Chapter 6: A Taste of Fire

Poornima stepped into the apartment, her heels clicking sharply against the floor, her mind still replaying that pantry moment from earlier.

She shut the door, locked it with a loud click, and sighed. The day had been long — and laced with tension.

She walked into the bedroom and slipped out of her work saree, tossing it neatly onto the chair. Pulling out a simple cotton kurta, she changed quickly, trying to cool down her head and her heart.

She combed her hair loosely and stepped into the dimly lit living room.

Suddenly—arms circled around her waist from behind.

> “You were hot today, Poornima,” Veeresh murmured against her ear, his voice dangerously smooth.

She tensed immediately. “Veeresh, leave me,” she said, trying to pull away.

But his grip was firm — not hurting, but grounding. Her back pressed against his chest, she could feel his heartbeat, steady and deep.

He lowered his head and placed a slow, lingering kiss on the side of her neck.

She let out a small, involuntary moan — soft, barely audible.

And he heard it.

> “You say ‘no’, but your body...” he whispered huskily, lips still brushing her skin, “...is already betraying you.”

Her cheeks flamed. She shoved his hands away, taking a step forward — breath shaky, eyes furious, heart confused.

Veeresh didn’t push further. Instead, he walked to the kitchen counter casually, as if nothing had happened.

> “I brought dinner,” he said, lifting the bag of packed home food. “One plate. We’re sharing.”

Poornima, still flustered, folded her arms. “Why one plate?”

He shrugged. “Didn’t feel like eating alone tonight.”

There was a pause.

> “Fine,” she muttered.

---

🍽️ The Quiet Dinner

She brought the steel plate from the cabinet and quietly served the food — dosa, chutney, a bit of upma. She sat cross-legged on the floor, back resting against the couch.

Veeresh joined her, sitting close. Too close.

They didn’t speak much — but every bite they shared, every accidental brush of fingers, every glance — it all screamed of something unspoken.

He took a piece of dosa and dipped it in chutney, holding it toward her.

She hesitated… then took the bite from his hand.

> “Still angry?” he asked softly.

> “Still irritating,” she replied, not meeting his gaze.

> “But not leaving,” he said, his voice quieter now.

Their eyes met for a long second.

No war. No words. Just a fragile moment of something breaking and something new beginning.