THE FORBIDDEN DESIRE

THE FORBIDDEN DESIRE Chapter One – The Miracle Man The incense stick smoldered in Shubha Rao’s hostel room, ribbons of sandalwood smoke curling upward, softening the edges of the morning light. Dust motes swirled in golden spirals where the sun slipped through the mesh of the window. Cross-legged before her tiny wooden mandir, Shubha pressed her palms together. Her lips moved, but her heart shouted louder than any prayer. I’m not jealous, Krishna. Truly, I’m not. I smile when my friends find love. But why never me? Just once, I want to know what it feels like—to belong to someone. Please… send me a miracle. One person who is mine. Her breath trembled as she laid a marigold at the idol’s feet. A small, foolish hope bloomed in her chest before she shook herself back to reality. Exams were two months away. Miracles had no place in the syllabus. She tucked her dupatta neatly over her shoulder, grabbed her bag, and hurried out. By afternoon, the classroom sagged with the weight of post-lunch drowsiness. Shubha and her best friend, Tanuja, leaned against their desks, whispering about nothing, stifling yawns as the fan creaked overhead. And then—silence. It rippled through the room, students turning one after another. The chatter died as if someone had cut a string. Shubha frowned and lifted her eyes. A man stood in the doorway. White shirt, sleeves rolled up, dark blue jeans that belonged more to a younger man than a professor. His jawline was sculpted, his salt-and-pepper hair perfectly at odds with his lean frame. His eyes—dark, unwavering—seemed to strip the air of pretence. The energy shifted. Girls sat straighter, hands darting to hair, lips curving into sudden smiles. “This is Dr. Arjun Varma, Associate Professor of Trauma Surgery,” the manufacturing professor announced. “He’ll take today’s lecture.” Shubha’s fingers tightened around her pen. Heat rushed to her cheeks. She dropped her gaze, pretending to adjust her notes. Beside her, Tanuja wasted no time. She scribbled across the last page of her notebook and nudged it under Shubha’s nose. LOOK at his jaw! Oh God, too handsome! I can’t breathe! Shubha hid her grin behind her hand, though her insides weren’t much different. Each word he spoke in that calm, steady voice pressed against her chest, scattering her concentration. She tried to focus on the diagrams, the cases he explained with clinical ease, but her treacherous gaze wandered: the rope of veins down his forearm as he held the chalk, the faint furrow in his brow when he paused to think. The hour dissolved in a blur of shallow breaths. When the bell rang, Dr. Varma capped the marker, gave a single nod, and left without ceremony. The silence cracked into squeals. “He’s like a movie star!” “Did you see his hair?” “I hope he teaches again tomorrow—” Shubha gathered her books in silence, cheeks still warm. “Don’t even try to deny it,” Tanuja teased as they left the hall. “Your eyes were glued to him too.” “He’s just a professor,” Shubha muttered, attempting conviction. “We’ve seen doctors before. You’re exaggerating.” But the words rang hollow, even to her. The echo of her morning prayer clung to her like perfume. A miracle. A man. Could it really be… him? ___ That evening, in the hospital staff lounge, Arjun Varma nursed a cup of tea across from his colleague, Dr. Vishnu Menon. “I heard you took a final-year class today,” Vishnu said, smirking. “The girls must’ve gone mad.” Arjun shot him a look over the rim of his cup. “They’re students, Vishnu. I was there to teach, not entertain.” “Still,” Vishnu persisted, “you’ve become the new poster boy. Nurses, interns, even the junior doctors—everyone’s whispering about your salt-and-pepper charm.” Arjun exhaled, leaning back. “Charm doesn’t save patients. A steady hand does.” The words fell heavy, weighted with unspoken history. Too many surgeries, too many failures—too many scars invisible beneath the skin. Vishnu read the wall his friend always kept and let it stand. He laughed, steering the conversation toward a tricky case from that morning. They dissected surgical decisions, each moment replayed like soldiers trading war stories. Later that night, Arjun unlocked his apartment door. Silence pressed in, heavy and familiar. He tossed his keys onto the counter, peeled off his shirt, and left it crumpled on the floor. In the bathroom, the mirror caught him unguarded: hair mussed, jaw shadowed, scars sketched faintly across his chest. His body carried the discipline of years, but also the weight of loneliness no exercise could burn away. He turned on the shower. Water thundered down, sluicing over his shoulders, tracing the