1. The gaze
566 Words
It had been a few months since Isha West, a 20-year-old girl, came to the U.S. for her studies, yet she still wasn't used to it. The big buildings, neon signs, and many things were far different from the quieter, slower nights back home in India.
Still, some things remained the same.
People continued to stare. It didn't matter if she was walking down the street, sitting in a café, or standing in a crowd, eyes always found her. Men admired her. Women noticed her. Some whispered, but Isha never cared. Beauty was just there. Something she was born with. Something she had stopped thinking about a long time ago.
She stepped out of her college campus, adjusted her kurti, and walked towards the market. It was almost dinner time. The streets were busy with vendors calling out, people rushing home.
Her brown hair flowing till her waist, her sliver jhumkas jingling softly. A few heads turned, as always. Some men whispered to each other. A group of girls looked at her. She ignored them all.
Then
Headlights. A loud horn. A near crash!!
Before she could react, something was about to hit her.
Her knees scraped against the road, and she hit the ground.
The car stopped just in time, and Isha came to her senses.
She groaned, pushing herself up. Her palms burned from the fall, and her dress was slightly torn at her ankle. But she was alive.
And then, a hand,
Long fingers. A strong grip. Offering help. She looked up.
Tall. Dark-haired. Dressed in black. His expression was unreadable.
"He was the one driving the car".
Because of the near crash, Isha's heartbeat became so loud she could literally hear it. "This is his fault," she told herself, "He almost hit me and knocked me down."
For a moment, she wanted to refuse. But something in his gaze, steady, dark, unreadable, made her take his hand.
His fingers wrapped around hers, pulling her up effortlessly. The moment she was on her feet, he let her hand go.
"You're hurt," he said, his deep and smooth voice.
"I'm fine," she said angrily, brushing the dust off her dress. She felt the sting on her knees but refused to show the pain.
He didn't respond. He just turned, walked to his car, and pulled out a water bottle.
He came back, opened the bottle, and held it out to her. "Drink."
Isha hesitated. A part of her wanted to push it away to remind him that he was the reason she needed it in the first place. But her throat was dry, and her body still felt shaky.
She grabbed the bottle, took a slow sip, and exhaled.
And that's when she felt it.
The gaze.
The world around her blurred. The voices, the noise, the people, all of it faded.
Because he was staring at her.
Not with guilt. Not with worry. Not even with curiosity.
His gaze was different,
Heavy, cold, sharp.
For the first time in her life, Isha felt something strange when someone looked at her.
It wasn't admiration,
It wasn't attraction
It was like danger.
She had never feared being looked at before. Never, but under his gaze, she felt a chill run down her spine.
"It's just the shock," she told herself, "Nothing more."
Today was not like any other day,
Because today, she had met him.
- Writer
