The Blue Cross bar had finally returned to its usual rhythm after the chaos earlier. Music thumped softly from inside, lights dimmed, and laughter echoed faintly through the night air.
Champ, still fuming, had grounded Harsh for the rest of the shift — literally. He'd made him sit in the corner like a punished child. Harsh sat there, brooding like a wounded panther, his expression somewhere between sulking and stubborn.
Ishani, on the other hand, was quietly amused. Watching him pout was a rare kind of entertainment.
When her shift finally ended, she walked out with Harsh. Both of them stopped in front of his bike, the night wind brushing against their tired faces. The mood shifted almost immediately as reality sank in.
Harsh's hand was still injured.And he was the only one who could drive.
The two stared at the bike in silence for a good moment before Harsh sighed, rubbing his neck.
"Should we… take the bus?"
Ishani shook her head. "It's 11 p.m., Harsh. The last bus to my dorm probably tucked itself in an hour ago."
They both exhaled in unison, stuck. Then Ishani's eyes lit up with mischief.
"Okay then… how about I take the lead this time?"
She turned toward him, walking backward with a teasing grin.
Harsh blinked, almost laughing in disbelief.
"My dear Ishani… I'll probably die because of you."
"Don't say that," she pouted, waving her hands. "I know how to ride."
"To ride a bike?" His brow arched, gaze locking with hers.
"Sort of. I can handle a scooty," she said confidently, folding her arms.
Harsh let out a long, exaggerated sigh. "There's a big difference between a motorbike and a scooty, darling."
He stepped closer, swung his leg over the bike, and turned the key with his good hand. "It's alright, I can manage. Get on."
But Ishani frowned, eyes darting to his bandaged wrist. Guilt flashed through her face. Then, in one swift move, she snatched the key out of the ignition and hid it behind her back.
Harsh's voice went low. "What is it now?"
Ishani smiled slyly. "If you're confident enough to ride with a wounded hand, then you can teach me how to ride."
He stared at her, momentarily stunned. She was serious.
Her smirk deepened. "What happened? Scared? Big baby boy?" She leaned in closer, teasingly, her breath mingling with his.
Harsh sighed, shoulders dropping in surrender. "Alright… sure."
Ishani grinned in victory and gestured for him to move aside. "Then step back, sir."
She swung her leg over the bike, sitting upright and determined. As she twisted the key and turned the ignition, the bike roared to life — and in panic, she accidentally twisted the throttle.
The bike jerked forward suddenly.
Harsh's reflexes kicked in instantly — his hands shot out, gripping her waist to steady her.
The world froze.
His palms lingered for a second too long before he realized where they rested. He pulled back sharply, clearing his throat.
Silence fell between them again. Only the sound of the engine hummed between their heartbeats.
Finally, Harsh broke the quiet. "Are you sure you're going to do this?"
Ishani exhaled, still gripping the handles tightly. "Yes. I'll do it. You just need to give me smooth instructions."
He looked at her for a long moment — the girl who'd just walked into his life and somehow made chaos feel like comfort — and gave a faint, resigned smile.
"Alright then, rookie," he murmured. "Let's start slow."
And under the pale streetlight, her first lesson began — her hands trembling on the handles, his voice calm and low beside her, and the faint tension of something more beginning to stir between them.
The night air was sharp and cold, slicing through the silence as the bike glided down the nearly empty road.After a while, the tension began to fade. Harsh let out a long sigh of relief, tilting his head slightly back to feel the breeze against his skin. His hair flipped away from his forehead as he exhaled, eyes half-lidded in calm.
Ishani, on the other hand, was far from calm.Her hands gripped the handlebars tightly, knuckles pale, shoulders tense. The bike wobbled slightly every few seconds as she fought to balance its weight — and her nerves.
Harsh leaned forward just enough for his words to brush her ear.
"Tired? Want me to take over?"
Ishani shook her head stubbornly.
"I just need you to sit quietly."
A quiet chuckle escaped him. Through the side mirror, he watched her — her face focused, eyes narrowed, lips pressed in determination. Brave, yet trembling.
Just then, a roaring engine cut through their rhythm.A bike zoomed past them recklessly, nearly grazing their side. Ishani yelped, losing control for a split second before managing to steady the bike again.
"What a freak!" she shouted after them.
But the other riders weren't done. They slowed down until they were riding alongside her, leering.
"Hey, darling!" one of them jeered. "Not satisfied with your boring boyfriend, huh? Come with us — we'll show you what heaven feels like."
The man's smirk was as filthy as his tone.
Ishani's jaw clenched. "I wish I could kill you both," she muttered under her breath.
And then — warmth.Harsh's hand slid over hers on the handlebar, his fingers firm, his body leaning forward until she could feel his chest press lightly against her back. His breath brushed her ear as he murmured,
"Then let me grant your wish."
Before she could respond, he twisted the accelerator.
The bike surged forward like a bullet, the wind roaring past them. Ishani gasped, instinctively clutching his wrist — but even through her fear, she felt safe. His warmth against her, his steady movements, the low hum of his voice guiding her through the chase.
The other riders looked back, startled, as Harsh closed the distance. Within seconds, they swerved in panic — and crashed straight into a trash bin, tumbling to the side.
Ishani's heart was racing when Harsh slowed down, parking at the edge of the road. The tension broke for a moment as they looked at each other and burst into laughter, their palms meeting in a quick, victorious high five.
"Serves them right," she said, still breathless.
Harsh only smiled, the corner of his lips twitching as she started the bike again.
The rest of the ride passed quietly. The wind had softened, and the world around them was drenched in midnight stillness. When they reached her dorm building, Harsh brought the bike to a stop. Neither spoke for a few seconds.
Ishani finally broke the silence.
"Okay then… thanks for the adventurous ride. I'll see you to—"
Her words stopped mid-sentence.
A pair of strong, cold arms wrapped around her waist.
Harsh's voice was quiet — almost trembling.
"Just… a few minutes."
He rested his head against her back. His breath hitched, and something about his touch felt desperate — as if he was trying to hold onto something he had already lost.
Then, softly, few muffling words heard by him. A vision of his dad and him riding the bike, when he was little, was remembered by him.
"Sukhamano, mone?" (Are you alright, my golden one?)
"Harsh?" she whispered. "Is everything okay?"
Her words pulled him back to the present. His head lifted abruptly, eyes wide for a moment as he realized what he'd just did— and to whom.
"Ye–yeah, I'm fine," he said quickly, his tone clipped. "You should go. It's already late."
He didn't meet her eyes.
Ishani removed her helmet slowly, still watching him as he handed her the bag he'd hung over his shoulder earlier. Before she could say anything, he started the engine, turned away, and drove off into the night — without a glance, without a goodbye.
The hum of his bike faded into the dark, leaving Ishani standing under the dim dorm light, helmet in hand, her heart tangled between confusion… and something she couldn't yet name.