Desire and sins

Chapter - 08 The Curse

The flat carried the faint, nostalgic smell of settled dust — as if time had paused here and memories were still floating in the air. With curtains drawn, the light was dim, almost secretive, yet the photographs on the wall seemed to glow with their own life. Riya’s photographs. College days, laughing with friends, smiling alone, dancing freely. In every frame she looked so vividly alive, so untouchably radiant.

Priya reached out and gently touched one of the frames. Those deep, sparkling eyes. That confident smile. That effortless self-assurance. Priya’s breathing became heavier, thicker. Something primal twisted inside her chest.

She turned toward Arjun.

He was still sitting on the floor, head bowed, eyes glistening. The old newspaper cutting trembled slightly in his fingers. Priya watched him. A storm raged within her — pain, jealousy, fierce love, and a dark, stubborn determination.

If Riya no longer exists in this world… then Arjun is mine now.

Completely mine.

But that fire inside him… it’s still burning.

I will either extinguish it…

or consume him in my own flames.

Priya moved toward him slowly, deliberately. She sank to her knees right in front of him. Her palm settled softly against his cheek, fingers tracing the line of his jaw with aching tenderness.

Priya (voice low, velvet-deep, almost trembling with emotion):

Arjun… look at me.

He slowly lifted his head. Priya’s eyes were wet, yet burning — twin flames of possession and desperation.

Priya (softly, almost a caress):

She’s gone.

(long, heavy pause)

Now… there’s only us.

(tracing slow circles on his cheek)

I can’t lose you.

(voice cracking slightly)

I’m insane for you.

(leaning closer)

And I want to claim you back.

(deep breath)

Right now.

(looking deep into his eyes)

Here.

(glancing toward the wall of photographs)

In front of her.

(whisper)

So your mind… your heart… your everything… belongs only to me again.

Arjun remained silent, his breathing uneven.

Priya’s fingers moved to the first button of his shirt. She opened it with agonizing slowness. With each button another kiss landed — soft, lingering, possessive — on his collarbone, over his heart, along the center of his chest. His body responded involuntarily, a fine tremor running through him.

She peeled the shirt away. Then, with the same unhurried intensity, his trousers followed. When he was finally bare before her, she let her gaze travel over him slowly, deliberately — drinking in every tense line, every evidence of his desire. Her eyes gleamed with dark satisfaction.

Priya (whisper against his ear):

Look at me… I’m yours.

(her fingers finding him, stroking with exquisite slowness)

I will give you everything…

she could never even dream of giving.

Priya rose gracefully. One by one, she shed her own clothes — kurta sliding from her shoulders, salwar whispering to the floor, undergarments following like surrendered secrets. When she stood naked in the faint light, her body seemed to drink the dim glow — full curves, narrow waist, generous hips, skin shimmering with quiet power.

She positioned herself directly in front of Riya’s smiling photographs.

Then she drew Arjun to his feet. She guided him until his back pressed against the wall — right beneath the gallery of Riya’s frozen joy.

Priya (breath hot against his ear):

Look at her.

(pointing with a subtle tilt of her chin)

She’s not here anymore.

(voice dropping lower)

Only I am.

(pressing her body flush against his)

And right now… I’m going to make you forget every memory that isn’t me.

She sank to her knees again. Her lips found him — slow, deliberate worship. Tongue tracing lazy, teasing circles. Taking him deeper, then deeper still. Arjun’s hands clenched in her hair, a broken sound escaping his throat.

Priya rose once more. She turned, palms flat against the wall, back arched invitingly toward him. The photographs of Riya stared down at them — silent witnesses.

Priya (husky whisper):

Come inside me…

(voice rising, urgent)

Claim me completely.

(turning her head slightly toward the pictures)

Right here.

In front of her.

(with fierce possession)

So you’ll finally understand…

I’m the only one who owns you now.

And you… belong to me.

He entered her in one slow, deep glide. Then faster. Harder. Priya’s body welcomed him with greedy heat. She gripped the wall, knuckles whitening. Deliberately she let herself become shameless — moans turning into cries, cries turning into something almost feral.

Priya (louder, broken):

Take me… Arjun…

(gasping)

I’m yours… only yours…

(glancing back at the photographs)

She’s gone… I’m real…

(faster, desperate)

Make me shatter… drown me…

(voice cracking)

I’m mad for you…

(screaming now)

Don’t ever let me go… please…

Arjun’s rhythm became relentless, driven by something beyond control. Their bodies collided with desperate urgency. Priya shattered first — a long, trembling cry that echoed off the walls. Arjun followed moments later, his groan muffled against her shoulder.

