Ryan trudged through the sprawling chaos of Dubai International Airport, a White American bogged down by a duffel bag and a 12-hour layover. His connecting flight to New York was delayed--some cryptic "technical issue" announcement crackling over the PA--and the terminal was a mess: harried travelers, crying kids, and a stale hum of sweat and coffee. He was mid-scroll through his phone, hunting for a bar that wasn't packed, when he saw her--Vaishnavi, his ex, perched on a hard plastic bench near Gate 42, her pale Indian skin catching the fluorescent glow. She was tiny, barely five feet, her dark hair pulled into a messy bun, those cute canines peeking as she frowned at a crumpled boarding pass. A gold band glinted on her left hand, new and shiny, and his gut twisted--they'd dated years ago, a sweet, sexless fling of coffee dates and shy smiles, cut short by distance and her strict parents. He hadn't seen her since, but damn, she still had that pull, pink inside and out, hotter than ever.
He hesitated, then walked over, boots scuffing the tile.
"Vaishnavi?" he called, voice rough from travel fatigue.
She looked up, startled, her big doe eyes widening as recognition hit, flushing her cheeks that soft pink he remembered. "Ryan?" Her voice was small, a mix of shock and wariness, and she clutched her pass tighter, shifting her carry-on closer.
"Oh my goodness, what are you doing here?"
"Layover hell," he said, dropping his bag and leaning against a pillar, arms crossed. "Flight's screwed. You?"
She fidgeted, glancing around like someone might overhear. "Same, sort of. I was with my husband--we were coming back from a trip--but the airline overbooked our connection to Delhi. He got on an earlier flight, and I'm stuck here till tomorrow morning." She lifted her chin, a touch defensive. "We're newlyweds. Married a week ago. I'm... really happy with him."
"Yeah?" Ryan raised an eyebrow, voice low, studying her. She was in a light blue kurta, practical but clinging just right, and her nervous energy screamed she wasn't as settled as she claimed. "Happy's good, Vaish. He treat you right?"
"He does," she said quickly, too quick, brushing hair from her face. "He's kind, steady. Works in tech. Not... not like us, back then." Her eyes flicked to his--sharp jaw, broad shoulders--and away again, old memories stirring. She'd loved his wild streak once, even if they'd never crossed that line.
"Us was something," he said, grinning slow, stepping closer. "You nodding at me over lattes, those cute teeth flashing. Drove me nuts."
She laughed, a shaky little sound, and he pushed. "Bet you don't think about me anymore, huh?"
Her smile vanished. "Ryan, don't," she warned, voice firm, standing up to face him, barely reaching his chest. "That's over. I'm married now--a good marriage. You can't just... say stuff like that." Her tone was prim, but her hands trembled, heat simmering beneath her words.
"Didn't say anything wrong," he teased, hands up, voice dropping to that husky drawl she used to melt for. "Just reminiscing. You look tired, though--rough night ahead in this dump?" He nodded at the terminal--overflowing trash bins, a toddler wailing nearby, the AC sputtering warm air.
"I'll manage," she snapped, crossing her arms. "I've got a book. I'm fine." But her shoulders slumped, exhaustion creeping in, and he saw his opening.
"Bullshit," he said, blunt but playful. "Look around--no seats, no food stands open past midnight, just screaming brats and a floor to sleep on. I've been here before, Vaish--this place turns into a sauna by 2 a.m. I'm getting a hotel five minutes out. Got a spare bed. Come crash--nothing funny, just sleep."
Her eyes narrowed, skeptical. "No way, Ryan. I'm not going anywhere with you. That's insane--I don't trust you!" She stepped back, clutching her bag like a shield.
"Trust me to what? Snore?" He smirked, leaning in. "You're dead on your feet, and this airport's a nightmare. Hotel's got AC, a shower, real pillows. I'll take the couch--scout's honor. You'll thank me when you're not a zombie tomorrow."
She glared, but the chaos pressed in--a PA blared about gate changes, a guy coughed wetly nearby--and her resolve wavered. "I shouldn't," she muttered, biting her lip, those canines glinting. "It's not right. My husband--"
"Won't know," he cut in, voice smooth. "One night, Vaishnavi. You deserve a break from this hellhole."
She stared at him, breathing fast, then sighed, defeated by logic and fatigue. "Fine," she relented, voice tight. "But you stay on the couch. I mean it, Ryan--no tricks!"
He nodded, hiding his grin, knowing he'd already won half the fight.
At the hotel, Vaishnavi lingered by the door of the modest room--beige walls, a double bed with crisp white sheets, a small couch shoved against the window overlooking Dubai's glittering skyline. She dropped her carry-on on the floor, arms crossed, her light blue kurta wrinkled from the day.
"This doesn't mean anything," she said, voice sharp, eyeing him warily as he kicked off his boots and tossed his duffel by the couch. "I'm just here to sleep."
"Relax, Vaish," Ryan said, casual, stretching his arms behind his head, shirt riding up to flash a sliver of toned stomach. "I'm not gonna pounce. Couch is mine--you get the bed, princess." He grinned, that slow, dangerous smile.
She huffed, turning to dig through her bag for a charger. "Good," she muttered, plugging her phone into the wall outlet. "Because I'm not... I'm not doing anything stupid. I love my husband." Her voice wobbled, like she was convincing herself.
Ryan caught it, easing off the couch to lean against the bedframe, close but not too close. "Never said you didn't," he replied, voice soft, watching her fumble with the cord. "You're tense, though. Long day, huh?"
She nodded, reluctant, and he kept going, smooth as silk. "Remember that time we got stuck at that diner in the rain? You were all jumpy then too--kept saying you'd get in trouble for being out late."
She paused, a tiny smile tugging at her lips despite herself. "You made me stay for pie. My mom was so mad." Her canines peeked out.
He chuckled, stepping a hair closer. "Worth it, though. You looked cute, all flustered." His tone dipped, warm and low. "Still do."
Her smile faded, replaced by a frown, and she straightened, turning to face him. "Stop that, Ryan," she said, firm but shaky. "I'm not flirting with you. This is just... convenience. That's all." She gestured at the room, but her eyes lingered on his, big and conflicted.
"Sure," he said, hands up, then sat on the bed's edge, patting the spot beside him. "Sit a sec. You're wound tight--talk to me. Old times, nothing heavy."
She hesitated, biting her lip, then perched on the far end, prim and stiff. "Fine," she sighed. "But no funny business."
He nodded, keeping it light--stories about their old dates, her giggling at his dumb jokes, the way she'd nod at him like he hung the moon. Her guard slipped, shoulders softening, laughter bubbling up as he leaned closer, voice dropping.
"You're still that girl, Vaish," he murmured, eyes locked on hers. "Cute as hell. Bet your husband doesn't see it like I do."
Her breath hitched, and she shook her head, scooting back. "No, Ryan--I can't," she whispered, voice trembling. "I'm married. Happily. This is wrong."
"Just talking," he lied, hand brushing her knee, light but deliberate.
She flinched, swatting it away. "Don't!" she snapped, standing up.
He stood too, crowding her gently against the wall. "Ryan, I said no!" Her voice rose, panicked, but he didn't back off, voice low and insistent.
"You're shaking, Vaish," he said, hands hovering near her hips. "Not 'cause you hate me. You feel it too--us, unfinished."
She shoved at his chest, weak and frantic. "Stop it! I'm not doing this!"
He caught her wrists, pulling her in, lips grazing her ear. "One kiss," he growled, "then I'll stop."
She whimpered, "No, please," but he pressed his mouth to hers, soft at first, then hard, tongue slipping in.
