TOXIC IN HIS TOUCH

"Unkissed, But Undone"

CHAPTER 3

The sun rose late in the Roy household—or maybe the girls just slept in. It was Saturday, and the newness of college still buzzed in the air like leftover perfume from last night’s party. Downstairs, Piya Roy was already on her second cup of chai, legs folded beneath her as she animatedly spoke to their mother, Anjana.

"...and then Samantha sat next to me and just owned the room," she grinned. "She’s not like the other girls. She’s... unbothered. And bold."

Anjana smiled, stirring sugar into her tea. "Sounds like you’ve found yourself a real friend."

"Not just a friend," Piya said, eyes lighting up.

"She’s like the cooler sister I never had. Don’t worry, I’m not replacing Kriti—" she smirked, "—but Samantha gets me. I think I can breathe here."

Anjana’s smile lingered, a bit softer this time. "That’s all I’ve ever wanted, Piya."

Upstairs, Kriti Roy finally emerged from her room at noon, hair wild and sleep still clinging to her lashes. Her phone had been buzzing since 11. She knew who it was. She just wasn’t ready to reply. She walked into the kitchen, barely acknowledging her surroundings as she twisted her hair into a loose bun.

Anjana raised an eyebrow. "Looks like someone had fun last night. How was your college, Miss Cool?"

Kriti grabbed a piece of toast and didn’t bother making eye contact. "What do you wanna know, mom? I’m not sixteen. And I’m not Piya."

The silence that followed was tight but familiar. Anjana had learned to choose her battles with Kriti.

Kriti walked away, toast in hand, phone still buzzing in her pocket. When she finally unlocked it, three unread texts glowed at her.

Arjun (10:59 AM): Still asleep?

Arjun (11:07 AM): So the red dress was just for one night?

Arjun (11:23 AM): I’m not good at being ignored.

She didn’t reply. Not yet.

Across the city, Arjun Bajwa had spent his Saturday doing what he usually avoided—thinking. Kriti hadn’t just gotten under his skin; she’d burrowed into the back of his mind and settled there like a dare he couldn’t walk away from.

The way she didn’t even try to impress anyone—least of all him—was somehow the only thing that did. But by noon, he was back in his usual role. The son. The charmer. The golden boy.

“Ma, I’ll take Sam to her tuitions today,” he said, casually helping Ramya set the table.

“You don’t have to do that, beta. Your father was going to—”

“I said I’ll take her,” Arjun cut in gently but firmly.

Ramya smiled, her hand brushing his cheek. "You’re my golden boy."

From behind a newspaper, his father grunted. "Golden boys don’t come home after 2 AM."

Arjun didn’t blink. "I was with Rahul. Studying for orientation."

The lie slid smoothly, but the tension in the room was harder to swallow. Ramya deflected with practiced ease, changing the subject before anything flared.

Later, parked outside Samantha’s tuition, Arjun scrolled his phone, jaw tight. Still no reply.

Samantha opened the car door and slid in. "Can I play my music, or are you going to keep brooding over Miss Red Dress?"

He smirked without looking up. "You saw her too, huh?"

"Everyone did. But you? You stared like she invented gravity."

"Shut up."

"Make me."

He ruffled her hair with a grin.

"You’re annoying."

"And you’re obsessed," she replied, a little too accurately.

_________

It was Sunday morning when the reply finally came.

Kriti (10:10 AM): You’re really bad at being ignored. That’s kinda cute.

Arjun (10:11 AM): And you’re really bad at texting back. That’s kinda mean.

Kriti: Good. Stay curious.

Arjun stared at her message like it was a riddle. She was short. Sharp. Wicked. And he was hooked.

That afternoon, the group decided to meet at a downtown café, the kind that looked like it belonged in a movie—brick walls, yellow lights, and tables that creaked with secrets. Rahul had dropped the plan in the chat like it was an order.

Rahul: House of Havoc. Coffee. Chaos. 4 PM. Be there.

And they came. Krish. Aarav. Sarah. Aliya. Kriti. Rahul. And, fashionably late, Arjun.

He walked in like he wanted the room to pause.

It didn’t.

Except for Kriti. Who saw him before he even looked up.

