The mall's fluorescent lights faded behind them as they wound through the city streets, but the tension between them only grew thicker with every kilometer. Aryan's knuckles were white on the handlebars of his bike, his jaw clenched so tight she could see the muscle jumping. Shrishti sat behind him, her arms wrapped around his waist, but this time she wasn't teasing—she was clinging, her fingers digging into his stomach, her face pressed against his back, breathing in his scent.

They didn't speak. Couldn't speak. The air between them was charged, volatile, ready to explode.