At Nidhi's house ......
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The house sounded like a stadium. Between the shouting over a video game and the rhythmic thud-thud of a cricket ball being tossed against the floor upstairs, Nidhi knew her brother’s friends had arrived.
She stayed in the kitchen, carefully arranging snacks on a tray, telling herself she was just being a good sister. In reality, she was bracing herself. She was sixteen, and her brother’s eighteen-year-old friends usually treated her like a piece of furniture—or worse, a messenger girl.
When she finally pushed open the living room door, the air was thick with the scent of rain and teenager. Five boys were sprawled across the sofas, but her eyes landed on the one she didn’t recognize.
He was sitting on the floor, leaning his back against the armchair where her brother sat. He had a sharp jawline and a "mid fade" haircut that looked way too polished for a casual Sunday hangout.
"Finally! Food!" her brother yelled, reaching for a samosa.
"You're welcome," Nidhi retorted, her voice practiced and cool.
As she set the tray down, the new guy looked up. His eyes weren't loud like the others; they were steady and dark. For a heartbeat, the noise of the room—the shouting, the TV, the laughter—seemed to fade into a hum.
"Nidhi, this is Avinash," her brother said through a mouthful of food. "Avi, don't mind her, she's just the annoying younger one."
Avinash didn't look away. Instead of the usual dismissive nod she expected from her brother's friends, he gave her a slow, tilted grin. "Nice to meet you, 'Annoying Younger One.'"
Nidhi felt a flush creep up her neck. "It's Nidhi," she corrected, her voice steadier than her heart.
"I know," he murmured, loud enough only for her.
Throughout the afternoon, the living room remained a chaotic mess of boys being boys. But in the gaps between the shouting, there was a different game happening.
Every time Nidhi passed through the room, she felt it. She’d look up from her book in the corner, and Avinash would already be looking. When her brother made a particularly loud joke, Avinash didn't look at the group for a reaction—he looked at her, his eyes asking if she thought it was as ridiculous as he did.
At one point, while the others were arguing over a foul in the game, Nidhi reached for the empty water pitcher at the same time Avinash did. Their fingers didn't just brush; they collided. A small spark of static electricity jumped between them.
"Sorry," he whispered, his hand lingering over hers on the plastic handle.
"You're a guest," she teased, regaining her wit. "You're not supposed to do the chores."
"Maybe I'm just looking for an excuse to head toward the kitchen," he replied, his voice dropping into that flirty, dangerous territory.
Nidhi pulled the pitcher away with a smirk, her heart racing. She was two years younger, the "little sister," and surrounded by a room full of people—but as she walked away, she knew he was still watching. And for the first time, she didn't mind her brother's friends being over one bit.
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