First day at his home

Rhea🖤

At night, Rhea tossed and turned in bed, the weight of Dev’s words echoing in her mind.

Her heart thudded, stubborn and loud, betraying her.

“What the hell are you feeling, Rhea?” she scolded herself silently. “He’s nothing but a devil. Stop thinking about him.”

But no matter how hard she tried to shut it down, his image clung to her thoughts — those eyes, that voice, the way he made her feel raw and exposed.

Wrapped in the chaos of him, she slowly drifted into sleep…

Still not free.

Sleep came slowly, dragging her into a half-dream, half-memory fog.

She was standing in the corridor of her college, empty and dim. And then he was there — Dev — leaning casually against the wall, that same unreadable look on his face.

"Still thinking about me?" he asked, voice low, teasing — but laced with something darker. Something that made her breath hitch.

"I’m not," she whispered back, though her body betrayed her again — trembling under his gaze.

He stepped closer. She could feel the heat rolling off him. His hand brushed her wrist — not a touch, just the idea of one — and yet her skin burned.

"Liar," he murmured, eyes locked with hers.

Rhea’s heart thudded in her chest. She wanted to run. She wanted to stay.

But just as his fingers finally touched her cheek, just as her lips parted —

she woke up.

Gasping.

Sweaty

Heart pounding like she’d just run miles.

“Shit,” she muttered, burying her face in the pillow.

She hated this.

She hated him.

And she hated the way her body still remembered his touch — even when it had never truly been there.

                               Dev🖤

He hadn’t slept much.

Not that he ever did. But tonight, it was worse. Her face kept flashing before his eyes — wide-eyed, confused, angry. Hurt.

Good, he told himself.

She needed to know she wasn’t ready for people like him. That the world wasn’t soft just because she was turning eighteen.

But even as he thought it, he could still hear her voice — the crack in it when she’d tried to sound strong.

He stared at the ceiling, jaw clenched.

Why did she always look at him like that? Like she saw something good in him... something that didn’t exist.

He hated it.

And hated that he noticed the way her voice dipped when she said his name.

Hated that he remembered the curve of her neck, how she always tucked her hair behind her ear when nervous.

Hated that she was in his head like this.

Pathetic, he told himself.

He pushed the covers off and sat up. Ran a hand through his hair.

She’d be there tomorrow. Probably avoiding him.

Or pretending nothing happened.

Either way… it didn’t matter.

He wouldn’t let it matter.

[Late afternoon, campus café. Rhea and Kiara are sitting at a quiet corner table, sharing a plate of samosas and sipping cold coffee. The mood is light, familiar]

Kiara (with a full mouth):

“Mmm, I swear this café runs on crushed dreams and cardamom.”

Rhea (laughs):

“Definitely tastes like both.”

Kiara (leans back, looking at her):

“You’re opening up more. First time I saw you, you looked like you'd teleport back home if someone sneezed.”

Rhea (smiling):

“I was nervous. Everything felt... huge. And I didn't know anyone. Then you just—walked in like you owned the place.”

Kiara (playfully smug):

“I do give off that energy.”

Rhea (softly):

“I'm really glad you came and sat with me that day.”

Kiara (warmly):

“Me too, Rhea. I’ve got enough friends, but I didn’t know I needed someone like you.”

[Pause. They smile at each other. Then—]

Kiara (tilting her head):

“Okay, now tell me. Who's been putting that soft little smile on your face lately?”

Rhea (blinks, caught off guard):

“What? No one.”

Kiara (smirking):

“Oh come on. You’ve been zoning out with that dreamy look way too often. Don’t lie — I’m a woman with instincts.”

Rhea (trying to hide her smile):

“Just... someone I met. It’s nothing.”

Kiara (grinning wider):

“Nothing that made you blush this much isn’t nothing.”

Rhea (laughing, cheeks warm):

“His name’s Dev. That’s all I’m saying.”

Kiara (raised eyebrows):

“Dev, huh? Senior?”

Rhea (quietly):

“No… not from college. He’s… older.”

Kiara (interest piqued, but not judging):

“Oooh. Mysterious.”

Kiara (reading her expression, gently)

“You like him.”

Rhea (caught off guard by her question)

"Nooo why would I like him"

Kiara squinting her eyes"k k I'll leave it that"..

                               ☺️

The final bell rang, and students spilled out of classrooms like a burst dam. Rhea walked slowly, trying to avoid the rush — until Kiara appeared beside her, sipping juice like she owned the campus.

“Done for the day?” Kiara asked.

Rhea nodded, adjusting the strap of her bag. “Yeah. Just waiting for an auto.”

“You really should get a scooty,” Kiara teased. “Or find a rich boyfriend who—”

Her words died mid-sentence.

Because the unmistakable hum of a luxury engine rolled into earshot. A matte black car — clean, expensive, and very much out of place — slowed near the main gate.

Students turned. Some started whispering. A few guys paused their basketball game.

Then the door opened.

Dev stepped out.

Rhea froze.

He looked the same — perfectly pressed shirt, dark slacks, wristwatch catching the afternoon sun. Sunglasses covered his eyes, but his posture alone made people shift aside.

He didn’t smile.

Didn’t wave.

Didn’t even glance at anyone.

Just stood there. By the car. Waiting.

Kiara blinked. “Wait—he’s not here for you, right?”

Rhea stayed quiet.

Kiara turned toward her in disbelief. “Rhea?”