ridges of muscle, sliding in restless streams down his torso. Heat wrapped around him, coaxing the tension from his skin. He braced his palms against the cool tiles, head bowed, breath thick in the rising steam. Foam clung to him, lather sliding slowly across his chest, over the sharp cut of his abdomen, before breaking away in rivulets. Droplets clung stubbornly to the line of his jaw, caught for a moment on his lips before falling. The room blurred into mist, the mirror clouding, the world outside disappearing. Only the rhythm of water, the slick warmth of skin, and the solitude of a man who carried too much—and revealed too little. --- Far across the city, Shubha stirred in her narrow hostel bed. Her lips curved in a smile even in sleep. “Shubha!” Her eyes blinked open to Tanuja shaking her shoulder, grinning like a cat. “You were smiling in your dreams. Who was it? Don’t tell me Dr. Varma already?” Shubha flushed, burying her face in the pillow. “Shut up, Tanu. You and your nonsense.” But when the laughter faded and the room fell quiet, Shubha lay awake, her heart quickening. Maybe God really did hear me this morning. Because her dreams were no longer filled with exams or books. They were filled with him. Dr. Arjun Varma. Chapter Two – The First Touch The final stretch before exams had begun. The corridors buzzed with students juggling notes, practical schedules, and stolen cups of coffee. For Shubha and Tanuja, there was one more distraction—Dr. Arjun Varma. They had already attended several of his classes by now, and every lecture only deepened the crush that had swept through half the girls in college. Tanuja had gone from doodling hearts in her notebook to openly declaring him her “dream surgeon.” Even Shubha, who always pretended indifference, found herself hanging on to the cadence of his voice, the cut of his profile when he leaned over the desk. The whispers had spread through the hospital too. By now, everyone knew his story. Forty. Divorced. Single. A man who commanded operating rooms with an iron presence, admired and feared in equal measure. That afternoon, during a practical session on surgical instruments, Arjun moved along the rows, explaining each tool with precise ease. He paused near Tanuja, reaching over her shoulder to hand her a retractor. His fingers brushed lightly against her hand—barely a touch, an accident. But Tanuja froze. Her cheeks flushed crimson. By the time the class ended, she was clutching Shubha’s arm, whispering excitedly. “Shubha, you won’t believe it. He touched me. Just for a second—when he gave me the instrument.” Shubha forced a smile, but something hot twisted inside her chest. Jealousy. Sharp, sudden, unfamiliar. The idea of Arjun’s hand brushing anyone else’s—even by accident—made her stomach knot. “You go back to the hostel,” she said quickly. “I just remembered some work.” Tanuja blinked, surprised, but didn’t question it. She waved and left. Shubha’s pulse hammered as she turned down the corridor. Every step carried her closer to the faculty rooms. She hesitated only once outside his door, then knocked. It swung open to reveal Arjun himself, tall, composed, his gaze questioning. “Why did you come?” he asked, his tone neutral. She dropped her eyes. “I… lost my keys. I thought maybe I left them at my seat. Could I look?” He nodded once, stepping aside. Shubha walked in, pretending to search the benches, but her mind was a storm. She hadn’t lost anything. Her heart had dragged her here. Finally, she turned to him. And for the first time, she didn’t hide. Her eyes lingered, soft and flirty, drinking him in. Something in his chest tightened. For a second, he forgot to breathe. “Can I…” she hesitated, then whispered, “Can I touch you? I’ve… admired you.” The words stunned him. His composure cracked. He should have said no, should have reminded her of boundaries. But instead, before he could stop himself, the words slipped out: “Touch me.” Shubha’s lips parted in a shy smile. Slowly, carefully, she reached out and placed her fingers on his forearm. Heat shot through her like a spark. His skin was firm, warm, alive beneath her touch. She blushed, giggled softly, then drew her hand back. “Thank you,” she whispered, and before he could respond, she slipped out the door. Arjun stood frozen, staring at the empty doorway. His breath came uneven, his thoughts chaotic. Her eyes. Her lips. The curves of her body. That innocent yet daring touch. He closed his eyes, and for a dangerous moment, he let himself imagine what he shouldn’t. A knock broke the spell. His lips curved unconsciously into a smile. He didn’t even open the door before saying, “Come in.” But it