
"Avu, when you come back from college tomorrow, bring colors," Ninad said casually. "I don’t trust the last-minute rush at the market."
"Yes," Niharika added. "And we’ll need more thandai mix. Varun will bring the bhaang, but we should have the regular stuff ready."
Avani lowered her eyes quickly, pretending to concentrate on her food. The metallic clink of her spoon against the steel plate echoed in the quiet kitchen, but inside, her body stirred at the simple mention of Varun’s name once more.
"Varun is bringing the speakers too," Ninad continued, enthusiasm not waning. "This year, it’s going to be a full party."
"Just make sure you two keep it under control," Niharika laughed. "No tossing buckets of water off the terrace like last year."
"No terrace this time," Ninad said with a grin. "It’s all happening on the ground—full blast! Right, Avani?"
"Oh yes, absolutely," Avani murmured, emerging from her daydreams of Varun’s presence.
"Your friends are coming too, aren’t they?" Niharika inquired curiously.
"Who?" Avani asked, puzzled.
"Kayra and Sonal," Niharika clarified with a teasing smile.
"Oh yes, they’re coming," Avani replied, chewing thoughtfully.
"Then it’s going to be a blast! Avani’s going to set the dance floor on fire this year," Ninad added with a laugh.
The family chuckled together, the easy rhythm of familiar banter filling the room. Avani nodded quietly, her calm mask firmly in place. But under the table, her toes curled restlessly inside her slippers, betraying the anticipation that thrummed through her veins—colors swirling, music pulsing, and Varun’s face smeared with gulal flashing in her mind.
After dinner, Avani excused herself swiftly and retreated to the quiet sanctuary of her room. She closed the door behind her, slipped off her dupatta, and collapsed onto her bed, her phone already in hand.
At first, she scrolled aimlessly through Instagram reels—students dancing, friends laughing, vibrant Holi preparations unfolding on screen. Yet within moments, her thumb found the hidden folder, a secret refuge she returned to often.
Tonight, she wasted no time. She opened a video—a blurred, intimate scene where a man held a college girl down, his rough hands tracing her thighs, her muffled cries swallowed by the mattress.
The sound alone stole her breath. She slipped her hand beneath her salwar, fingers slick from anticipation that had built over countless nights. Her hips arched upwards at the first touch, eyes half-lidded, lips parting around a soft gasp.
But the stranger on screen was a placeholder. In her mind, she saw Varun—the scratch of his beard against her skin, his firm hands pressing her into the bed, the coarse fabric of his kurta brushing her thighs. She imagined his weight pinning her down, his voice husky in her ear, urging silence while the rest of the house laughed obliviously outside.
Her hand moved faster, desperate, clumsy. She pressed the pillow against her mouth to smother the moans threatening to escape. Her thighs clenched tightly, her body arching with mounting pleasure.
"Varun..." The name slipped out in an almost breathless whisper before she could stop it.
The climax hit her with overwhelming force, shaking her belly, legs trembling, toes curling in ecstasy. She pressed herself harder, chasing every lingering pulse until she lay still, breathless, sweat dampening her forehead.
She discarded the pillow to the side and stared into the ceiling fan’s slow rotation, smiling faintly despite the lingering ache. The video had ended, but the hunger inside her had only deepened.
No matter how many times she surrendered to these secret moments, it was never enough. Each release left her craving more—more of him, more of the forbidden desire she struggled to tame.
Her phone buzzed suddenly, jolting her from the haze. Heart pounding, she grabbed it, half-fearing someone had overheard. But it was merely an Instagram notification.
Kayra’s message lit up the screen: "Madam, ready for Holi? 🎉"
Avani smiled, typing back with one hand while the other rested on her still-throbbing skin.
"Barely. Ninad bhai has already roped me into the shopping list."
Kayra replied quickly, "Haha, same here. Mom has me drying five kilos of gujiya already. 🤦♀️"
They exchanged lighthearted complaints about family preparations, the mess of colors, and mounting excitement. Then, unexpectedly, Kayra sent another message:
"I can't agree moree"
"Your innocence will be ruined mentality iykyk"
Avani laughed quietly, the words teasing yet strangely resonant. She leaned back against her pillows, the anticipation of Holi—and Varun—now a tangible pulse beneath her skin, threading through every fiber of her being.