Their eyes locked—just long enough to burn. No words were spoken, but something unspoken blazed in the air. Sarah handed Kriti a brownie. Arjun fist-bumped Krish. Laughter flowed like background music. But underneath it all? A silent war. A game played only between two people who hadn’t yet touched but already felt too much.

No one noticed how Arjun’s eyes slid to Kriti’s lips every time she laughed. No one caught how Kriti only looked up when she knew he wouldn’t be looking back.

They were killing it. With silence. With eyes. With restraint.

Aliya nudged him. “You good?”

Arjun nodded coolly. The rain poured harder, transforming from a soft whisper to a full-blown downpour, soaking them to the bone in seconds. The kiss lingered between them, even as their lips parted, breath shallow, hearts pounding like thunder in their chests.

Kriti blinked slowly, rainwater dripping from her lashes, lips still tingling from his. Arjun exhaled sharply, running a hand through his drenched hair, his forehead gently resting against hers for a beat longer before he finally spoke.

“We need to get out of this rain.”

She nodded silently, and he reached for her hand—not to pull, not to lead, just to hold—as they jogged back to the car. The slam of the doors muffled the storm outside, but inside? Their silence was louder than ever.

Arjun reached into his gym bag in the backseat, rummaging until he found a towel—still slightly warm from the earlier sun. Without hesitation, he twisted in his seat and gently began patting the towel over her hair, fingers careful not to tug or rush.

Kriti tilted her head slightly, a teasing smirk dancing on her lips. “You do this often? Got a routine, Mr. Bajwa?”

He paused, towel still in his hands.

And that’s when it hit him.

He didn’t.

He never did this. Never cared to. Never slowed down. Never stayed long enough to worry if a girl caught a cold in the rain. He had always been the flirt, the fire-starter, the boy who kissed like a promise and disappeared before morning.

But here he was—drying her hair, glancing at her soaked sleeves, wondering if she was cold, wondering what else she needed that she wouldn’t say out loud.

And she just kept looking at him, eyes unreadable but calm. Safe.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he muttered, almost defensive.

“Like what?” she asked softly.

“Like I’m more than who I was yesterday.”

Kriti leaned back, her face half-shadowed by the dim, rain-fogged windows. “Maybe you are.”

He stared at her, trying to find the version of himself that would usually laugh that off, turn the moment into a joke, brush past it with another line.

But he couldn’t.

Because for the first time in a very long time—maybe ever—he didn’t want to play the part everyone expected.

He wanted to stay right there, in that stormy quiet, with her.

---

He started the engine and drove in silence. No music. No jokes. No flirting.

Just her breathing softly beside him, wrapped in the towel he kept only because of a forgotten soccer practice. The streets blurred past them like a memory he didn’t want to lose.

As he slowed near her neighborhood, the glow of the street lamps catching on raindrops clinging to the windshield, he finally spoke—low, rough, honest.

“My lips…” he murmured, stealing a glance her way, “...are sweetened now.”

Kriti turned her head slowly, brow lifting. “Excuse me?”

He gave a lopsided smile, shrugging one shoulder. “I’m not good at metaphors, okay? Just—what you did back there... I’m not used to it. This. You. It’s different.”

“Sweet?” she asked, voice laced with amusement.

“Dangerously.”

She didn’t answer.

Just smiled. And got out of the car.

But before closing the door, she bent slightly and whispered through the open window, “Then I guess you’ll have to come back for more.”

And just like that—she was gone.

Leaving him in the car, heart hammering, lips still tasting rain and her name.

---

But inside, he was already rewriting every scene in his head. And every version began with her.

By the end of the evening, they hadn’t spoken once. And somehow, it felt louder than a scream. The fire had started. No one saw it. But they? They were already burning.

________

By the time the group settled into the corner booth of the café, the air was thick with chatter, laughter, and a hundred filtered versions of the same moment. Krish and Aarav were locked in a loud debate over playlist supremacy, Rahul posed dramatically with a cappuccino, and Sarah and Aliya worked the angles of their ring lights like influencers on a mission.

But Kriti and Arjun? They were playing a different game. One of stillness. One of stolen glances and simmering restraint. No one noticed how his gaze lingered when she laughed. No one caught how she always looked away right before he did. They were the quietest in the room, and somehow the loudest.