They collapsed together on the floor — tangled, sweating, breathless.

Priya curled into him, arms wrapped possessively around his chest, tears slipping silently down her cheeks.

Priya (voice small, broken, hopeful):

Now… you’re mine… right?

Arjun said nothing.

His eyes drifted upward — to the wall.

To Riya’s frozen smile.

The photographs were still there.

Still beautiful.

Still haunting.

A memory.

One that might slowly fade…

or perhaps…

would burn forever.

The night air on the terrace felt colder than the room they had left behind.

The city lights twinkled far below like scattered stars that had fallen and refused to die. A thin layer of moisture clung to the railing — remnants of the earlier rain. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked once, twice, then fell silent.

Priya had suggested coming up here almost without words.

“Just for some air,” she had said, but both of them knew it was more than that.

The room downstairs had become too heavy — filled with photographs, memories, and the lingering scent of what they had just done.

Arjun followed her up the narrow staircase in silence.

His shirt was half-buttoned, hair still messy. Priya wore only a thin shawl over her kurta now, barefoot, steps deliberate.

When they stepped onto the terrace, the wind immediately touched their skin — cool, almost accusing.

Priya walked straight toward the far corner, where an old, rusted metal trunk sat half-hidden behind a broken plastic chair and some forgotten potted plants that had long since dried up.

She stopped.

Arjun came up behind her.

The trunk was unlocked — lid slightly ajar, as if someone had left in a hurry.

Priya knelt down and slowly lifted the lid.

Inside — chaos in the form of memories.

A bunch of hastily clicked polaroid photographs spilled out first.

Some were blurry.

Some were taken at strange angles.

Riya.

Always Riya.

One photo showed her laughing in the middle of the night, hair wild, city lights behind her — exactly on this terrace.

Another — her sitting on the same railing, legs dangling dangerously over the edge, looking straight at the camera with a smile that said she was afraid of nothing.

A third — close-up of her face, eyes half-closed, lips parted, wind blowing strands of hair across her cheek. The timestamp on the bottom right: 2:47 AM, barely three weeks before she disappeared.

Priya’s fingers trembled as she picked up the next item.

A black silk camisole — crumpled, slightly torn at one strap.

It still carried the faint trace of Riya’s perfume — the same one that used to drive Arjun quietly mad.

Then a pair of delicate silver anklets — one broken, the tiny bells scattered loose inside the trunk like fallen stars.

And at the very bottom — a small, half-burnt diary page.

Only a few lines visible:

“…he said he would come tonight.

I waited till 3.

He didn’t.

I think I’m losing him… or maybe I’m losing myself.

If something happens to me, tell him I never stopped…”

The sentence was cut off — the rest charred black.

Priya stared at the page for a very long time.

Then she looked up at Arjun.

Her eyes were dry now.

No more tears.

Just something colder. Something final.

Priya (voice low, almost hollow):

She was waiting for you… that night.

(beat)

Right here.

On this terrace.

Arjun’s face drained of color.

He reached out, took the burnt page from her hand with shaking fingers.

Read the visible lines once.

Then again.

He sank down beside the trunk, knees hitting the cold concrete.

Arjun (whisper, broken):

I… I told her I would come.

I swear I did.

But that night… there was an emergency at the office… I…

(voice cracking)

I thought she would understand.

I thought there would be tomorrow.

Priya stood up slowly.

The wind lifted the edges of her shawl.

She walked to the railing — the very same spot where Riya had sat in the photograph, legs dangling over the void.

She didn’t sit.

She just stood there, looking down at the city.

Priya (without turning):

She left these things here.

Like she knew someone would find them.

Like she wanted them to be found.

(long silence)

Priya (softly, almost to herself):

Maybe she wanted you to feel this…

Exactly this.

Arjun remained on the floor, clutching the burnt page.

The anklets lay scattered between them — tiny silver bells that would never ring again.

Priya finally turned.

Her face was calm now.

Too calm.

Priya (quiet, but very clear):

We can keep searching for answers, Arjun.

We can keep chasing her ghost.

Or…

(eyes locking with his)

We can decide that some fires…

are only meant to teach us how to burn differently.

She extended her hand toward him.

Not to pull him up in comfort.

But as a choice.

Arjun looked at her hand.

Then at the trunk.

Then at the photographs scattered on the concrete.

Slowly, very slowly…

he reached out.

But his fingers hesitated — just an inch away from hers.

The wind picked up again.

One polaroid lifted off the ground, swirled once, twice…

and flew over the edge into the dark night below.

Neither of them moved to catch it.