I watched him walk ahead of me, his silhouette framed by the golden sun. I wished I could find the words to tell him that the best memory I owned was the one I was making with him right now. He was the best thing in my life, and his father was the only person who had ever shown me genuine, untainted love. I wanted to tell him how grateful I was to have them both, but I remained silent. Because some truths were too heavy to live with, yet too painful to reveal. ________
Chapter 29
KAVYA
Time in Bali didn’t follow the usual rules. Days blurred into one another, slipping away like sand through fingers. Somewhere between the vibrant sunsets and the heavy, comfortable silences, the distance between Saurav and me began to dissolve. It wasn't a sudden shift, but a quiet, gradual reclamation of what we had lost.
It started with the small things. The way we lingered over breakfast, our plates long empty but our conversation refusing to end. We laughed more, real, belly-deep laughter and teased each other with the easy rhythm of two people who finally felt safe again. We weren’t perfect, not by a long shot, but we were no longer strangers sharing a room.
On our final night, the sky hung heavy. Thick, charcoal clouds gathered in heaps, swallowing the stars whole. I stood on the balcony, the evening air cooling rapidly as it brushed against my face, carrying the sharp, metallic scent of an approaching storm. I stood there, eyes wide, trying to memorize the silhouette of the trees and the curve of the horizon before we returned to India tomorrow.
Bali had been a sanctuary. It had given me memories I knew would never fade, but more importantly, it had returned the real Saurav to me. The man standing in the room behind me was finally the man I had fallen in love with all those years ago.
The floorboards creaked. I straightened as I heard his familiar footsteps.
“You’ll catch a cold out here,” Saurav said, his voice low and draped in concern. He stepped up behind me, draped a heavy, fluffy coat over my shoulders, and pulled it snug.
I didn’t turn around, basking in the warmth of the coat and his presence. “It hasn't even rained yet.”
As if the sky had been waiting for the challenge, the first heavy drop splashed against the railing. Then another. Within seconds, the clouds broke, and the rain came down in a steady, rhythmic roar. I didn't retreat inside. Instead, I removed the coat, stepped out from under the eaves, moving further onto the balcony until I was fully exposed.
The water was a shock to my skin. I laughed, tilting my head back and twirling as the world turned into a grey blur of water and wind.
“Kavya!” Saurav called out, half-laughing, half-exasperated. “What are you doing? You’re going to get soaked!”
“I’m already soaked!” I laughed, the sound bubbling up from a place that had been dry for far too long. I lifted my face to the sky, letting the droplets sting my cheeks. “Saurav... come here. Join me.”
He stayed rooted to the spot, watching me with an expression I couldn't quite read. I ran to him, my feet sliding slightly on the wet tiles, and grabbed his hands, trying to pull him into the downpour. I was beaming, breathless; he remained still,crossing his arms over his chest, though a soft, helpless smile played on his lips.
“I can dance in the rain,” I shouted over the drumming of the storm. “Do you want to see?”
He didn't answer with words, but his eyes never left mine.
“Look!”
The rain was relentless now, soaking through my clothes until they clung to me, making me feel strangely weightless. I spun, my arms wide, my hair plastered to my cheeks in dark ribbons. Laughter spilled out of me like it had been held behind a dam for years. The storm became my music, the balcony my stage, and I didn’t care about looking foolish or being "proper."
I caught his gaze through the curtain of falling water. He stood there, leaning against the doorframe, watching me with that quiet, piercing look that always made me feel truly seen. He didn’t join the dance, but his eyes followed every movement, every frantic turn, as if he were memorizing the shape of my joy.
“Look at me!” I called out, breathless and dizzy. “This is how I want to remember us.”
The words were raw, slipping out before I could filter them. But they were true. I wanted him to see me like this, wild, unguarded, and completely alive. I wanted him to know that the woman who had fallen for him was still here, and that she loved him still.
Gradually, my movements slowed. The frantic spinning faded into a gentle sway as I walked toward him. Rainwater streameddown my forehead and into my eyes, but I didn't wipe it away. I wanted him to see everything, the joy, the relief, and the lingering ache of our journey.
He reached for me then. His hand felt incredibly warm against my chilled, wet skin as he cupped my face. I leaned into his touch, resting my forehead against his chest. I could hear the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart, a counterpoint to the chaotic thrum of the storm.
Tomorrow, we would return to the noise and the suffocating expectations of home. We would return to the chaos of our "real" lives. But tonight, in this Indonesian downpour, something settled deep inside my soul. The distance that had once felt like a canyon between us had been washed away, leaving only the two of us.
I closed my eyes and held him tighter, my wet clothes dampening his shirt. Bali had given me sunsets and silences, but it had also given me back my husband. As the storm raged on around us, I realized I wasn't just dancing for myself anymore. I was dancing for us.
I was electrified when his hand was a slow, burning trail as it slid beneath the hem of my gown. My breath hitched, caught in the back of my throat, the moment his fingers found the hook of my bra. I could feel my lungs shuddering, the rhythm of my heart frantic against my ribs, but I couldn't bring myself to look at him. Saurav was breathing hard, the heat of his body radiating against mine, and I felt a heavy, honeyed warmth pooling between my thighs.
With a deft flick of his wrist, he unhooked the clasp and yanked the lace away. My breasts felt heavy and sensitive, the nipplesimmediately peaking as they pressed against the thin, damp cotton of my gown.
"Stop me if you want," he whispered. His voice was a husky rasp, vibrating against my skin as he leaned forward.
He didn't wait for a verbal answer; instead, he latched onto one nipple through the fabric. I let out a broken moan. The contrast was electric, the wet, scorching heat of his tongue through the cloth clashing with the chill of the air. While his mouth claimed one side, his hand was already there to worship the other, kneading the soft flesh with a possessive grip. My fingers tangled in the hair at the back of his head, pulling him closer as he continued his sweet torture.