And when Kriti move from her seat, casually excusing herself with a half-smile, Arjun followed exactly sixty seconds later.

She wasn’t surprised when he appeared in the dim corridor near the restroom, that flickering EXIT sign painting him in electric blue. He leaned against the wall beside her like he belonged there. Like she was the reason he showed up at all. “You following me now?” she teased, arms folded, tone light but eyes burning.

“You walked away like you wanted to be followed.” His voice was low, rough around the edges, like he hadn’t decided if this was a mistake or the smartest move he’d ever made.

“Maybe I did,” she murmured, gaze steady.

He stepped forward, slow and certain, until his hand was braced on the wall beside her head and their bodies were inches apart. The heat between them was suffocating—thick and wild and ancient, like they had done this in a hundred lifetimes and still couldn’t get enough.

“You’re dangerous,” he whispered.

“Then leave.”

“Can’t.”

Still, he didn’t kiss her. Not yet. He leaned in close enough to inhale the scent of her hair—warm vanilla and fire—and it made his chest clench. She tilted her chin slightly, offering him the curve of her neck like a dare, like a challenge. But even then—nothing. No kiss. No touch. Just air, and eyes, and all the things they didn’t say.

And then—she moved. Past him. Into the bathroom. Left the door cracked behind her. An invitation, but not a promise.

He waited. Three seconds. Maybe four. Then stepped inside, locking the door behind him.

Kriti stood in front of the mirror, fixing her hair like she hadn’t just lit the room on fire. He walked toward her slowly, like every step required control. “What do you want, Arjun?” she asked, voice calm but threaded with tension.

He didn’t answer. Not with words.

He reached up and brushed a strand of hair from her face, fingers trailing against her cheek like a secret. Her jaw flexed. Her breath hitched. Still—no kiss.

“I’ve never wanted to touch someone and not touch them this badly,” he admitted, the words punching through the silence.

“Then don’t,” she whispered into his ear, voice like smoke and sin.

But they didn’t stop. Couldn’t.

She turned to face him fully, closing the distance like a decision. Her hand traced his jaw, slow and certain, fingers sliding into his hair. He leaned in, his mouth hovering just above hers, breaths mingling like static. Arjun’s hands found her waist, pulling her against him in one swift motion. Her hips pressed into his. Her fingers curled tighter in his hair. They didn’t kiss. Not yet. But their lips hovered so close, their breaths tangled like they’d already crossed the line.

He leaned into her ear, voice cracking at the edges. “I’ve been wanting to do this since the moment I saw you.”

“Then why didn’t you?” she asked, skin humming beneath his touch.

“Because I didn’t want to scare you off,” he confessed. “But f**k, Kriti… I can’t keep pretending I don’t notice you.”

Her smirk was wicked. “Notice me, huh? What else do you notice?”

“Everything,” he said, voice deeper now. “Your eyes. Your mouth. The way you walk like you don’t owe anyone an apology. And this…” His thumb grazed the bare skin under her shirt, a featherlight touch that made her shiver. “I’ve imagined what’s underneath a hundred times.”

Kriti’s breath caught. She leaned forward, lips brushing the corner of his, her voice nothing but heat. “You’re not the only one with an imagination.”

That was when it happened—not a kiss, not s*x. But a storm. His hands on her hips. Her fingers tracing the line of his spine. Their bodies pressed together in a feverish embrace that stopped just short of unraveling everything. He pinned her lightly against the cold sink. Her legs brushed his. Her lips ghosted over his jaw. Their chests rose and fell like they were running out of time.

They never kissed.

They didn’t need to.

Because somehow this was more.

And when they pulled apart—reluctantly, breathlessly—they weren’t the same.

Kriti smoothed her hair. Arjun unlocked the door.

Outside, the group was still posing under fairy lights, arguing about captions and lighting and hashtags.

No one noticed they had slipped away.

And no one noticed the wildfire they had started.

By the end of the night, Arjun and Kriti still hadn’t said a single word to each other in front of the group.

And somehow, it felt louder than a scream.

The fire had started.

No one saw it.

But they?

They were already burning.

To be continued