Page 3 of Mrs. Pandey
Because when Aryan touched me, when his fingers brushed against my skin, when his lips neared mine I didn’t just feel him. I felt Prashant.
I felt Prashant Pandey, the man I had always craved, no matter the consequences. He was the man I risked everything for, the one who made me do things I never thought I was capable of, the one who just forced me to break every rule I ever made for myself.
Prashant was the man I wasn’t supposed to fall for. The name I had buried deep in the folds of my conscience, tried to erase with every beat of my loyal heart. The one mistake that never, not once, truly felt like a mistake.
God help me.
“Aryan…” I said, breathless, half-dazed from the assault of lights and music, the suffocating presence of my own conflicted desires.
He knew. That look in his eyes, he always knew when I needed something unspoken, something beyond the chaos. Without a word, he gently led me away, through the blur of laughing faces and deafening noise, into a quiet, almost sacred, hallway lit by a single golden light.
And then he kissed me. He kissed me deeply, hungrily, with an urgency that mirrored the frantic beating of my own heart. I kissed him back with the same desperate passion, the same maddening need. I needed to forget Prashant. I needed to drown out his memory, his presence that clung to me. So I kissed my fiancé. My Aryan. He was going to be my husband, not Prashant Pandey.
It should have felt like home but it didn’t. His lips were fired against mine, his grip firm on my waist, his body warm and solid against mine. I kissed him with all the force I could muster,pouring every ounce of my will into the act, but somewhere in between, I closed my eyes and Prashant’s face flashed behind my lids, vivid and haunting.
His beautiful hazel eyes, the subtle dip of his dimples, the thin, expressive line of his lips. That mischievous smirk. The way he used to steal glances when no one was watching, a secret language just for us. The way his fingertips had once lingered too long on mine during drills, a fleeting touch that ignited a wildfire. The way my heart, against all reason, had rebelled and chosen him.
I gasped, a small, choked sound, and tightened my fingers in Aryan’s hair, desperately trying to drag myself back into the present, to shake the phantom of Prashant from this kiss that should have been solely Aryan's.
Aryan deepened the kiss, a possessive, comforting weight, and for a moment, I let myself fall, let myself be pulled under, because Aryan was safe. He was kind, loyal, and noble. He had waited for me, for ten agonizing years. He had chosen me, again and again, even when I had tried to convince myself I didn’t deserve him. Even when I had cheated on him, not once, but several times, each transgression left a fresh wound on my conscience.
But love was never that simple. It was never just about what was right, or safe, or earned.
“Aryan…Why do you have to be so damn handsome, so sexy… so tempting, huh? I can’t even resist you anymore.” I whispered against his lips, hoping he couldn’t hear the violent tremble in my voice, the raw desperation. “Can we just…?”
“Ssh.” He placed a gentle finger on my lips, silencing the unformed words, the aching plea. “We’ll wait. Just two more nights. You deserve to be cherished, Ira. Not claimed in a corner of a hall, half-drunk and reckless.”
Of course we would. Because Aryan was the kind of man who waited, who worshipped, who didn’t rush. Yes, we had slept together, years ago, a distant memory now that felt almost clinical in its restraint.
But Prashant? He never had.
The thought sent a sharp, agonizing pang through my chest, a reminder of the wild, unbridled passion I felt only with him.
I knew Aryan felt my frustration, a deep growl escaping my throat.
“You’re killing me.”
He smiled gently, a hint of genuine affection in his eyes, and brushed a stray strand of hair behind my ear.
“We can wait two more days.”
I leaned in, needing to tether myself to this moment, to this man, and left a trail of desperate kisses down his neck. But even as his skin warmed under my lips, guilt curled in my lungs, constricting my breath.
I sank my teeth into his warm skin, a small, almost aggressive love bite, a need to mark him, to make him undeniably mine.
He flinched slightly. “Ow!”
I smiled, a feigned mischief replacing the turmoil in my eyes. “Don’t you dare stop me, okay?”
“You are trouble,” he chuckled, shaking his head.
“And you love it.” My smile widened, a brittle mask. “I can’t wait to share your name. I’ve dreamed about this for so long, Aryan. We were made for each other, you know that? There’s no one else. It’s always been you. It’ll only ever be you.”
It was what he needed to hear. The words he craved. The balm for his loyal heart. But was it a lie?
The question echoed, cold and accusatory, in the cavern of my mind.
When he pulled me into his strong arms and whispered that he loved me more than the whole Milky Way, tracing soft patterns on my back, I wanted to believe it was enough. That Aryan’s boundless love would somehow erase the cracks inside me, would mend the fractured pieces of my soul.
