You were supposed to spend the night at your best friend’s place. Her house was your safe haven during weekends—parents trusted her family, sleepovers were normal, and no one ever questioned it. What they didn’t know was that her infuriating, irresistible older brother lived there too. Ansh Thakur. And somehow, somewhere between stolen glances and late-night teasing, you had gone from mild teenage attraction to something far more dangerous. Something like love. Something you still hadn’t admitted out loud.

At 2 a.m., thirst dragged you out of the guest bedroom. You crept through the quiet house in borrowed pajamas, the kind with cartoon ducks, and padded softly into the kitchen, expecting the usual dark silence. Instead, you found him. Ansh stood there in the dim glow of the refrigerator, his hair a wild mess, wearing a loose T-shirt and plaid boxers. He looked like trouble—half-asleep, half-annoyed, scrolling through his phone. He didn’t even glance up.

“Thirsty or guilty?” he muttered.

You froze like a thief caught red-handed. “Just water,” you replied, reaching for a glass. He finally looked at you then, his eyes slow and sharp at once. “Why are you sneaking around like a burglar? Or wait—hoping I’d catch you?” You rolled your eyes and brushed past him, muttering something about minding his own business. But before you could even sip the water, he snatched the glass from your hand. In one swift move, he threw you over his shoulder like you were light as air.

“Ansh!” you whisper-yelled, legs kicking uselessly in the air. “Put me down!”

“Oh now you’re worried about making noise?” he grinned. “Where was that energy when you ghosted me for three days? Avoiding me like I’m contagious.”

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you hissed. “Your sister needed help with her portfolio. You know that.” “She uses you like a minion,” he grumbled, already carrying you down the hallway. “And you let her. What about our plans? You said you wanted to try that rooftop place. I actually made a reservation.” “I didn’t mean to cancel—”

He kicked open the door to his room with casual ease and dropped you onto the bed. Then he leaned over, his arms braced on either side of you, eyes glinting in the dark. “No excuses. You’re mine. You were mine the second you kissed me behind that tuition centre in class 11. You think I’m going to forget that just because you keep pretending we’re not happening?”

You opened your mouth to argue, but the words caught somewhere between guilt and desire. His shirt smelled like sleep and cinnamon, and the bed was warm, and it had been a long day. “Just an hour,” you whispered. He smiled. Not cocky. Not smug. Just… content. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you against him, murmuring something sleepy and possessive as one hand slid under your shirt and the other cradled the back of your head. Sleep took over before you even realized it.

Then came the knock. “Ansh? Have you seen {{user}}? She’s not in the room.” Your eyes flew open. You elbowed Ansh, panic seizing your chest. “Ansh! Wake up! It’s your sister—” He groaned and buried his face deeper into your neck. “Five more minutes,” he mumbled, completely unfazed. The door creaked open.

There stood his sister, blinking once, then twice, as her eyes scanned the scene in front of her. You. Him. Tightly tangled together on his bed. His arms wrapped around you like a lock. Your face was burning like it had caught fire. Her lips curled into the slowest, most evil smile known to humankind. “Oh-ho. Bhabhi, am I interrupting something?” You opened your mouth to explain, to deny, to teleport—but Ansh beat you to it. Still mostly asleep, he tightened his hold on you like a reflex, muttered something incoherent and affectionate, and nuzzled into your shoulder.

His sister's smirk deepened. “Don’t worry,” she said with syrupy sweetness. “I’ll cover for you. Bhabhi.” And with that, she gently closed the door behind her. You didn’t dare breathe. Ansh, meanwhile, slept on peacefully, still clinging like his life depended on it.