TOXIC IN HIS TOUCH

TOXIC Storm Returns

One month later.

That’s how long it had been.

Thirty days of secret glances, stolen touches, and late-night climbs through Kriti’s bedroom window. They weren’t in love—not in the traditional sense. No confessions. No promises. Just bodies pulled like magnets, lips crashing in car backseats, hearts racing without understanding why. It was messy, obsessive, intoxicating.

Every day after school, they disappeared. A quick ride in Arjun’s car to nowhere. Kisses that turned into more. Her legs around his waist. His breath on her skin. And still, they never spoke about what it meant.

They didn’t need to. Or maybe they were afraid to.

Until the day she arrived.

It was a Thursday, sun hot and unforgiving, the college courtyard buzzing with its usual rhythm. Kriti was sitting on the edge of the bench with Aliya and Sarah, a cold soda bottle pressed against her neck. Arjun was leaned back against the stone ledge near the fountain, pretending to scroll his phone.

Then it happened.

The courtyard’s noise dulled.

Heads turned. Whispers floated like leaves in the wind. And there she was.

Long legs. Waves of glossy dark hair. A confident stride in boots that made no sound. She wasn’t trying to get attention. But attention bled into her path like a spotlight.

Krish choked on his chips. Aarav practically leaned forward with his mouth open.

“Who the hell is that?” Aliya whispered.

Sarah rolled her eyes. “Probably a model.”

But Rahul—quiet, always listening, never speaking Rahul—set his juice box down and muttered under his breath, "Not again."

Kriti’s stomach twisted.

Then the girl’s eyes landed on Arjun.

And Kriti’s entire world narrowed.

Arjun stood. Not like a guy seeing a hot girl. Like a guy who just saw a ghost. His lips parted. His fingers tightened against the stone ledge. For a second, he didn’t move at all.

Then she smiled.

And Arjun walked straight to her.

Kriti stood up before she realized it.

The girl didn’t speak immediately. She looked him up and down, a grin spreading slowly across her lips.

“Happy to see you again,” she said.

And Arjun hugged her.

Kriti blinked.

Not a side hug. Not casual. It was a full-body, eyes-closed, arms-tight kind of hug. The kind you give someone you've missed like oxygen.

Then the girl—Tara—pulled away slightly and said, “I think we need to talk.”

Arjun nodded.

And he followed her.

No glance back. No hesitation. No explanation.

Kriti’s chest tightened, her legs cold despite the heat. She stood frozen, the laughter around her muffled, like her ears were stuffed with cotton.

Sarah turned, confused. “Who was that?”

All eyes turned to Rahul.

He looked reluctant. Like he’d rather bite his tongue off.

But then he said it.

“That’s Tara,” he mumbled. “Arjun’s first love.”

The words echoed.

Kriti sat back down slowly, like her knees couldn’t carry her weight anymore.

First love.

And just like that, the game changed.

Everything they had—every secret, every kiss, every moment—they weren’t enough to stop him from walking away.

________

The evening was heavier than usual. Not with weather—but with silence. Arjun hadn’t come back.

Not a call. Not a text. Not even a sideways glance from across the courtyard.

He’d just… left.

Kriti hadn’t said a word since. She sat through the rest of the group hangout like her body was there, but her mind had already packed up and gone searching. For answers. For logic. For him.

And when the sun began dipping behind the main college building, painting everything gold and orange, she stood up quietly.

“Hey,” she said, walking past the others and stopping near Rahul. “Take a walk with me?”

Rahul blinked. “Uh… sure.”

They walked without talking at first, steps falling in sync, heading past the back lawn toward the quieter path behind the cafeteria.

She waited until the noise of the group had faded. Until it was just her and him and the crunch of gravel underfoot.

Then she cleared her throat and spoke. “So.”

Rahul glanced sideways. “So?”

Kriti smirked. “How come you never told me Arjun had an ex who looks like she walked out of a shampoo commercial?”

He groaned. “God. That’s how we’re starting?”

Kriti stopped walking, turning to face him. “Come on, Rahul. Who is she?”

Rahul looked at her for a second. Then sighed. “You really wanna know?”

“I think I deserve to,” she said, crossing her arms.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and leaned against the low wall beside the path. “She’s Tara.”

Kriti raised an eyebrow. “Tara…?”

“Arjun’s first love,” he said, flatly.

Those words landed like a punch to her chest.

She didn't respond. Just stared.

Rahul continued, slower now, like he was trying to decide what to leave out. “They were a mess. Got together in seventh grade—one of those stupid middle school things that never ends when it should.”

Kriti nodded stiffly.

“They broke up. Got back together. Broke up again. Arjun was obsessed with her. I mean obsessed.”

“When was the last time they broke up?” she asked quietly.

“Ninth grade,” Rahul said. “And she ghosted him.”

“What?”

“No text. No call. Nothing. Just disappeared.”

Kriti's brows drew together, heart lurching. “And now... she’s here?”

“Yep,” Rahul muttered, kicking a stone. “After four years. Boom. Same college, same group, same freaking timing.”

Kriti’s voice cracked before she could catch it. “Do you think he still… loves her?”

Rahul hesitated.

Too long.

“Rahul?”

He looked up slowly, guilt swimming in his eyes. “He only loves her.”

The words shattered in her chest like glass.

Kriti looked down, trying to keep her voice steady. “And what about what we had? Me and him?”

Rahul didn’t answer that.

Instead, he said, “They’re toxic. If they get back together—and they probably will—they’ll break up next month. And maybe get back again after a few more.”

Kriti swallowed. “Why?”

“Because that’s how they are,” Rahul said softly. “Messed up. Magnetic. Painful. Addictive.”

“And still... you think they’re soulmates?”

Rahul looked at her, his voice soft but unwavering. “Yeah. Because no matter what happens, the world always throws them back together.”

And with that, Kriti finally understood.

This wasn’t just an old flame showing up.

This was history crashing into her present—uninvited, loud, and impossible to ignore.

She looked up at the sky, suddenly colder than it was a second ago.

And all she could think was:

What the hell do I do now?

To be continued