Sameera's POV:
The sound of waves woke me before my alarm could. It was still dim outside, that soft pre-dawn blue, but the ocean was already breathing steadily beyond the glass balcony doors. I lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, my heart still tangled in the memory of last night — the weight of his gaze when he thought I was asleep… the warmth of his forehead against mine.
I hated that I remembered every second of it.
I hated even more that I didn't want to forget.
The others were still asleep, some sprawled on mattresses in the living room, some in their rooms. I grabbed a sweatshirt and slipped out quietly, needing space… needing air.
The beach was cool under my bare feet, the sand damp and firm. The world felt half-asleep — just the whisper of waves and the distant cry of a bird. I walked aimlessly toward the water, letting the breeze clear my head.
"Couldn't sleep?"
His voice was soft, but it still made my breath catch.
I turned, and there he was — Saharsh, hands in his pockets, walking toward me like he'd known exactly where I'd be.
"I… just wanted some air," I murmured.
He didn't answer right away, just fell into step beside me, the silence between us somehow louder than the waves. We stopped near where the tide reached up to kiss the shore and sat down, facing the horizon.
The sky was beginning to blush with light.
We didn't speak, but every few seconds, I'd feel his gaze brush against me, and it was maddening. My chest was too tight.
The sun finally began to rise, spilling molten gold across the water. I turned to look at him… and then I made the mistake of holding that look.
The light painted his face in warm tones, catching in his eyes, tracing the curve of his jaw. He was so close, too close, and my brain screamed to look away but my body… didn't listen.
If I leaned forward just an inch—
His eyes flicked down to my lips, and his breath hitched almost imperceptibly. Slowly, his eyelids lowered, leaning in that fraction that would end this in a kiss—
I shot to my feet. "We—we should wake the others. We're getting late for Mumbai."
I took a step, but his fingers wrapped firmly around my wrist, pulling me back with surprising force. I stumbled, landing against his chest, my palms splayed over the solid warmth of him.
"Sameera," he said, and my name was a low, rough thing in his mouth.
He didn't let go — instead, one arm slid around my waist, drawing me even closer. The other stayed on my wrist, his thumb brushing against my pulse. His breath was warm against the side of my neck, quick and uneven.
"You have no idea," he whispered, voice low and almost trembling, "how hard it's been to keep this in."
My heart pounded so hard it hurt. "Saharsh…"
"I like you," he said, each word heavier than the last. "And I can't pretend I don't anymore. Every time you walk away, it feels like I'm losing something I never even had… and I'm tired of that."
I didn't realize my eyes had gone wet until the breeze cooled my cheeks.
I couldn't move, couldn't speak.
"Say something," he murmured, forehead resting against mine now, his hold on me still unyielding.
I swallowed hard. "I… I can't—"
That was all I managed before I finally pushed against his chest, breaking free, my breath ragged. I turned and ran toward the house, not daring to look back — because if I did, I wasn't sure I'd be able to keep running.
The ride back to Mumbai felt longer than the entire trip to Alibaug.
Everyone piled into the two cars after breakfast, laughter and chatter filling the air like nothing unusual had happened. But for me, every sound was muffled, every movement dulled, because all I could hear was the echo of his voice from earlier — I like you… I can't pretend anymore.
I deliberately slipped into the back seat of the other car, sliding in between Manjiri and Shreya before Saharsh could take the spot beside me. I told myself it was because I was tired, because I wanted to rest my head against the window. But the truth was simpler — I didn't trust myself to sit next to him again.
The car rolled out of the beach house driveway, sunlight spilling in through the windows. I kept my gaze on the road ahead, stubbornly avoiding the tinted glass that reflected the second car behind us.
It didn't matter.
I felt him.
Like a physical weight, his eyes were on me. Every time I shifted in my seat, every time I tucked my hair behind my ear or leaned forward to adjust my bag, that awareness pressed in.
When we stopped at a signal, curiosity betrayed me — I glanced into the side mirror.
He was there, in the car behind us, head tilted slightly, gaze locked on me like the rest of the world didn't exist. The second our eyes met, my heart jumped into my throat.
I looked away instantly, heat rushing to my cheeks. Shreya noticed and asked if I was feeling feverish. I mumbled something about the sun being too bright.
But the truth was… I wasn't sure if I was running away from him, or from the part of myself that didn't want to run anymore.
By the time we reached Mumbai, the sky had started to fade into a dusty orange. The city was awake in its own way — impatient honks, the smell of roadside chai, neon signboards flickering to life.
The others dropped off one by one, and before I knew it, it was just me and Saharsh in his car.
I had tried to protest when he offered to drop me home, but Manjiri's "Let him, it's on the way" left no room to argue. And now here we were, the silence stretching between us like a taut wire.
I stared out the window, watching familiar streets roll by. My building was just around the corner when he suddenly spoke.
"You didn't sleep after… the beach, did you?"
His voice was low, careful.
I shook my head, still not looking at him. "Neither did you, I guess."
He gave a short, almost humorless laugh. "No. I was too busy thinking about how to stop myself from saying something I'd regret."
That made me turn to him. "Then why say it at all?"
His hands tightened on the steering wheel, eyes still fixed on the road. "Because pretending was harder than I thought it'd be."
The car rolled to a stop outside my building. I reached for the door handle, needing the night to end before it unraveled me completely.
But his hand caught mine — warm, steady, impossible to ignore.
I froze, my breath hitching as his thumb brushed slowly across my knuckles, the kind of touch that wasn't accidental.
"Sameera," he said, his voice low, almost rough. "You have no idea how hard it is to keep pretending I don't…" He stopped himself, jaw flexing. "Don't run from me again."
I looked at him then, and it was a mistake — the distance between us felt smaller than it really was. His eyes searched mine, flicking down briefly to my mouth before darting back up, like he'd caught himself in the act.
The air between us thickened, the city noise outside fading into something distant. I should've moved, opened the door, said goodnight. Instead, I stayed exactly where I was, aware of every inch of space — or lack of it — between us.
His hand lingered over mine a moment longer before he slowly let go, like it physically hurt to break contact.
I stepped out of the car without a word, but my heart was still somewhere in that driver's seat.
And even as I walked toward my building, I could feel him watching me — the weight of it like a hand at the small of my back, guiding me forward… or maybe holding me there.