wasn’t her. It was Vishnu. Arjun straightened at once, his smile faltering. Vishnu arched a brow. “Well, well. What’s with the happy face? You look like a man caught daydreaming.” “Nothing,” Arjun said quickly. But Vishnu wasn’t fooled. “Arjun…” Vishnu leaned against the desk, studying him. Arjun exhaled, running a hand through his hair. “She touched me. Shubha.” Vishnu’s eyes widened. But before he could say anything, Arjun cut the conversation short, changing the subject. Three days of festival holidays followed. Shubha went home, but her mind never did. Again and again, she replayed that moment. The warmth of his forearm. The way her breath caught. The way he hadn’t stopped her. She touched him once in reality, and a thousand times in her imagination. That night, she drifted into sleep — and her dream carried her back to him. She saw herself in the empty classroom, standing closer than she ever dared. Arjun’s shirt was half unbuttoned, his breath uneven. His hand brushed hers, then lingered. She tilted her head, her lips parting as his gaze locked on her mouth. The heat in his eyes made her tremble. When his fingers slid against her cheek, she leaned into the touch, her body alive with yearning. She imagined his arm circling her waist, pulling her flush against his chest, the strength of him overwhelming her softness. “Arjun…” she whispered in her dream, and the name left her lips like a confession. His lips brushed hers — tentative at first, then deeper, hotter, as though he had given up fighting himself. Her pulse raced, her breath mingled with his. She felt his body pressed into hers, the raw dominance of a man too controlled in daylight but too hungry in the dark. She clutched his shirt, wanting more, needing more. Her dream blurred into heat and touch and desire until she woke with a gasp, her body trembling, her heart pounding as if she had really been in his arms. Shubha lay staring into the darkness, her face burning. It was only a dream… but why did it feel so real? For the rest of the holidays, she carried that dream with her, replaying it in secret, letting the desire consume her in ways she had never known before. Because now, it wasn’t just admiration. It was something deeper. Something forbidden. Something she couldn’t stop. Chapter Three – The Secret Begins The festival holidays ended, but Shubha returned with more than just books in her bag. She returned with a restless ache in her chest, an unshakable memory of what it felt like to touch him. In the quiet of her hostel nights, her fingers still tingled where they had brushed his skin. That single, stolen moment replayed endlessly—sometimes slow, sometimes sudden, always burning. She carried it like a secret flame no one else could see. Back in college, she tried to drown herself in exam prep. She underlined notes, memorized definitions, rehearsed procedures. But every page of book blurred into his face. Every case study whispered his name. Her pen wandered into doodles of his initials, curling letters disguised as “practice handwriting.” Desire was no longer a shadow. It was a constant, insistent pulse. At first, she fought it by writing. Little love quotes, stolen from songs and her own heart. She scribbled them on sticky notes in bright pink and yellow ink. At night, when the hospital lot was quiet, she would slip outside like a thief and paste them on the windshield of his car. Sometimes a single line: “Miracles do happen.” Other times, something bolder: “One touch can burn forever.” She never signed them, never dared. But the thought of him arriving in the morning, finding her words, maybe even keeping one in his pocket—it made her stomach flutter and her lips curl into a smile. It wasn’t enough. Soon, a wilder idea took root. One afternoon, she slipped into the hospital’s telephone directory room, heart racing as though she were committing a crime. The heavy book of numbers smelled of dust and paper, its pages filled with doctors’ names in neat columns. Her finger trailed nervously until she found it: Dr. Arjun Varma. The sight of it—just letters and digits—made her chest tighten. She copied it down carefully, her pulse hammering. That evening, back in her room, she stared at the number glowing on her screen. Her thumb hovered, trembling. She typed with shaking fingers: “You’re admired more than you know.” The vibration of the phone when the message sent felt like a heartbeat. Over the next few days, she grew bolder. Short, flirty notes. A little playful, a little dreamy. Never enough to give herself away, yet always enough to tease. Sometimes she wrote: “Your voice makes lectures feel like poetry.” Other times: “Some