It was a day like any other as we strolled through the hallowed halls of Harvard University, the air thick with the scent of ambition and the faint rustle of autumn leaves outside. For me, it was just another day, a calm interlude in the whirlwind of college life. But for her, it was a day fraught with anticipation. As we approached the notice board, her eyes widened, and her breath hitched. The notice was clear: the first semester results were out. My heart, steady as ever, didn't skip a beat—I knew I had done well. But her? She was a bundle of nerves, her fingers gripping mine so tightly that I could feel the faint tremble in her touch. Her palm was damp, her anxiety palpable. I tried to lighten the mood, offering her a sip of my ginger ale, the cool metallic can glinting in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
"Babe, relax," I said, holding out the can with a playful grin. "Wanna have some ale?"
She usually wrinkled her nose at my choice of drink, always chiding me for indulging in what she called "unnecessary stuff." But this time, to my surprise, she grabbed the can and downed it in one go, handing it back to me empty. I raised an eyebrow, amused. "Damn, babe, that nervous? Chill, dude."
Hours passed, and her nervousness only grew. She fidgeted, her leg bouncing uncontrollably, while I sat beside her, calm and collected, my arm draped casually around her shoulders. Finally, the results were posted. I didn't even bother to move from my spot, confident in my performance. But she? She was up in an instant, rushing to the board, her saree swishing with every hurried step. I watched her from afar, a small smile playing on my lips as she scanned the list.
And then it happened. Her eyes lit up, and she turned to me, her face breaking into the most radiant smile I had ever seen. She ran back to me, her arms wrapping around my neck in a tight embrace. I held her close, my arms encircling her waist, feeling the warmth of her body against mine. Her eyes were wide with excitement, her voice trembling as she whispered, "I got 10th rank!"
"Wow, babe, that's amazing!" I replied, my heart swelling with pride for her. "What about me?"
She grinned, her fingers tracing the line of my jaw. "Yours is 1st. Congrats, honey."
The news spread like wildfire, and soon, a crowd of our peers surrounded us, their voices a cacophony of congratulations and requests for a celebration. I laughed, nodding in agreement. "Alright, guys, tonight at 8 p.m., party at my mansion!"
She shot me a look, her eyes narrowing playfully. "No drinks," she added firmly, and though there were a few disappointed murmurs, the excitement was undeniable. As the crowd dispersed, she leaned in close, her lips brushing against my ear as she whispered, "You're gonna get a special treat tonight for making me study and scoring 1st rank."
I grinned, my heart skipping a beat at the promise in her voice. "Okay, I'll hold you to that."
The party was a whirlwind of laughter, music, and chaos. By 10 p.m., the mansion was a mess, the remnants of the celebration scattered across the rooms. She was still in her saree, the delicate fabric clinging to her figure, the waist chain glinting in the soft light. As we entered our room, she turned on the lights, her movements graceful and deliberate. I began to unbutton my shirt, my fingers fumbling slightly as I called out to her, "Babe, help me with this."
But she didn't move. Instead, she leaned against the wardrobe, her arms crossed, her eyes fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. I scoffed playfully. "Okay, I know you. You're just going to stand there and stare, aren't you?"
She smiled, her voice soft but firm. "I'm never gonna leave you."
Her words sent a shiver down my spine. I stepped closer, my nails gently digging into her waist as I pulled her to me. "Hold on tight, then. Because I'm never letting you go."
I reached for her waist chain, my fingers brushing against her skin as I removed it. "So, was this the special gift? Something physical?" I teased, my hand hovering under her saree, tracing the curve of her hip.
She caught my hand, stopping me with a gentle but firm grip. "Oh, if you want it, you can have it," she said, her voice a sultry whisper. "But your reward is something you love a lot more than me."
Before I could respond, she pulled out a brand-new CD—the latest version of *Call of Duty: Black Ops Season 6 for the PS5. My eyes widened, and a grin spread across my face. I took the CD from her, my excitement palpable. Without a second thought, I changed into my shorts, grabbed the CD, and dashed to my gaming room.
The lights were off, the room illuminated only by the glow of the screen. I settled onto the couch, the controller in my hands, completely absorbed in the game. She watched me from the corner of the room, her grin widening as she shook her head in mock exasperation.
"C'mon, my big boy," she teased, her voice laced with affection. "You're 24. Stop playing that game and come to bed."
But I was already lost in the world of the game, my heart racing with the thrill of the virtual battlefield. She lingered for a moment, her eyes soft as she watched me, before finally turning to leave, her laughter echoing down the hallway.
And though I was immersed in the game, a part of me knew that no matter how much I loved it, nothing could ever compare to the love I had for her. She was my real reward, my ultimate victory. And as the night deepened, I knew that no matter how many games I played, she would always be the one who held my heart.