When Megha was 17, just days away from turning 18, everything felt like it was about to change.

College corridors buzzed with gossip and restless ambition—but nothing stirred more curiosity, or quiet chaos, than the arrival of the new English professor: Aditya Rao.

He was thirty-two. Sharp in thought, calm in presence, with a voice that could quiet a room—or a heart.

When he first entered the classroom, his gaze swept over the rows of students and paused—just briefly—on her.

Megha Yadav.

Messy notebooks. Ink-stained fingers.

English had never been her favorite; words felt too stiff, too fragile. But under his gaze, they began to matter.

She began to matter.

Two weeks passed in a blur of lectures and stolen glances.

And then one afternoon, in the quiet warmth of the art studio, something shifted.

Aditya found her there—alone, barefoot, with streaks of paint on her cheeks and rebellion in her eyes.

“You should be in class,” he said, stepping closer.

Megha looked up, not the least bit guilty. Just curious. Bold.

“Maybe I learn better here, professor,” she whispered.

That was the moment.

The first spark.

The first crack in all their carefully drawn lines.

This is how their story began...

Two years later.

She’s 20 now. A woman. His woman.

It’s the day before their wedding.

Desire has matured. Longing has grown teeth.

Stay tuned.

For all the soft burns, sharp tension, and bold nights still to come.

And for more, read:

Her Milk, His Flavour

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