Chapter 1: Gate 36A — Final Call for Desire

New York's JFK airport was buzzing, even at midnight.

Flight announcements, rolling suitcases, designer handbags, sharp suits, and the unmistakable scent of expensive perfume mixed with jet lag.

Business class flyers barely glanced around. They were used to flying across time zones — first names with their airline crew, lounge regulars.

But tonight, something unusual was about to board the 2:05 AM flight to Mumbai.

She stood alone in the business class check-in line.

Oversized white T-shirt, no bra.

A pair of denim shorts so tiny they were more of a rumor than real clothing.

Slides on her feet, glossy lips, hair in a loose bun.

She looked effortless — and yet, every inch of her was planned.

Phones buzzed around her. People were too busy to stare.

But not him.

He entered the terminal like he owned it.

Charcoal shirt, black jeans, Apple Watch glinting under the airport lights.

Not flashy. Just expensive and quiet — the kind that turns heads for no reason at all.

And his eyes? They found her instantly.

She didn't notice him at first.

Until he took his place in line — right behind her.

His gaze dropped.

T-shirt. Legs. Skin.

The faint line where her thighs met.

And the hem of her shorts... if you could call them that.

She felt his presence.

Noticed the pause in his steps. The slight shift in energy.

So she moved — just a little.

Pretended to adjust her carry-on.

And as she leaned forward, the oversized T-shirt slid up.

An extra inch of bare thigh peeked out. The soft crease where her shorts barely covered her.

She didn't turn around.

But she smiled.

"This one's already staring," she thought, her lip caught between her teeth.

His eyes didn't move.

His throat bobbed slightly.

And his grip on his boarding pass tightened.

Business Class Boarding — Gate 36A

Her seat was already assigned.

Window side. 3C. She liked watching takeoff — the city shrinking below as she left behind reality.

New York's JFK Airport was alive with the usual hum —

pages flipping, boarding calls echoing, coffee cups clinking.

But Gate 36A felt like it was holding its breath.

He was already seated in the business class waiting lounge.

Phone in hand, unread emails open, suit fitted like second skin.

Calm. Composed. Bored.

Until she walked in.

Not hurried. Not late.

Just... unapologetically slow — like she wanted to be noticed.

Oversized T-shirt.

Tiny denim shorts — barely visible under the hem.

Long legs. Glowing skin. Flip-flops like she didn't give a damn.

She didn't look at him right away.

But her eyes knew he was there.

He noticed the second she stepped in.

His screen dimmed, his attention locked.

She took the seat directly in front of him, same row — knees barely two feet apart.

Pulled her hair into a loose bun.

Checked her boarding pass.

Then... shifted in her seat.

And spread her legs.

Wide.

Deliberately.

And he saw it.

The curve of her inner thighs, the tiniest triangle of fabric covering her pussy — barely.

The way her shorts clung to her lips down there, the line clear, obscene, addictive.

His jaw flexed.

Hands tightened on his phone.

She knew.

Still not looking at him, she sat like that for five long seconds — enough to melt patience, enough to test his limits.

And then — she slowly closed her legs.

Crossed them one over the other.

And finally glanced up.

Straight at him.

No smile. Just full eye contact.

The kind that said: "I know what you saw. I made sure you did."

His lips parted slightly.

Eyes dark now.

But still silent.

She leaned back in her chair.

Tilted her head lazily.

After half an hour....

As she reached the gate and handed over her pass, she didn't expect to look back.

But she did.

And there he was.

Same flight.

Same row.

3D.

He looked straight into her eyes.

No smile.

Just... awareness. And something darker. Curious.

She didn't say a word.

Just raised a brow and moved ahead.

She bit back a laugh.

"Lagta hai sun li gayi meri baat."

Game on.