There was something dangerous about the quiet before a storm.
Not the kind that screamed warnings.But the kind that built slowly, under the surface. In stolen glances, unanswered texts, and nights that refused to let sleep in.
That was where Manik and Nandini now lived — in the quiet just before it all gave way.
Campus Practice Hall – Late Evening
She shouldn't have come.
That's what Nandini told herself as she stood in the darkened hall, violin in hand, waiting.
But she had sent that voice note.
And he had responded.
"Then stop pretending."
No name. No other words.
Just that.
Now here she was, waiting for a boy who could tear her apart — but somehow made her feel more alive than anything else ever had.
She hated him.
She needed him.
And that contradiction made her pulse skip.
The door opened.
She didn't turn.
She didn't have to.
His presence filled the room before his footsteps did.
"You came," he said.
"So did you."
She still hadn't turned.
"You always hide like this?" he asked.
"I'm not hiding."
"Then look at me."
She did.
And for a moment — just one breath — neither of them moved.
Then he stepped forward.
Slowly. No smirk. No arrogance.
Just intensity.
Their bodies stopped a few inches apart.
"Say it," he said.
"Say what?"
"That you feel it too."
She wanted to lie.To protect the paper-thin walls she'd built around herself.
But tonight, she didn't have the strength.
So instead—She whispered, "Yes."
And that was all it took.
The First Touch
It wasn't a kiss.
Not yet.
It was the brush of his hand on her waist. The slide of her palm against his chest.
The kind of closeness that wasn't innocent anymore. That couldn't be called an accident.
Her violin dropped to the floor between them, forgotten.
He leaned in, slowly — his lips inches from her ear.
"You think this is a mistake?"
She closed her eyes.
"I think it's already too late."
And then—
Their lips met.
Not soft. Not sweet.
It was a collision of everything unsaid.A release of weeks of silence, denial, tension.
His hand tangled in her hair. Her fingers clutched his shirt.
And the world?It broke apart.
But it didn't last.
A sound — distant, sharp — shattered the moment.
The door handle.
Someone was trying to get in.
They pulled apart instantly.
Manik swore under his breath.
Nandini stepped back, chest heaving, eyes wide.
The door creaked.
Cabir entered, saw them, and stopped.
He didn't say anything.
Just raised an eyebrow.
"Practice?" he asked, dryly.
Manik grabbed his guitar.
"Just leaving."
Nandini picked up her violin.
But as she passed Cabir, he leaned in, voice low.
"Careful, Nandu. The heart's fragile. Especially when it beats for someone who doesn't know how to hold it."
She didn't answer.
Because her heart already knew—
He was right.