Not In The Script...

Chapter- 13: You Can, If You Want To

“You were good today,” he said, eventually.

Yash didn’t answer.

“You smiled.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Yash murmured.

“I know.”

They sat with that.

Long enough for the silence to feel soft again.

Eventually, Yash stood. Walked toward the window. Rested his palms against the glass.

Shubman watched his reflection.

“I almost cried,” Yash said, voice distant. “When they asked if this was love.”

“You didn’t.”

“I wanted to.”

“You can,” Shubman said. “With me, you can.”

Another long pause.

Yash turned slowly. Walked back over.

He stood in front of Shubman, barefoot, hands in his sleeves.

“I don’t know what this is,” he said. “But I keep... wanting to be near you.”

Shubman didn’t move.

Didn’t reach for him.

Just whispered,

“Then stay.”

Yash sat beside him.

Too close now.

Their knees brushed.

Then their thighs.

Then Yash leaned in, lips just inches away — not quite there.

His breath caught.

“Can I—?”

Shubman didn’t touch him.
Didn’t move forward.

He just smiled.

“You can, if you want to.”

Yash hovered in that inch of space between them for what felt like hours.

His breath was warm. His lashes fluttered. His lips were parted, so close Shubman could count the hesitation in them.

Then—
Yash blinked.

And gently leaned his forehead against Shubman’s.

Not his lips.

Not yet.

Just that.

Their foreheads pressed. Eyes closed. Breaths shared.

And it was… enough.

More than enough.

“I’m not ready,” Yash whispered.

“I know,” Shubman murmured. “That’s okay.”

They sat like that, face to face, bodies turned inward like magnets being cautious with their own pull.

Shubman wanted to kiss him.

Desperately.

But he didn’t.

He wanted Yash to be the one to close the distance when he was ready. Not before. Never before.

After a while, they shifted onto the bed.
Not under the covers.
Just lying there, side by side.

Yash’s hoodie sleeve brushed Shubman’s wrist.

Their fingers met again, this time more natural. Less shy.

Intertwined.

The hotel hum filled the silence: low A/C buzz, distant hallway sounds, the soft thump of someone moving luggage down the corridor.

It all faded when Yash turned to face him and said softly:

“Thank you.”

Shubman blinked. “For what?”

“For... not asking for anything tonight.”

“I’d never.”

“I know,” Yash said. “That’s why it scares me.”

Shubman tilted his head. “Why?”

“Because I think I’m starting to believe you.”

They didn’t talk much after that.

At some point, Shubman turned off the lamp, plunging the room into a soft grey-blue wash from the window curtains.

Yash shifted closer, resting his head on the pillow beside Shubman’s.

Their knees bumped.

Yash moved even closer.

One hand on Shubman’s chest now, rising and falling with each breath.

Around midnight, Shubman felt Yash’s fingers twitch against his shirt.

“You’re awake,” he murmured.

Yash didn’t reply right away.

Then—

“I was just thinking.”

“About?”

“I’ve never done this before,” Yash said. “Let someone hold me without having to... prove something.”

“You don’t have to prove anything to me.”

Yash’s fingers curled into the fabric.

“I know,” he whispered. “That’s the scary part.”

Eventually, Yash fell asleep.

Shubman didn’t.

Not for a while.

He watched Yash’s face in the dim light — relaxed now, softer than he ever let himself be in daylight.

He brushed a strand of hair off Yash’s forehead but didn’t touch more than that.

He’d waited this long.

He could wait longer.

Morning came gently.

No alarms.

Just grey light and the far-off sound of breakfast trays wheeling through the hallway.

Yash stirred first.

Eyes blinking open slowly, disoriented, then sharp with recognition.

Shubman was already awake, watching him from the other pillow.

There was no panic in Yash’s face.

No retreat.

Just... calm.

His hand was still against Shubman’s chest.

Their legs still tangled.

He didn’t move away.

“Hey,” Shubman said softly.

“Hey.”

Yash looked at him, eyes steady.

Then he gave a small, lazy smirk.

“Next time,” he said, voice rough with sleep, “I might not stop.”

Shubman smiled — wide and quiet and full of something aching.

“I’ll be here,” he whispered.
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[End of Chapter 13]