The memory of Chandrajit's kiss lingered long after I left the studio that day. It haunted me, not as something I regretted, but as something I craved more of. His lips on mine, warm and commanding, had left a mark I couldn’t shake, no matter how many times I tried to convince myself it was just a fleeting moment of weakness.

But it wasn’t weakness. It was something stronger, more potent—something that had been simmering between us for weeks, perhaps months. Every glance he stole during our lessons, every brush of his hand as he adjusted my posture, every soft encouragement he whispered when I hit the right note... they all pointed to this.

Now, standing outside the studio door again, my heart hammered in my chest. I hadn’t planned to come today—it wasn’t a scheduled lesson. But something pulled me here, an invisible thread that refused to let me stay away.

I hesitated, my hand hovering over the doorknob. What if it was a mistake? What if he regretted it? What if that kiss had meant nothing to him?

Before I could spiral further, the door opened, and there he was, standing in front of me with that same quiet intensity that had drawn me in from the very beginning. His dark eyes flicked to mine, softening when he saw the hesitation written all over my face.

"You’re here," he said, his voice steady but low, as if he’d been expecting me all along.

I swallowed hard, nodding. "I didn’t want to stay away."

Something shifted in his expression—relief, maybe, or perhaps something deeper, more primal. He stepped aside, motioning for me to enter, and as I crossed the threshold, I felt the air between us crackle with unspoken energy.

This wasn’t just another lesson. This was something more.

As I stepped inside, the familiar scent of the studio—polished wood, faint cologne, and the tang of sheet music—washed over me. It felt comforting, grounding. But it also made me hyper-aware of him, standing just behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of his body...