Her phone buzzed.

Dev: I’m outside. Don’t take long.

Rhea swallowed hard, her heart stumbling. She turned toward the gate — and sure enough, Dev’s gaze found her the moment she moved.

“Holy—” Kiara whispered. “Are you serious? You know him?”

“I—I live with him,” Rhea mumbled, already walking.

Kiara almost choked. “WHAT?”

Rhea didn’t turn back. Every step felt heavier. Every stare around her louder. Girls whispered. Boys stared. A few clicked pictures, pretending to check their phones.

Dev didn’t move.

Didn’t open the door for her.

Didn’t say a word when she reached him.

She opened the door herself, slid in, and sat in silence. He got in from the other side.

The car started.

For a moment, it felt like the noise outside dulled to a hush. She could feel her pulse in her ears.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did she.

Only when they were on the road did he finally say, voice low and unreadable—

“You were five minutes late.”

Rhea blinked. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

“I told you I would send a car,” he said calmly. “I didn’t say I wouldn’t drive it.”

Silence again.

She stared out the window.

He didn’t look at her once.

But she could still feel it — that chill in the air.

The kind that comes before something begins… or falls apart.

The city blurred past them — honking autos, blinking billboards, distant traffic — but inside the car, it was unnervingly quiet.

Rhea sat stiffly, eyes fixed on her hands resting in her lap. The cold air from the AC bit at her skin, but what made her shiver more was him.

Dev.

One hand on the steering wheel, the other resting casually near the gear, his gaze stayed locked on the road ahead. No music. No words. No glance in her direction.

Rhea swallowed. Her voice came out hesitant, unsure.

“You didn’t have to come. The driver could’ve—”

“He had other work,” Dev said flatly, cutting her off without looking.

“Oh.”

She hated how small her voice sounded in the quiet.

She tried again, softer. “Still… I wasn’t expecting you.”

“You should’ve been.”

That made her look at him. “Why?”

He didn’t answer at first. Turned at a junction smoothly, his face unreadable, profile sharp in the fading light.

Then, without emotion:

“Because I said I’d send a car.”

“That’s not the same as you coming,” she murmured.

He exhaled once through his nose — not a laugh, not quite a sigh.

Finally, he added, “I don’t like depending on others when I don’t have to.”

That was all.

No warmth. No explanation. Just that.

The silence returned, heavier this time.

Rhea leaned her head slightly against the window, pretending to watch the trees pass by.

The rest of the drive was wordless.

When the car finally pulled into the gated driveway of Dev’s house, the sky had darkened with evening clouds. A soft rumble of thunder echoed somewhere in the distance.

Dev turned off the ignition and got out without saying a word. Rhea followed slowly, clutching her bag tighter, unsure if she was supposed to walk beside him or behind.

He didn’t wait.

She trailed him up the steps, her sandals soft against the stone floor. The door clicked open, and the familiar cold interior greeted her—marble, dim lights, too much silence.

Dev didn’t turn around as he walked in, slipping off his shoes mechanically.

“You can go freshen up,” he said, his voice echoing faintly in the high-ceilinged foyer. “Dinner’s at eight.”

That was it. No glance, no warmth, no sign of the man who’d once held her wrist too gently when she stumbled on those stairs.

Rhea stood there for a moment, watching his back disappear into his study. The door shut.

She slowly went upstairs, past the tall windows and heavy silence, into the guest room—her room, as he called it, though it never really felt like hers.

She placed her bag on the bed and sank down beside it. The room was perfectly arranged. Sheets tucked tight. Cushions lined up. Not a thing out of place.

Unlike her heart.

She wanted to understand him. But he made it impossible.

Rhea exhaled shakily, burying her face in her hands.

Downstairs, she heard the faint clink of glass—Dev pouring himself a drink, probably. Same time every day. Same ritual.

And she?

She was just a quiet ghost in his house again.

                             ---

Later that night...

Rhea came down for dinner quietly, dressed in a soft cotton kurta, her damp hair left open. She didn’t expect Dev to be waiting—but he was already at the table, scrolling through something on his phone. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, veins tracing down his forearms.

He didn’t look up as she sat down.

The dining table was already set—her plate, her favourite dal, the sabzi she had once mentioned liking offhandedly weeks ago. She noticed... but didn’t say anything.

A house help placed rotis on their plates silently and left the room.

Dev finally spoke, still not looking at her. “Eat properly this time.”

His voice was flat, but something about the way he said it felt familiar. Almost... worried?

“I always eat properly,” Rhea muttered, forcing a bite.

Dev glanced up sharply. “No, you don’t. You skip lunch when you’re stressed. You didn’t touch breakfast either.”

She blinked. How did he know that?

“You don’t even ask,” she said softly.

“You want me to ask every time you forget to take care of yourself?” he snapped, then immediately looked away.

Rhea’s throat went dry. “I didn’t know you noticed…”

“I notice everything,” he said, under his breath.

Silence settled between them again. She watched him carefully—his face was unreadable, but his fingers had paused over his phone. It lay untouched beside his plate.

He was pretending not to care. But she knew better now.

When she reached for the salad bowl, he wordlessly slid it closer to her.

When she coughed after

swallowing too fast, he got up, fetched her water—not asking, not looking—and placed it in front of her like it meant nothing.

Like she meant everything.

But he wouldn’t say it. Not yet.

And maybe… not ever.

                      - - -

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