Between Two Fires

So… how did you end up here?

 

The man took a long, cold breath. Looked away for a second.

 

Outside, the buzz of the hospital carried on—monitors beeping, muffled announcements, a stretcher wheel creaking down a corridor. But here, by the long window at the far end of the ICU wing, the world seemed paused.

 

The other guy tilted his head. What’s the point? You really wanna hear?

 

“Yeah,” he replied, “I’m getting bored. Might as well pass the time.”

 

“Fine then,” the man said, almost with a sigh. “I don’t even know where to start.”

 

He rubbed his face like trying to clear a fog.

 

“It’s always a woman, isn’t it? The way stories begin… or fall apart. So yeah, I met mine. We were working in the same organization. She was in her early twenties. That smile—God. It didn’t just light up her face—it did something to the air around her. Everyone noticed it. Heads turned. But not me. Not at first. She seemed arrogant. Always quiet. Serious. But work made us talk. Slowly—about politics, life, careers… and boss bitching.”

 

He gave a faint chuckle.

 

“We started having lunch together. I’m the kind who doesn’t shut up. If I’m quiet for five minutes, assume I’m asleep or dead. She listened. Calm, composed. Like always in meditation. I envied that.(Cont..)

 

He stared ahead, voice softening.

 

“I didn’t plan to get close. But I felt pulled toward her. One weekend, we met at Marine Drive. Light rain. City blur. That kind of Bombay drizzle that doesn’t soak you, just makes everything feel softer, slower. Her hair was damp, loose strands sticking to her face, and the sea behind her was restless, like it knew something we didn’t. We sat on one of those old stone benches, the famous ones facing the ocean—waves hitting the rocks like heartbeats.”

 

“We were pretending it was just casual—just two colleagues killing time. But something about that moment cracked the surface. We kissed. And it wasn’t soft, or shy. It felt like a craving. Like blood on the tongue of a lion. The second our lips touched, something ancient woke up in me.”

 

“She closed her eyes. I remember that. The way her eyelashes caught the rain. I put my hand gently on her neck, pulled her closer. And the kiss deepened. It wasn’t just passion—it was desperation. Like two people who had been parched for years and finally found water. We didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not until the rain turned wild and heavy, forcing us to laugh and run for cover like teenagers. It was… magical. That’s the only word I have for it.”

 

“I was getting married in a few weeks. So… we ended it.”

 

His face tightened.

 

“She switched teams. Left the company. We didn’t talk for months. But it never really ended. One day, I saw her with someone else. And I felt something I shouldn’t have—an ache, a pull. It hit like betrayal, even though I had no right. But I couldn’t help it. I lost control. It was impulsive, irrational, but real. I felt this magnetic pull toward her, like a part of me refused to let go, no matter how much time had passed.”

 

He tapped his fingers on his knee.

 

“I called her. It took exact 55 seconds, the silence broke. We were back—talking, texting, avoiding, then back again. On and off, again and again. We told ourselves to stop, then broke every rule. We met, slept together. We had sex like never before. With her, it was something else—raw, passionate, wild. Like nothing I had ever known. Every touch felt like fire and peace all at once. She wasn’t just a woman in my life—she was the storm and the shelter. The moment her skin met mine, I felt whole and broken at the same time. It was more than lust. It was need.

 

He took a shaky breath.

 

“But that dual life… it was killing me. I was never fully anywhere. Wherever I went, a part of me was somewhere else. Like I was a prisoner of my own thoughts. Always anxious. Always stressed. Always in a storm. But even in that chaos, she—she was the calm. She was divine. Like the sunset after a long, punishing noon. The water I was dying of thirst for.”

 

“That loop went on for eight years.

In between the on-again, off-again... life kept moving. I got married. Three year later, our daughter was born.

A baby girl. Four now. She’s my star. My everything. But I still kept going back. Couldn’t stop.”

 

“I decided—I want to breathe. I want to be free. I can’t live without her. Can’t. I was dying anyway, every single day. So better to die once and live after, even if it’s for a day, with her. So…”

 

He swallowed hard.

 

“One day I told my wife.”

 

His voice dropped.

 

“I could see it in her eyes—she either already knew or had been doubting. She was stunned. Like something cracked inside her. Like the illusion broke. She didn’t speak at first. Just stared, eyes filling with rage and disbelief.”

 

“I tried to say something, anything—but she stopped me with her hand. Then she threw her phone into the wall. Screamed. ‘Get lost!’ As loud as she could.”

 

“My baby girl came running in, crying. I bent down to lift her, but my wife yanked her back. ‘Don’t you dare touch her,’ she shouted. Like I was some kind of monster. A disease.”

 

“The hatred in her eyes. And the fear in my daughter’s…”

 

He paused, the weight of it choking his throat.

 

That moment broke me. I felt like the worst person alive. Like something in me died right there. I packed a bag.

 

He looked down at his hands like he still carried that moment with him

 

I was supposed to move in with her. Start the legal process. It was raining hard. I cried the whole drive. I kept telling myself—this is freedom. This is your choice. You deserve to be happy.

 

He nodded slowly, like convincing himself all over again.

 

I was desperate to reach her apartment. I just wanted to hug her. Kiss her. Touch her. This time… without guilt. Like breathing fresh air again after a decade of suffocation.

 

He looked down, voice thick.

 

Not in secret. Not in shame. Just… to pull her close, feel her heartbeat against mine without wondering who we were hurting. I wanted to trace her skin without flinching. To kiss her like it was allowed. Like the world wasn’t waiting to punish us for it.

 

He inhaled, slow and aching.

 

“I wanted to fall asleep tangled with her—no alarms, no guilt gnawing at my chest. Just her fingers in my hair. Her breath on my neck. That quiet, steady warmth that made everything else disappear.”

 

His voice dipped

 

“I didn’t want stolen nights anymore. I wanted a life.”

 

A pause.

 

I didn’t see the vehicle. Not until it was right in front of me. I tried to brake. Swerved. Hit the divider. Rolled.

 

He closed his eyes briefly.

 

And that’s how

 

Silence.

 

The other man, sitting beside him on the wide hospital window ledge, leaned back slowly. The two of them stared out at the hospital ward.

 

“…So now it’s your turn,” the first man said.

 

The second man didn’t answer right away.

 

Instead, both of them sat quietly, staring through the thick glass window into the ICU, where two bodies lay on separate beds, tubes and wires all around, lifeless but still warm.

 

Machines beeped, nurses moved.

 

Their bodies.

 

Neither spoke for a moment.

 

Outside, the rain had started again. Soft. Almost like a memory.

 

And in the reflection of the glass, the two men didn’t cast shadows.