miracles walk in human form.” She lived for the thought that she had invaded his carefully guarded world. But then, one night, recklessness carried her further. She dialed. The line clicked. “Hello?” His voice was sharp, weary. Her breath caught. Silence stretched. “Who is this?” he demanded. She opened her lips but no sound came. And then his voice hardened, almost angry. “Listen. I don’t care who you are. I’m divorced. I’m not interested in anyone. Whoever is wasting my time—stop. Concentrate on your studies. Don’t make mistakes you’ll regret.” The call ended. Shubha stared at her phone, numb. His rejection slashed deeper than she expected. Her throat burned. For the first time, she wondered if desire could actually hurt. When Tanuja peeked over her shoulder later and asked casually, “Who’s got you smiling at your phone all the time?”. Shubha forced a laugh, shoving the phone under a pillow. “Nobody. Just college groups.” But her friend’s curious glance lingered a second too long. Days later, Arjun entered class with his usual composure. White shirt, steady stride, that aura of distance. He spoke as he always did—calm, precise, without flourish. Yet Shubha could barely hear. Every sentence carried the echo of his voice from that call. When the lecture ended and the room emptied, his gaze flicked to her. “Shubha Rao. My office.” Her stomach dropped. She followed, every step heavy with dread. Inside, he closed the door softly, but his eyes were sharp, unreadable. “Someone has been calling me. Irritating me. Playing games,” he said evenly. “If you know who it is, tell them to stop.” Her heart pounded so loud it was deafening. She nodded quickly, murmured something, and fled. But in that charged silence—when his eyes had locked onto hers—she had known. And so had he. They didn’t need words. The truth flickered between them like lightning. That night, she sat on her hostel bed, her phone clutched so tightly her knuckles whitened. She typed one line: “You found the girl.” Her screen lit up instantly. “Call me. After college.” Her breath caught. When the time came, she dialed. His tone was calmer, but heavy. “First, you should know my truth. I’m forty. Divorced. I’ve made mistakes. My life isn’t easy. And I don’t want to hurt anyone again.” For a second, it sounded like he was about to hang up. “No—wait,” she blurted, desperation cracking her voice. “Please. Just listen.” Silence. She could hear his breathing, slow, controlled, as if fighting himself. “I know your truth,” she whispered. “And I don’t want promises or forever. I’m not asking for love…“I just don’t want to leave college never knowing what it feels like to be wanted.”. I just… I want to feel what others feel. Everyone around me has someone. I don’t want to be left behind. I want to experience it too.” Her honesty stunned him. The silence was long, unbearable. Finally, his voice came low, resigned. “Then understand this—we keep it private. No one else knows. Not your friends. Not a soul. Do you understand?” Her lips curved into a trembling smile. “Yes,” she whispered. “A secret. Just ours.” And so it began. At first, only a few messages. Then, daily half-hour calls after college. She talked about her classes, her exam fears, her friends’ gossip. He told her about surgeries, difficult cases, the exhaustion that clung to him like a second skin. It was nothing, and it was everything. In the hospital corridors, their eyes began to linger. Quick, subtle glances that burned longer than touches. In class, she let her smile linger a moment too long, let her fingers brush instruments he handed just a little too deliberately. And though his face betrayed nothing, she could feel it—his silence noticed. His composure cracked when no one else looked. Tomorrow, when he passed her in the corridor, he wouldn’t just be her professor anymore. He would be her secret. Chapter Four – The First Drive Exams loomed like a stormcloud. Shubha buried herself in notes and textbooks, yet no matter how many hours she studied, the words blurred, slipping through her tired mind. Her nights grew long, her mornings heavy. Dark circles carved shadows beneath her eyes. “Yaar, you’ll fall sick like this,” Tanuja scolded one evening, tossing a pillow at her. “At least eat dinner properly. Exams will come and go. Don’t die before them.” Shubha forced a smile. But her insides were in knots. It was Arjun who noticed. During class, when she struggled to answer a routine viva, his eyes lingered on her longer than usual. Not with scolding, but with concern. Later, in the corridor, when their paths crossed, he lowered his voice. “You look drained. Are you sleeping at all?” She