"Uff... it's too hot today." Ritika pushed her hair back from her forehead, sweat clinging to her skin like an unwanted touch.

"Ritikaaaa, esho ekhane!" (Ritika, come here!) her mother's voice rose from the kitchen.

"Ha, Maa! Aschi." (Yes, Mom, I'm coming.) She answered quickly, climbing down the stairs with the restless energy of someone pulled away from her beloved world of stories.

The smell of fried spices and warmth of the kitchen wrapped around her as she entered. Her mother, busy stirring a pot, turned to her with a sharp look.

"Bolo, keno dakchile?" (Tell me, why did you call me?) Ritika asked, half-irritated, half-curious.

Her mother pressed a tiffin box into her hands.

"Ei tiffin box ta paser barir notun kakima-ke diye aay." (Take this tiffin box to the new aunty next door.)

"Thik ache." (Okay.) Ritika replied, without much interest.

The new family had moved into the house opposite theirs only a week ago. Ritika had caught a glimpse of the aunty once-sweet, soft-spoken, always smiling-but she hadn't yet met the others. She had been too consumed with her novels, with the dark, forbidden romances that made her heart race far more than real life ever did.

But now reality was calling.

With the box in hand, she crossed the narrow road and stood before the unfamiliar gate. Pressing the bell, she waited.

Cring... cring...

Silence.

She pressed it again, impatience flickering across her face.

Cring... cring...

Still no response.

"Dhur! Keo nei naki barite?" (Ugh! Maybe nobody's home!) she muttered under her breath, annoyance bubbling. "Ekhon ki kori? Bari fire jai? Valo lagche na." (What should I do now? Should I go back? This is boring.)

But before she could turn, the door opened-slowly, almost deliberately.

And then she saw him.

He stood there, framed in the doorway as if the world itself had chosen to carve out this moment. A simple off-white t-shirt clung lightly to his broad shoulders, paired with a black trouser that seemed carelessly comfortable. His hair was longer than most boys kept, brushing across his forehead. A dark beard framed his sharp jawline, and those eyes-deep, unreadable-met hers with the kind of quiet intensity that made her heart stumble.

One hand rested casually in his pocket, as though opening the door for her was the most ordinary thing in the world.

But nothing about him felt ordinary.

"Hi, ami Adrit. Barite keo nei. Tomar ki kono dorkar chhilo?" (Hi, I'm Adrit. Nobody's home right now. Did you need something?) His voice was calm, casual, but to Ritika it felt like velvet stretched over steel.

Her throat went dry. She blinked rapidly, trying to find her voice.

"Umm... Maa asked me to return the tiffin box... where is aunty?" she managed, biting her lower lip as she held it out to him.

For the briefest second, his eyes flickered toward her lip. Or maybe she only imagined it.

"Ohh... Maa went shopping. You can wait if you want, she'll be back within half an hour."

Her pulse skipped. The thought of waiting inside, alone with him, filled her with an intoxicating fear. A thrill. A temptation.

"No, thanks... here's the box." She forced a smile, though her heart throbbed against her ribs.

"Okay." He took it, his fingers brushing hers for a fraction of a second-warm, rough, real. Too real. He gave her a faint smile, but it wasn't soft. It was the kind of smile that unsettled.

Back home, Ritika tried to appear normal.

"I gave it to the boy. Aunty wasn't there."

"Thik ache. Now go study."

"O Maa! Shob shomoy pora pora koro ken?" (Oh Mom, why do you always make me study?)

"Toh ar ki bolbo bol? Shob kaj koris, poreta chara." (Then what else should I say? You do everything except study.)

"I don't like studying!"

"Se toh bhalo jinish, tai bhalo lagbe na! Pother opor boi bhalo lage, kintu porar boi bhalo lage na?" (Of course! Good things can't please you! You'd rather love useless novels than your textbooks!)

"Don't insult my novels!"

"I'll burn them in the fire, just wait!"

"Noooo!" Ritika cried, clutching her bag protectively.

"Then go study, or I swear..."

"Okay, okay, I'm going!" She rushed upstairs, slamming her door behind her.

But books were the last thing on her mind.

She fell onto her bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every second of that encounter. The way his hand slipped into his pocket with quiet dominance. The way his beard shadowed his lips. The way his height towered over her, making her feel small, fragile... almost breakable.

Her body shivered as her imagination betrayed her.

I never thought my neighbor would be this good-looking. He's not just handsome-he's dangerous. His eyes, God, those eyes... piercing me like they could undress every hidden thought. What would it feel like... to be beneath him? His lips crashing into mine? His hands tracing fire across my skin?

She covered her face with her palms, ashamed and breathless.

Issshhh! Ki bhabchi ami? (What am I even thinking?)

But the thoughts wouldn't leave. They grew darker, hungrier, painting fantasies she had only read in her novels.

Outside, the afternoon sun softened into gold. The curtains of her room swayed with the breeze, shadows playing across her skin like invisible fingers. She stepped onto her balcony, staring across at their house.

From her mother, she knew there were only three members: father, mother, son. The father transferred here recently, the mother sweet and gentle. No wonder Adrit was so striking-he carried his mother's beauty, yet there was something untamed in him.

"Ugh, I shouldn't think about him. He probably has a girlfriend," Ritika whispered to herself. But the idea only twisted her gut with jealousy.

Or maybe not. Maybe he's free. And if he is... maybe I have a chance.

She dialed her best friend.

"Heyyy, Mohona... guess what? I think I have a crush."

"What?! Seriously?!" Mohona nearly screamed.

"Why are you so shocked? Can't I fall for someone?"

"You can, but for you it's... unbelievable. You're always lost in fictional heroes!"

"Shut up!" Ritika hissed, smiling.

"So, who's the guy?"

"My new neighbor. His name's Adrit. He's so hot, Mohona. Tall, dark... just like the ones in my books."

"Ooooh! Nice. How old is he?"

"Maybe 22, 23?"

"That's fine. Older guys are better anyway. More mature, more... attractive."

"Yeah..." Ritika breathed, lost in thought again.

They ended the call, but Ritika's restlessness grew.

Night fell. The house grew quiet. Ritika sat near her window, her thoughts spiraling where they shouldn't. Her body ached with a craving she couldn't name out loud. It was too soon, too forbidden... and yet, she wanted to burn in it.

Then-

Knock. Knock.

"Ritika, open the door. Someone's knocking," her mother called.

"Coming, Maa!" Ritika hurried, heart pounding.

She pulled the door open-

And what she saw froze her blood, yet ignited a fire in her veins.

Because no... he wasn't a passing gust in her life.

He was the storm itself.

"He wasn't just my ne

ighbor... he was the sin I was destined to crave."

Do you think Ritika should give in to her forbidden desire... or resist it before it's too late?