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The guitar scraped the tiles as Bhooma hurled it across the studio floor, a shuddering crash echoing like the end of a war. With her chest heaving and sweat painting a glisten across her collarbone, her fists clenched and shook with the echo of fury.
Vikram pushed himself slightly on the stairs, mouth open but speechless, whatever front he had built now cracked. His bravado had evaporated. Now there was only the wide-eyed boy who’d never expected the storm to strike back.
A clap rang out into the hush with a sting that dragged its knuckles across the silence.
Bhooma turned slightly, gaze shifting behind her.
Durga stood at the edge of the floor, just below the crowd, hands meeting again with a second clap, her eyebrows arched with admiration and that familiar glint she reserved for Bhooma alone. A proud half-smile tugged at her lips, crooked and satisfied, like a sculptor seeing the marble finally crack the way she intended. Bhooma stared, unsure whether it was shock or something far warmer that tightened her throat.
Bhooma turned from the top step and descended, her first movements careful, the rest driven by something she couldn’t hold back. The gathered crowd had frozen in place, their voices stilled under the weight of what they’d just seen, and across it all, Durga stood watching her with a focus that never broke, as if she’d seen this coming long before anyone else.
“Finally grew claws, did you?” Durga teased, voice light as silk and twice as smug.
Bhooma just grabbed Durga’s face and slammed their mouths together, catching her mid-smirk and shoving past it as Durga stiffened for a beat before Bhooma's mouth moved over hers, rough and sure, and when her tongue dragged across Durga’s lower lip, Durga parted her mouth with a startled sound that spilled straight into Bhooma’s mouth.
Bhooma explored her mouth, brushing along the roof before gliding down to meet Durga’s tongue, then moving along the inner sides and slipping past to trace every line and shape inside.
She circled each tooth, dragged her tongue over the smooth curve behind the front row, and pulled back only when Durga’s breath started to tremble against her lips.
Bhooma tilted her head, glancing over her shoulder at Vikram, who hadn’t found a thing to say. Then she tapped Durga’s side with the back of her hand, turned without another glance, and left the crowd in her wake.
Durga stumbled a step as if her legs had forgotten what to do, her breath faltering with each inhale, and her fingers brushing her lower lip like the kiss still echoed there. A smirk crept in slow, pulled from someplace deep, and once it landed, she lifted her eyes to find Vikram still frozen on the stairs.
She raised her hand and gave him the middle finger like it was the only reply worth giving, held it just long enough for the message to sink in, then turned on her heel and broke into a jog, weaving through the crowd to follow Bhooma.
Durga pushed through the doors and jogged across the entrance steps, eyes locked ahead where Bhooma was already halfway down the path that led to the parking lot. Her footsteps picked up speed as she closed the gap, boots thudding against the concrete, and she reached out just before Bhooma stepped off the curb.
She caught her by the arm and yanked her back, spun her hard enough that Bhooma’s hair whipped sideways. Durga leaned in and pressed her mouth to hers before Bhooma could speak. The kiss landed, but only for a second—Bhooma shoved backward, tore her arm free, and slapped Durga across the face with a sound that cracked against the night.
Durga stood frozen with one hand at her cheek, the sting still fresh, her eyes wide as if the world had flipped under her feet. Bhooma stared back at her, breath sharp, glare cutting through the space between them without softening. She stepped forward and shoved Durga back with both hands, sending her stumbling a few steps toward the curb. Then Bhooma turned, marched toward the parking lot without a word, and made straight for Durga’s car. She reached the passenger side, pulled the door open, got in, and slammed it shut with a force that made the frame shudder.
Durga lowered her hand from her cheek, the red still rising on her skin. A slow smirk began to pull at her mouth, small at first, then fuller as it settled. She let out a short huff through her nose and started walking toward the car.
Durga drove without speaking, hands steady on the wheel, the engine humming low beneath the quiet. She glanced toward Bhooma from the corner of her eye. Bhooma hadn’t moved, her shoulders stiff, her arms folded tight as she stared through the windshield like it might shatter under her gaze.
“Stop the car,” Bhooma said, voice flat.
Durga frowned and looked over. “What?”
Bhooma slammed her hand against the dash. “I said stop the damn car.”
Durga let out a sharp squeak and jerked the wheel. “Okay! Chill! I’m stopping!” she said, guiding the car over with a jolt that made both of them rock forward.
The moment it settled, Bhooma reached out, took a fistful of Durga’s collar, and dragged her in so fast their noses nearly bumped.
“If you break my heart,” Bhooma said, voice low but sharp enough to draw blood, “I swear you’ll regret ever looking at me like you do.”