Part 1
The house was chaos. Aunts yelling over bangles, uncles comparing paunches, kids running with flower petals like tiny terrorists—and somewhere in the middle of it all, she descended the stairs.
Slowly. Gracefully. Anklets chiming like windchimes in a monsoon breeze.
Saree draped in emerald and gold. Hair pinned with mogra. A string of jasmine trailing down her shoulder like a secret. The jhumkas swayed when she moved. The room didn’t quite go silent—but he did.
Thomas.
Tall. Russian. Dangerously out of place in the heat and the crowd and the noise, but when he saw her…
He forgot the whole damn wedding.
She didn’t even notice him at first, too focused on finding her best friend—the bride. But he noticed everything. The way her bangles clinked. The smudge of kajal at the corner of her eye. The way she looked like the moment before a love song begins.
She passed him in the hallway.
And he grabbed her wrist.
Not hard. Just enough to pull her into a quiet corner—between the mandap decorations and a stack of marigold baskets. She gasped, caught off guard.
“Thomas!” she whisper-shouted, eyes wide, heart already sprinting.
He pinned her gently against the wall, one hand resting just beside her head, the other still curled around her wrist.
“You look…”
His voice dropped, thick with his accent. “Like I should sin.”
She blushed violently. “You can’t say stuff like that!”
“Why not?” he asked, eyes roaming her face like it was some holy scripture. “It’s true.”
“I’m your brother’s wife’s best friend.”
“I’m not kissing my brother’s wife,” he murmured, “unless I’ve been doing it very, very wrong.”
She punched his shoulder. Lightly. But he leaned in, his forehead brushing hers. His breath warm, cinnamon and trouble.
“I should go,” she whispered, already breathless.
“Then go,” he said, not moving an inch. “But you haven’t yet.”
She stared at him. One more second and she would kiss him, she knew it.
So she slipped out from under his arm and bolted, feet flying, saree swishing like a monsoon breeze behind her.
But just before she turned the corner—
She glanced back.
Smiled like mischief wrapped in innocence.
“Bad guy,” she called softly.
He stood there, dazed, grinning like a fool.
And maybe—just maybe—that was the moment he fell in love.
Bad Guy – Part 2: After the Vows
A sequel short story ~ where one kiss is all it takes
The wedding was over.
The pheras were done.
The bride looked like a goddess.
The groom looked like he still hadn’t figured out how to say "mama ji" without panicking.
And somewhere between the buffet line and the sangeet playlist, our FL slipped away to get some air.
The rooftop was quieter than the madness below.
Fairy lights zigzagged overhead like constellations strung by drunk angels.
She exhaled—finally alone.
Until she wasn’t.
“You keep running,” came a familiar voice behind her.
She turned. And there he was.
Thomas.
Hair a little messy from too many hugs. Shirt half untucked. Tie long gone. Eyes locked only on her.
“I wasn’t running,” she said, crossing her arms.
He stepped closer. “Oh? What would you call it then?”
She raised an eyebrow. “Strategic escape.”
“From what?”
“You.”
A pause.
“Then why are you still here?” he asked softly, taking a step so close the lights behind him blurred.
She didn’t answer.
Didn’t need to.
The air between them was thick with all the things they hadn’t said. With every look they’d shared during the wedding. Every almost-touch. Every second that felt like a match being lit inside her chest.
“I’m serious about you,” he said suddenly, like it hurt not to.
Her breath caught. “Thomas—”
“No, listen. I know I joke. I flirt. I’m obnoxious and loud and half the time I forget how to pronounce coriander. But I’m serious about you.”
His accent was heavier now. His words slower. More real.
Not just a crush. Not just a moment.
A choice.
“I want this,” he said. “Not just today. Tomorrow. After the last guest leaves. After the glitter’s gone. I want you.”
She stared at him, heart thudding. She’d spent days convincing herself this was just wedding heat. A fling. Harmless. But now…
Now he looked at her like she was the only thing in the world that made sense.
And she was tired of pretending it didn’t scare the hell out of her.
So she whispered, barely loud enough to hear—
“Then shut up and kiss me.”
And he did.
No teasing. No games.
Just him. Her.
Hands in her hair. Her fingers clutching the front of his shirt.
The fairy lights flickering above like stars holding their breath.
The music below distant, muffled by sky and silence.
And when they finally pulled apart, she was smiling. Eyes shining. Saree slightly crooked.
“Still a bad guy,” she whispered.
He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Maybe. But you’re the reason I never want to be good again.”
~Astra Vale (বনলতা)
