It's often said that every meeting is a predestined story, waiting to unfold. Life is like an onion--you peel one layer at a time, and each layer holds something deeper, something unexpected. Who would've thought a random meeting between two strangers could lead to something so steamy... yet so completely out of sync, that a whole new song started playing?
I'm Palak. And this is the story of how I got taken captive by a guy so rough, even Christian Grey would've stepped aside.
It was 14th February. Valentine's Day. I hadn't eaten all day--I was too busy staring at my phone, stupidly waiting for a text from my ex. The same ex who was getting married that month. Foolish, I know. Why would someone who erased me from his life suddenly remember me on a day like this?
By evening, my stomach and my heart had both given up. I dragged myself to Burger King, grabbed a burger and a Coke, and within an hour, I was doubled over in pain--stomach ache so bad I was ready to draft my will. A hospital visit, high fever, and the second day of my period--it felt like life had ganged up on me.
My friends? Big-time assholes. Not one of them called to check on me. So, I messaged an old colleague, begging him to stay the night with me because honestly? I just couldn't be alone.
That night, I went to my friend's room--and found another guy sitting there at the table. He looked at me like he'd just discovered a toy he wanted to unwrap. We started talking, random topics bouncing around. A knock came at the door.
"That has to be Samaksh," my friend said, sighing.
I'd heard about him--Kashmiri, too handsome, too cocky. He walked in wearing jeans and a tucked-in shirt. Who dresses like that for a casual hangout? He sat right in front of me and, somehow, the conversation spiraled into fantasies, sex, numbers, positions--everything.
I started sharing my own escapades. Both the guys looked at each other, eyes wide, grinning like, "Damn, this girl has
range
." I knew what I was doing--I was showing off, no lies.
Later that night, he came again. This time in a vest. Just a vest. I was like, "What kind of grown man casually rocks up to a room of strangers like that?" At that time, I wasn't even remotely attracted to him.
Fast forward: 24th February. My ex got married. I was wrecked--physically, emotionally, spiritually. I actually thought about ending it all. Instead, I clung to the only distraction I could think of--those two idiots who made me laugh that day.
I begged my friend for help. She gave me his number--Samaksh's number. Without thinking, I texted him. Crying.
He replied instantly: "Come down. I'm here."
He handed me the keys to his room and said, "Wait there. I'll come."
I went, alone. Wanting to disappear from the world.
He came in with a small bottle of Coke. "Tight budget, huh?" I joked. But honestly? It was sweet. He talked to me like I mattered. Asked how I was feeling. I told him everything--my ex, my pain, my shame.
And then he dropped this line: "It hurts, doesn't it? That now he'll be fucking someone else. You'll get better dick. Just try."
I blinked.
Really?
Then he started telling me about his own escapades. I was intrigued. Fascinated. I kept thinking--
is life really this simple for some people?
Then came vodka. One shot. Two. Three. With each one, I got messier, louder, more broken. I spilled food on myself, ruined my pants. I was pear-shaped, nothing my friend had would fit me. He gave me his pants.
They fit. Soft. Comfortable. Safe.
He helped me walk, picked me up when I tripped, treated me like I was in a movie montage. No guy had done that for me before.
When the night ended, he dropped me back. My best friend freaked out--of course she did. "Drunk in a stranger's room? Are you insane?"
But after that? I kept running into him. Every time, he'd smile, call me over,
talk
. Most people avoid, ghost, ignore. He did the opposite.
As a thank you, I even joked--"Should I send a sexy girl your way to add to your collection?" Little did I know,
I
was the one getting added.
He shared a story he wrote--a roleplay with me as the HR. My jaw dropped. The boy could write. Like, actually write.
We met again. Friends, laughter. Secrets passed through glances. Then, one night, he video-called me. Awkward. Intimate. Familiar. His shirt was off again.
