I. Rooftop at 2 A.M.
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Maya just turned eighteen two weeks ago. Arjun’s birthday is next month. They’ve been best friends since sixth grade, but tonight feels different. The city is asleep, the rooftop door was supposed to be locked, and they’re both a little drunk on stolen peach vodka.
She’s wearing his oversized hoodie; he’s wearing her strawberry lip balm because she kissed him five minutes ago “just to see what it felt like.” Now they can’t stop. Hands under shirts, breath hot against necks, the skyline blinking neon below them like it’s cheering them on.
He pushes her gently against the water tank, slides his hand up her thigh under the pleated skirt she wore to graduation practice. She gasps when his fingers find she’s not wearing anything underneath. “Been planning this?” he whispers. “Since ninth grade,” she admits, and pulls him closer.
They don’t make it all the way — too scared, too excited — but she comes twice on his fingers while the city lights blur through her tears, and he follows it by dropping to her knees to taste herself on him for the first time. When the sun starts to rise they’re still tangled together, laughing and shaking and promising this is only night one of the rest of their lives.
They sneak down separately so the watchman doesn’t suspect. In the elevator mirror their lips are swollen, hair wild, clothes inside-out. They look exactly like what they are now: two teenagers who just crossed every line and can’t wait to cross the next one.
II. Backseat of His Dad’s Car
Chapter 1 – The Drive-In
Chapter 2 – Fogged Windows
Chapter 3 – First Time
Chapter 4 – Almost Caught
Chapter 5 – Forever
Rohan stole his dad’s vintage Mustang for one night. Priya wore the tiniest sundress she owns and lied to her parents about a sleepover. The old drive-in is showing 90s horror movies; nobody cares what’s on screen when the real show is happening in the very last row.
Ten minutes into the movie they’re already making out like they’re trying to inhale each other. Her bra is on the dashboard, his shirt around her waist, his hand between her thighs while she strokes him through his jeans until he’s begging.
They climb into the backseat. It’s awkward and perfect — knees knocking, nervous giggles, whispered “are you sure?” a hundred times. When he finally pushes inside her they both freeze at how intense it feels. Then they move together like they’ve done this in dreams a thousand nights already.
Suddenly headlights sweep across the lot. Rohan’s dad looking for his car. They scramble for clothes, hearts pounding harder than during sex. They drive away laughing hysterically, windows still fogged with their handprints.
Years later that Mustang sits in Rohan’s garage with the original leather seats still carrying faint traces of Priya’s vanilla perfume — and neither of them has ever told a soul why they smile every time they smell it.
