The Spaces Between Us

Lanterns and Marks

The party is at her family's house, and it looks like something from a dream.
A sun-dappled courtyard strung with fairy lights and lanterns, clusters of marigolds mixed with white roses, trays of finger foods, and that unmistakable hum of a home full of voices that know one another. It smells like jasmine, spices, and warmth.

And then I see her.

She's across the courtyard, in a pale pink chiffon saree that looks like it was stitched by the gods just for her. The pleats hug her waist perfectly, her blouse high-necked and sleeveless, her hair curled into soft waves that fall against her shoulders. The ring—my ring—catches the lantern light and flashes like it's burning fire in her hand.

But what pulls me hardest is her smile. That secret, barely-there curve of her lips when her eyes find mine in the crowd. The one I've learned is only for me.

And yes, I notice it immediately: the faint, stubborn shadow beneath her concealer, right at her collarbone. A mark I left. She can hide it from her colleagues. From her family. But I know. She knows.

That knowledge sits in me like a brand.

The evening unravels in a blur of congratulations and laughter. Her sister Neha pulls out a slideshow of embarrassing childhood photos on a projector, and the courtyard roars with laughter.

"This," Neha announces proudly, "is what she looked like when she had a crush on Shah Rukh Khan and thought she could sing."

The crowd howls. She hides her face in mock horror, cheeks flaming.

My brother Gaurav came from Delhi and seizes his chance. "And this—this is him when he first texted her. The man stared at his phone for two hours before hitting send."

The courtyard erupts again. I roll my eyes, but my lips betray me—they're smiling. Because yes, that's exactly how I'd been. Pathetic. Obsessed. Hopeless.

And still am.

Later, the aunties descend on her. I watch from across the courtyard, wine glass in hand, every muscle of mine itching to go stand by her side.

"You're glowing, beta," one aunt says slyly. "That facial or something else?"

Another aunt narrows her eyes, smirks knowingly.
"Don't think we didn't notice that high-neck blouse. We've all been young once."

Rhea nearly chokes on her shinghara, stammering denials, cheeks turning a dangerous shade of pink. I nearly choke on my drink because all I want to do is walk over, pull her into my side, and say—mine.

But I don't. Not yet.

As the party winds down and the lanterns flicker softer against the night sky, we steal away to a quiet corner behind the house.

The music fades, the laughter drifts away. It's just us, shadows and glow. I take her hand, brushing my thumb over the diamond.

"Do you know," I murmur, "how long I waited to put this on you?"

She leans in close, eyes melting against mine. "Probably not as long as I've been imagining being yours like this."

I grin, a little too wolfishly. "You always were. You just didn't know it yet."

Her lips brush mine in a whisper. "Let's get through this party without more hickeys?"

I lean closer, grazing her ear with my mouth. "That's not a promise I can keep."

She shivers. I feel it.

When the aunts and uncles leave, the younger crowd lingers, music still playing low. Slowly, one by one, they slip away too—until it's only us.

Her sister winks as she heads upstairs. "By the way, Rhea, I got a new double bed. Perfect for couples."

Rhea nearly combusts on the spot, staring anywhere but at me.

Then Gaurav claps my back, smirking. "My cab's here. Leaving now. Keep your hands off her—you're in her parents' home, bro. Control yourself."

I almost choke on my wine. The urge to drag him back and throttle him is strong. But Rhea pretends she hasn't heard a word, cheeks burning.

We tidy up together in the courtyard, stacking plates, wrapping leftovers. She's folding napkins when I slide up behind her, hands closing around her waist. She gasps, stiffens.

"Alex—fiancé—we're at my parents' home. We have to keep distance."

I don't let go. I dip closer, pressing once, slowly, into her hips, my voice low and dark.
"Your sister already expects us to make use of that new double bed."

She spins, pushes at my chest playfully. "My room is just above my grandma's. And adjoining Neha's. If you want to take that risk, go ahead. But tomorrow night, after dinner, we leave. Tonight... fully clothed. No funny business."

I groan. Begrudgingly nod. For now.

She showers first. I wait downstairs, restless, pacing. When I finally climb up and knock, she opens the door just a crack. Hair wrapped in a towel, face fresh, pajama set soft and floral. Every inch of her screams innocent, untouchable.

But my blood stirs anyway.

She narrows her eyes. "What?"

I grin, holding up the glass of warm milk her mother had pressed into my hand. "Your mom made me promise you'd drink this."

She groans. "She's trying to domesticate me."

I walk right in, place it on the nightstand, and stretch out on her bed like it's mine.

"You're not sleeping here," she says, pointing the dryer at me.

"Just until you fall asleep. Then I'll go."

She sighs, curls beside me anyway, and I pull her close, my hand flattening against her stomach.

"Hey—" she warns.

"I'm just holding what's mine," I murmur against her shoulder.

Her lips twitch. "Fully clothed. Hands above the blanket."

I groan, dramatic. "You're ruining the moment."

But when her eyes finally flutter closed, I lie awake, listening to her breathe. My body burns to break every rule she's set—but I don't.

Not tonight.

When I slip out, just before dawn, I leave a note by her bedside:
Behaved. Barely. See you tonight. — Yours.

But I couldn't resist leaving something else too. My lips pressed against the soft inside of her wrist while she slept, a mark blooming there like a secret.

My signature.