CHAPTER XX
"The Spin That Revealed More Than Secrets"
The bottle spun with that familiar clink, every eye in the room following its dizzy little dance — until it slowed… and stopped.
Right at me.
A collective gasp.
Shruti leaned in with a devilish grin. "Vedu… Truth or Dare?"
I raised an eyebrow and tried to play cool, but inside, my heart was already racing. "Truth scares me," I said dramatically, clutching my chest like a Bollywood heroine. "Terrifies me."
Shruti giggled and clapped. "Perfect. Then Dare it is!"
She reached into a bowl filled with folded paper chits — each one containing a dare pre-written by someone in the group earlier in the evening. "We prepared this bowl just for this moment. Pick one and you have to do whatever it says."
I stretched my hand toward the bowl with theatrical reluctance, ready to draw my fate…
But then a calm, commanding voice cut through the excitement.
"No," Sita said firmly.
Everyone turned.
"She won't do a dare. All of us have taken truth so far. So Ved has to take truth too."
I froze. "Why? There's no rule saying I have to."
Sita's eyes met mine — unblinking, unwavering. "Yes. There is. I say so."
The room went quiet for a heartbeat. Her tone wasn't angry. It wasn't teasing. It was just… final. Like the kind of rule that doesn't need explanation — because love itself is laying it down.
I sighed in surrender and offered her a little smile. "Fine. Truth it is. As you say, Sita."
Shruti lit up. "Alright then! My question is…" She leaned forward, eyes gleaming with curiosity. "What exactly was the reason for your marriage with Sita?"
The room stilled. The tension, the curiosity — it wrapped around us like silk, soft but tight. Everyone leaned in, anticipating drama, romance, something forbidden. And me? I could feel the wine bubbling in my bloodstream like a thousand butterflies waking up all at once.
My lips parted. "Our marriage… Sita and I…"
And then — everything in me trembled. I had drunk too much. My head felt floaty, my guard down. The truth was perched on the tip of my tongue, about to fly out uncaged, raw and real.
But just as the first syllable escaped me, Sita's hand shot forward and covered my mouth.
"Ved," she whispered quickly, firmly. Her palm was warm against my lips. Her eyes were pleading.
Shruti raised an eyebrow. "Sita, that's cheating!"
I pulled her hand gently down. "I was going to tell them, Sita…"
But before I could utter another word, she leaned in — without warning, without hesitation — and kissed me.
Right in front of everyone.
My breath caught.
Gasps and cheers exploded in the room.
"Oh my god!"
"She just kissed her!"
"Finally!"
The air filled with excited screams and teasing giggles. The truth I had been about to reveal drowned in the sound of celebration and the warmth of Sita's lips.
But Sita… she wasn't just kissing me to distract or tease. She kissed me with urgency — as if trying to protect something sacred between us. Her fingers cupped my face gently, but her kiss was full of fire — a warning and a comfort all at once.
And just like that, without giving anyone a moment to recover, she stood up, grabbed my hand, and said softly, "Come with me."
Before I could say a word, she was pulling me along. Out of the circle. Out of the game. Past the laughter and the wine and the questions.
Into the quiet.
Into our room.
And as the door clicked shut behind us… I knew.
That kiss wasn't just to shut me up.
It was to remind me — some truths are only meant to be whispered between hearts.
"Hangovers, Heartaches, and a Poem for Her"
The moment the door closed behind us, the tension that had been hanging in the air finally snapped.
Sita turned to me, her eyes sharp and stormy. She didn't raise her voice — she didn't have to.
She stepped forward, grabbed me gently but firmly by the collar, and said in a low, trembling voice, "Ved… if you can't handle it, why did you even drink the wine?"
Her words weren't angry — they were worried. Full of concern. Full of love, tangled with frustration.
"You almost told everyone the truth last night," she said, her fingers tightening just a little. "Do you realize what would've happened if I hadn't stopped you?"
I stood there frozen, unable to say anything. The wine had loosened my tongue, my emotions, everything. I wasn't thinking clearly… but she was. She always was.
And that's when I broke.
I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her — resting my head gently on her shoulder. My voice came out soft, trembling, barely a whisper.
"Sita… I'm sorry."
She didn't speak.
"I didn't mean to mess things up," I continued, eyes closing as I held her tighter. "I'll be careful from now on. I promise. I just… I got carried away."
Silence.
And then, everything faded.
My thoughts slowed. My body relaxed against hers.
And I drifted off to sleep — still clinging to the girl I loved, the one I almost exposed, the one who held my secrets like sacred promises.
---
The next morning, I woke up slowly — the light peeking through the curtains, stabbing into my sore, aching head. A heavy fog clouded my mind. The after-effects of the wine hit me hard.
My temples throbbed with every pulse of my heart.
I groaned softly, sitting up.
That's when I noticed the tall glass of nimbu paani on the bedside table — carefully placed beside a folded napkin, condensation glistening on the surface. She had made it for me.
Even after everything… she had still cared for me.
A tired smile tugged at my lips.
I dragged myself to the washroom and stepped under the shower — letting the water wash away the fog, the regret, the heat from last night. I stood there for minutes, hands pressed to the tiles, letting the silence cleanse me.
After I stepped out, I returned to the room, dropped a few ice cubes into the lemon water, and drank it slowly. The coolness hit my chest first, then flowed through my body like a balm.
I wandered into the hall.
It was spotless. Every pillow in place, every bottle cleared, not a trace of the party that had filled the house just hours ago.
I glanced at the clock — 12 PM.
She was gone. Office hours.
And yet… her presence lingered in every corner.
In the neatness of the room. In the quiet care on the nightstand. In the leftover breakfast she had made and placed in the fridge — still warm in its container, like her affection.
I warmed the food, ate slowly, then returned to my room — not to nap, but to write.
For the first time, for her, I opened my laptop… and began to pour myself out, line by line. A confession. A poem. A moment of raw truth dressed in rhythm and emotion.
I typed with trembling fingers:
"I finally found a reason to live through the silence,
When you held my hand, I found my island.
This heart was once lost in a sea of ache,
But your love was the shore I never knew I'd make."
Then I breathed.
And added:
"Since you,
The breaths feel easier.
The nights feel warmer.
And the chaos inside me…
Finally knows peace."
I stared at the words for a long moment. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.
She wouldn't read it today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But someday, I'd show her.
Because that poetry — soft, sincere — wasn't just a bunch of lines.
It was everything I couldn't say last night.
Everything I wanted her to know…
Without a single drop of wine.
Just the truth. Pure, sober, and full of love.
To be continue....