Title — Goddess and Devil
Scene: The Curse of Belonging
She stepped closer.
No space left. No air, no rain, not even breath between them.
So close that her body brushed his — lightly, barely — but enough to change the atmosphere. Enough to set his bones on fire.
She had to lift her chin now to meet his eyes, tilt her head upward, rain sliding off her jaw like a string of broken diamonds. And then she did something so devastatingly human—
She smiled.
Soft.
Genuine.
Real.
A smile that did not belong in this alley, in this storm, in this war of dominance and desire. And yet… it shattered him more than any bullet could’ve.
She shook her head slowly, eyes never leaving his.
“Mr. Rajvardhan,” she said — and there was something wicked in the way she used his full name like it was both a challenge and a lullaby — “you should know by now…”
Her voice was a contradiction — honey-laced and blade-sharp.
“…I’m not someone who loves to be owned.”
The words curled around them like heat in the cold. Her voice was calm. Not angry. Not loud. Just true — the kind of truth that couldn’t be argued with.
“I don’t like belonging. That’s a curse.”
Aatharv’s jaw clenched. His fingers flexed slightly against the grip of the gun, still against her cheek now, still not lowered. Still not fired.
“Because if someday I wanted to kill you…”
She leaned in again, closer this time, their foreheads almost touching, her breath whispering across his lips.
“…I’d hesitate.”
She smiled again. Tragic now. A little sad. A little cruel.
“And that,” she said softly, “doesn’t belong in my existence.”
Her hand rose — slow, elegant, unthreatening — and gently brushed the inside of his wrist, the one holding the gun. A silent reminder: she could touch him. She would. On her terms.
“Not when I’m here,” she whispered, “on gunpoint… telling you to shoot.”
Silence.
The storm around them cracked again, but it wasn’t louder than what pulsed between their eyes.
Then—she tiptoed.
She rose onto those soaked, pearl-stitched heels, chest brushing his, and leaned until her lips hovered just beside his ear.
Close.
Too close.
Her voice now wasn’t even a whisper. It was a prophecy.
“Either shoot…”
Her breath caressed his skin, a ghost of fire.
“…or I will.”
A pause.
“I’ll shoot you.”
Her lips barely moved as she finished:
“Because when I can command your hand…”
Her fingers wrapped gently, impossibly, around his wrist now.
“…I can just as easily command your gun.”
And with that—
She pushed the gun down.
Not forcefully. Not violently.
Just enough.
And he let her.
His hand trembled now. Not from fear.
From her.
She stepped back a single inch. Just one. Enough to let air between them again.
But not escape.
Because neither of them was running.
They were circling now.
Gods. Devils. Addicts of power and the ache of not yet touching.
And Aatharv?
He was smiling now too. But it was dark. Dangerous.
Because she’d just won the moment.
But he hadn’t lost the war.
Not yet.
Thanks!!! For reading
🫠🍂
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