swallowed, shaking her head. “Trying. But… nothing goes in.” “Sit,” he said firmly, guiding her toward a quiet bench. For the next half-hour, he explained difficult topics—patient assessment, priority-based decision-making—with a clarity that cut through her haze. His tone wasn’t professor to student; it was steadier, softer, as if he’d peeled away his armor just for her. When he left, she felt lighter. Not because of the syllabus, but because he had seen her. The next afternoon, her phone buzzed. A message. “I’m free today. Do you want a break? Just a short drive. To breathe.” Her heart leapt. Before her mind could argue, her fingers typed back: “Yes.” Within minutes, she was dressed, dupatta pinned, face half-covered with a scarf. She paced outside the hospital gates, every nerve buzzing. When his car slowed beside her, her pulse nearly tripped over itself. She slid in, the scent of leather and faint cologne wrapping around her. For a moment, silence filled the car. She sat stiff, clutching her bag in her lap, blushing furiously. He glanced at her, smiling faintly. Deep down, his mind screamed warnings. Wrong. Too young. She deserves freedom, not chains. She will leave you, just like the rest. But his heart—traitor that it was—softened. Her nervous smile, her wide eyes, the delicate curve of her neck… he was lost. The road stretched ahead, wide and quiet. Shubha exhaled slowly, shoulders relaxing. The first minutes passed in silence until she found courage to speak—small things at first: which subject terrified her most, how Tanuja mocked her “serious face,” how she sometimes felt invisible in crowds. He listened. Truly listened. The weight of her words softened something inside him. “You carry more than you should,” he said quietly. She looked at him, startled. “And you don’t?” For a moment, his jaw tightened. But he said nothing. The silence deepened into something heavier, charged. His hand moved almost without thought. Resting gently at her neck, his fingers slid upward, brushing her skin. Shubha stiffened, her breath catching. Slowly, he trailed over her cheek, grazing the line of her jaw, threading into her hair. Her world shrank to that touch. She didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Her lips parted, air shallow. His hand shifted lower, until the pad of his finger brushed against her mouth. He traced her lips lightly, feeling the soft creases, the warmth. Shubha closed her eyes, trembling. “Park,” she whispered suddenly, voice breaking. He blinked. “What?” “Stop the car. Park somewhere.” He pulled into a quiet side road. The engine stilled, leaving only the sound of their breaths. Shubha turned toward him. Her hand reached up, tentative at first, then firmer, sliding across his face. She traced every line—the strong jaw, the faint stubble, the scar at his temple. Her touch was reverent, worshipful. And then she leaned closer, eyes closing, lips hovering near his. Arjun’s heart pounded. He wanted it—God, he wanted it—but instead he smiled. Her eyes flew open. Anger flared. She jerked back into her seat, crossing her arms. “You’re laughing at me?” Before she could move further away, his arm shot out. He caught her waist, pulled her toward him, until she was perched on his lap, gasping. His other hand cupped her neck, tilting her head. His lips descended. This time, there was no hesitation. The kiss was fire. Rough at first, then melting, pulling her deeper. His mouth trailed from her lips down her neck, to the edge of her collarbone. She clutched his shirt, nails digging in, her body pressed against his. Heat surged everywhere. And then—he stopped. Slowly, gently, he set her back on her seat. His chest heaved, his eyes dark, but his hands reached for the glove compartment. He pulled out a small chocolate box, pressed it into her hands. “For your exams,” he said quietly. If he kissed her again, he wouldn’t stop. And stopping was the only way to protect her. She stared at him, stunned. Her lips tingled, her body screamed for more, but all she had was chocolate. Her throat ached. “I expected you to… to want me.” His lips curved, bittersweet. “You’re too young to be destroyed by me. Finish your final year.” The words broke her last wall. “I love you,” she blurted. Silence. He didn’t reply. He only started the car, eyes fixed on the road, every line of his face unreadable. The drive back was a blur. When they reached her hostel, he dropped her without a word. Tanuja was waiting at the gate. She folded her arms. “Where did you vanish? I called twice.” Shubha fumbled, holding up the chocolate box. “Went to buy these.” Tanuja eyed her, suspicious. “Since when do you smile like that