Chapter 8: Temptation Next Door

With her right hand ‘injured,’ Ananya got even wilder, hanging out with Kabir every day.

They were inseparable—skipping classes, sneaking out to the mall, flaunting their rebellion for all to see. The teachers shook their heads, the students gossiped, but they didn’t care.

One Sunday, my mum was busy in the kitchen and said, "Rohan, go call Ananya to come eat at our place."

She wiped her hands on her apron, the smell of tadka wafting through the house. Sunday lunches were always special—piping hot rotis, rajma chawal, and laughter at the table.

I didn’t want to, and my mum frowned. "What are you two fighting about now? Ananya’s hand is broken, her parents are away on business, she’s home alone—poor girl."

She gave me a look that brooked no argument. In her eyes, Ananya was still the sweet, innocent girl who needed looking after.

"Be a man, be generous and tolerant. Go on, call Ananya over."

Her words stung, but I knew better than to argue. Reluctantly, I slipped on my slippers and headed next door.

In my mum’s eyes, Ananya was still that sweet, spoiled little girl.

She remembered the days when Ananya would sneak into our kitchen, stealing gulab jamuns and giggling behind her hand. The truth was harder to swallow.

I figured I’d just walk over, come back, and say she wasn’t home.

My plan was simple—knock, wait, return. But fate had other ideas.

Ananya lived next door.

Our balconies faced each other, separated only by a flimsy grill. I could hear the faint strains of Bollywood music drifting through her open window.

I heard suggestive laughter coming from her house. As an adult, I knew exactly what was going on.

The sounds were unmistakable—the hush of giggles, the murmur of low voices. My stomach clenched in dread.

I was about to turn and leave when the door suddenly opened.

The suddenness made me jump. I plastered a polite smile on my face, rehearsing my excuse.

Kabir stood there shirtless, a cigarette dangling from his mouth, clearly after sex.

He looked me up and down, a smirk playing on his lips. The smell of stale smoke and sweat filled the air. I averted my eyes, suddenly aware of how out of place I was.

The air was thick with an indescribable smell.

Perfume and something darker, heavier. I shifted uncomfortably, wishing I were anywhere else.

"Kya ghoor raha hai, chashmish? Ek aur nazar daala toh aankh nikaal dunga."

His words dripped with menace, his tone mocking. I bristled, but kept my cool.

Behind him, Ananya was hurriedly buttoning her shirt, hair messy, cheeks flushed, and red marks obvious on her neck.

Her eyes met mine, wide with fear and anger. She looked every bit the rebellious teenager, daring me to judge her.

Even more absurd—her right hand was perfectly fine.

The bandage was gone, her fingers moving freely. The lie was exposed, plain as day.

So it was all a lie. There was no fracture.

The truth hit me like a slap. All her drama, all her excuses—just a cover for the choices she’d already made.

I just hadn’t expected them to be so bold, doing this when no one was home.

They flaunted their affair, daring anyone to object. I realised then that Ananya had crossed a line she could never return from.

Kabir shoved my shoulder, eyes cold. "Kya ghoor raha hai, chashmish? Ek aur nazar daala toh aankh nikaal dunga."

He moved closer, his threat hanging in the air. I stood my ground, refusing to show fear.

Ananya came over and threatened, "Rohan, if you dare tell my parents, I can’t guarantee what Kabir will do to you."

Her words were sharp, her gaze defiant. For a moment, I wondered if she believed them herself.

Her lips were swollen, with bite marks all over.

The evidence of their intimacy was clear, and I felt an odd mix of anger and pity.

I didn’t want trouble. "Mum asked you to come eat, but if you’re not home, forget it."

I turned to leave, the finality in my voice unmistakable. I refused to let their drama spill into my life.

Kabir grinned, kissed her, and blew smoke into her mouth.

The display was calculated, meant to provoke. I ignored it, walking away with my dignity intact.

Before I left, I added, "By the way, don’t mess with me again, or I might just let something slip."

I tossed the warning over my shoulder, letting them wonder if I’d keep their secret. Sometimes, silence is the best weapon.