Chapter 1: Sparks in the Shaadi Chaos
The air was thick with the scent of jasmine and marigold as the wedding of my cousin unfolded in a riot of color and laughter. I, Vikram, stood near the mandap, adjusting my sherwani, when my eyes caught a vision in crimson—a woman who could stop time itself. She was Meera, my bhabhi’s younger sister, with a sharp tongue and a gaze that could cut glass. Her lehenga hugged her curves like a lover’s whisper, and I knew I was in trouble.
‘Oi, Vikram, stop staring like a besharam,’ she snapped, catching me mid-gawk as she strutted over with a tray of sweets. Her voice was a mix of annoyance and amusement, her dark eyes glinting with mischief.
‘Can’t help it, Meera. You’re a walking distraction,’ I shot back, leaning in just enough to catch the faint scent of her perfume. ‘How’s a man supposed to focus on the shaadi when you’re stealing the show?’
She rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the smirk tugging at her lips. ‘Flattery won’t get you anywhere, bhaiya. I’m not one of your easy conquests.’ Her tone was sharp, but the way her gaze lingered on my chest told a different story.
‘Oh, I don’t want easy,’ I countered, stepping closer, my voice dropping to a husky murmur. ‘I want a challenge. And you, Meera, look like the kind I’d fight for.’
Her breath hitched for a split second before she regained her composure, shoving the tray of laddoos into my hands. ‘Keep dreaming, Vikram. I don’t melt for sweet talk.’ But the slight flush on her cheeks betrayed her.
The night wore on with stolen glances and witty jabs. During the sangeet, as the dhol beats pulsed through the crowd, I found her swaying alone near the edge of the dance floor. I didn’t ask permission—I grabbed her hand and pulled her into the rhythm.
‘Bold move,’ she said, her voice laced with challenge as our bodies moved in sync, heat radiating between us. Her hips swayed with a confidence that made my blood race.
‘I’m full of them,’ I replied, my hand resting just above the curve of her waist, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. ‘Question is, can you keep up?’
She laughed, a sound that was both mocking and intoxicating. ‘Keep up? I’ll leave you panting, Vikram.’ Her words were a dare, and damn if I wasn’t ready to take it.
As the night deepened, we slipped away from the crowd, finding a quiet corner behind the decorated shamiana. The tension between us was electric, a live wire waiting to spark. She leaned against a pillar, her chest rising and falling with quick breaths, her eyes daring me to make a move.
‘You’re trouble, Meera,’ I growled, stepping closer until there was barely an inch between us. My fingers brushed against her bare midriff, and she didn’t pull away.
‘And you’re a risk I might just take,’ she whispered, her voice dripping with defiance and desire. Her hand slid up my chest, gripping my sherwani as she pulled me in. Our lips were a heartbeat away from crashing together, the air between us charged with raw, unspoken need. I could feel myself getting hard just from her proximity, her scent driving me wild. Whatever was about to happen, it was going to be explosive—and I was ready to dive into the fire.
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