unwanted but unavoidable

The bus shuddered to a stop, its brakes hissing like a wounded animal. Dust swirled in the headlights as the warden's voice cut through the murmurs: "Everyone out! Restroom break—10 minutes!" Yash blinked awake, disoriented, his cheek still warm from where it had pressed against Anika's shoulder. She nudged him sharply, her voice a hissed whisper: "Move. Now."

Outside, the night air bit into his lungs. The roadside was a desolate stretch flanked by skeletal trees, their shadows clawing at the asphalt. Kids scattered—some giggling, others groggy—stretching stiff limbs under the jaundiced glow of the bus's emergency lights. Anika vanished into the rusted restroom shack, leaving Yash to pace near a gnarled oak. When she emerged, her hair was tousled, lips freshly glossed.

"Sleep well, baby?" she asked, the mockery in her tone sharper than the cold.

"Yeah," he mumbled, avoiding her gaze.

"Good." She stepped closer, the scent of peach gum and cigarette smoke clinging to her. "But you're still clueless. Those trashy books taught you nothing."

Yash's ears burned. "I just… looked at the pictures. Didn't read the—"

"Pathetic." She grabbed his wrist, her nails crescent moons in his skin. "Forget the books. I'll show you how it's done. But breathe a word to anyone"—her grip tightened—"and I'll vanish. Got it?"

He nodded, throat dry.

The Return

Back on the bus, Riya—the doe-eyed girl from the window seat—was waiting. Yash froze. She wasn't wearing a bra. Her sweater clung to the soft sway of her breasts as she shifted, the fabric whispering secrets with every movement. Her eyes met his, wide and unblinking, before she patted the seat beside her.

"Yash! Sit, sit," Riya chirped, her arm slinging casually over his shoulder. Her touch was fire through his threadbare shirt. "You look… different. Did something happen?"

Anika snorted from the aisle. "He's just tired. Right, Yash?"

He sank into the seat, hyperaware of Riya's thigh pressing against his. The bus engine roared to life, plunging them into darkness again.

The Dance

Anika slid in last, her hip brushing Yash's as she squeezed past. The trio sat like mismatched puzzle pieces—Riya humming off-key by the window, Anika rigid against the aisle, and Yash trapped between them, his pulse a war drum.

When the overhead lights died, Anika's hand found his knee. "Relax," she breathed, her lips grazing his ear. "She's clueless."

Riya yawned, stretching. "God, this ride's endless. Yash, wanna play thumb war?"

"Later," Anika snapped. "He's sleeping."

Yash barely registered the lie. Anika's fingers crept higher, tracing the seam of his jeans. He jerked, knocking Riya's elbow.

"Oops! Sorry," Riya giggled, oblivious. "You're jumpy tonight."

Anika's laugh was velvet. "First crushes make boys nervous."

Riya's eyes widened. "Oooh! Who's the lucky—"

"Sleep," Anika ordered, flicking Riya's forehead. "Or I'll tell everyone about your diary."

Riya pouted but slumped against the window, her breaths soon deepening.

The Lesson

Anika's hand resumed its journey, deft and clinical. "Watch," she whispered, guiding Yash's palm under Riya's sweater. The warmth of sleeping skin startled him. "Soft, isn't she? But this"—her own hand slid into his waistband—"is what you really want."

Yash choked back a gasp. The bus hit a pothole, jolting Riya sideways. Her breast pressed fully into his palm.

"See?" Anika's teeth grazed his neck. "Accidents happen."

He wanted to pull away, to scream, to stop—but his body betrayed him, leaning into every forbidden touch. Anika smirked, reading him like one of her damn books.

"Focus," she hissed, twisting her grip. "Or she'll wake up."

The Revelation

Hours later, dawn bled through the windows. Riya stirred, blinking sleepily. "Yash? You okay? You're all… sweaty."

Anika was already at the front, chatting with the driver like nothing happened.

"I'm fine," Yash croaked. His jeans felt two sizes too tight.

As they filed off the bus, Anika cornered him near the luggage hold. Her smirk faltered. "You're welcome."

"For what?"

She gestured at his rumpled clothes. "For showing you what those books never could."

Yash's fists clenched. "I didn't ask—"

"You didn't have to." She lit a stolen cigarette, the flame trembling in her hands. "Boys like you always want more. Just remember"—she blew smoke in his face—"this stays here. Or next time, it'll be your secrets I share."

The Aftermath

Back at the orphanage, Yash scrubbed his hands raw in the shower. But the memories clung—Riya's warmth, Anika's nails, the way shame and desire coiled together like snakes in his gut.

At dinner, Riya waved him over. "Yash! Saved you a seat!"

He fled to the boys' dorm instead.

That night, he dreamt of peaches and smoke.