Abhimaan SS-Bounded By Fate

Chapter Nine.

And yet, the thought of him standing on the other side of that door, perhaps grappling with the same confusion, unsettled her. 

Armaan shut the bathroom door behind him, the soft click echoing in the stillness. For a moment, he stood there, his back resting against the cool wooden surface as he closed his eyes.

Why had he stopped her? 

Because he didn’t like it. 

The realization hit him like a wave — he hadn’t liked the way she tried to apologize. And even now, he couldn't figure out why. 

She had done nothing wrong. It was just a moment. An accidental brush of hands. A lingering grip. Nothing more. Yet the thought of her feeling guilty for it unsettled him.

But why did it? 

Why did the warmth of her hand remain so vivid in his mind? Why did the soft whimper she let out when he tried to pull away linger in his ears? Why did he feel that strange, hollow ache at the thought of her apologizing as if she had crossed some invisible line? 

Armaan sighed, rubbing a hand over his face, the coolness of his palms offering little comfort. He didn't like this confusion. He wasn't someone who dwelled on things like this. He prided himself on logic, clarity — understanding what he felt and why. 

But now? 

He felt none of that. 

Shaking his head, he tried to push the thoughts away. He needed to get ready. There was no point in lingering on something that held no meaning. 

At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself. 

Morning sunlight spilled into the room, casting a golden glow as Armaan and Abhira prepared for the day ahead. The air was thick with the remnants of the awkwardness from earlier, but neither addressed it.

Armaan stood by the dresser, his eyes scanning through a case file, brows furrowed in concentration. Dressed in his sharp black suit, he exuded confidence, the crisp lines of his attire mirroring his usual composure.

On the other side, Abhira fastened her watch, her white and black court saree draped elegantly around her. Her delicate fingers moved with practiced ease, though her mind wandered, the morning’s events still tugging at her thoughts. 

Armaan, engrossed in his file, stepped away from the dresser, while Abhira, checking the time, walked past him. Neither noticed the other until it was too late. They collided, the sudden impact sending a jolt through them.

Abhira’s breath hitched as she stumbled, her heels faltering on the marble floor. Anticipating the hard floor beneath her, she braced herself for the fall.

But instead of cold stone, she found herself enveloped in warmth — a strong arm wrapped securely around her waist. Armaan’s other hand gripped her forearm instinctively, steadying her. The file slipped from his grasp, forgotten as his hold tightened. 

Abhira's eyes fluttered open, her pulse racing. Her gaze lifted, meeting Armaan’s. His face was just inches from hers, concern mingling with something deeper. The rise and fall of their breaths mingled, and the air between them thickened.

Neither moved.

His green eyes, still clouded with the intensity of the moment, locked onto hers. The tension was undeniable — a magnetic pull neither could deny. Every heartbeat echoed in their ears, every flutter of breath brushing against the other. Time seemed to slow, as if a spell had been cast, binding them together.