after chocolates?” Shubha laughed it off, rushing past. But her friend’s eyes lingered, sharp, curious. Exams began. The campus drowned in books and late-night study sessions. But Shubha’s mind remained divided. Half on her syllabus, half on him. And then came the whispers. Arjun Varma with interns. Arjun walking with postgraduates. Arjun’s late-night rounds with a particular junior. The rumors reached her ears like daggers. She confronted him once, voice trembling. “Is it true? About the interns?” He sighed, patient but firm. “No. Don’t believe everything you hear.” “But they keep saying—” “You’re jealous,” he cut in gently. “Don’t let it consume you.” His calm only confused her more. He never denied her place in his life, never pushed her away, but never once did he say the words she craved: I love you. All he gave was silence. Silence, and the burn of his gaze when no one else was looking. And tomorrow, when she sat for her exam, she knew only one question truly mattered: Did Arjun Varma love her back—or was she just another secret? THE FORBIDDEN DESIRE Chapter Five – Exam Day The exam hall buzzed with nervous energy. Pages rustled, pens tapped, and the smell of ink and sweat mingled in the air. Shubha sat at her desk, her fingers clutched around the pen so tightly her knuckles whitened. The question paper lay in front of her, its black letters swimming. She blinked hard, forcing her focus. But no matter how she tried, her thoughts betrayed her. Arjun Varma. The way his lips had burned against hers, only to leave her with chocolate instead of answers. The way he hadn’t said I love you back. The way rumors clung to his name in every corridor. Her heart was louder than the clock on the wall. Across the room, students scribbled furiously, but she paused, staring at her paper, her mind replaying every glance, every secret phone call. She shook her head sharply, reminding herself this was her final year. She could not afford mistakes. Not here. Not now. Still, her fingers trembled as she wrote. Outside the exam hall, Arjun stood in the corridor with folded arms. He had no duty there, yet he lingered, eyes scanning the row of students inside. His gaze found her immediately. Shubha Rao, head bent, hair falling across her cheek, lips pressed tight in determination. He should not have come. Every instinct warned him to keep distance. But something stronger had dragged him there — something he refused to name. “Why are you here?” Vishnu’s voice broke into his thoughts. The younger doctor leaned against the wall, raising an eyebrow. Arjun shrugged, keeping his face unreadable. “Just checking the arrangements.” Vishnu smirked. “Arrangements? Or someone in particular?” Arjun’s jaw tightened. He didn’t reply. When the bell rang and the papers were collected, Shubha stumbled out, her heart racing. The sunlight hit her face, but her relief was thin. She wanted to see him. Needed to. And there he was, leaning against the far wall, arms crossed. Their eyes locked. For a fleeting second, the world blurred around her. She almost ran to him, almost let her joy burst free. But then Tanuja grabbed her arm. “Come on! Let’s eat before the next paper!” Shubha forced a smile, hiding her thundering heartbeat. But when she glanced back, Arjun was still watching. His expression unreadable, his eyes too sharp, too soft, all at once. - That night, exhaustion swallowed her whole. She sprawled on her hostel bed, her notes scattered. But when her phone buzzed, her fatigue vanished. Unknown Number: “How was the exam?” Her lips curled instantly. She typed back with trembling fingers: “Better, because you were there.” The reply came slower this time. “I shouldn’t have been. You need focus, not distraction.” Shubha hesitated, then pressed her thumb to the screen. “You are my focus.” Silence stretched. She stared at the glowing phone, waiting. Doubting. Finally, his words appeared. “Don’t say that, Shubha. If I let myself believe it… I won’t stop.” Her chest tightened. She clutched the phone to her heart, her eyes wet, a smile tugging despite the ache. Tomorrow, another exam waited. But tonight, she slept with one truth stronger than any syllabus: Her forbidden desire had only just begun to burn. But even as she drifted into sleep, her phone stayed on the pillow beside her. She kept it close, waiting, hoping for his name to flash again. Because one message, one glance, one touch from him was enough to turn her whole world upside down. And deep down, Shubha knew the exams weren’t the only test she had to pass. The real question was whether her heart could survive Arjun Varma — or if this forbidden desire would consume her completely.