Aayan

I'm not saying Kaynaaz is avoiding me. I'm saying I've seen hospital ghosts with better communication skills. She's dodged me through corridors like we're playing tag and I'm cursed. Switched shifts, ducked behind nurses.

Bold move for someone who kissed me first.

Okay, fine. Technically, I kissed her first... three years ago... and then vanished. But still. Who keeps score? (Kaynaaz does, like it's an Olympic sport, and I'm the only player participating in it)

Early this morning, I had stumbled into her wing due to an emergency, and yes, her wing is now separate from my own because I'm a fair man; hence, I fulfilled her wish of not seeing me all day during her shifts. I had only stepped one foot out of the patient's room when Kaynaaz, who hadn't been there when I came in, bolted out of her chair, leaving me baffled before I could even think anything.

She left her work at the nurses' station, half scribbled on a piece of white paper, her golden-brown eyes wide and her rosy lip caught between her teeth.

Come on, I can't be THAT bad?

Then at lunch, she refused to be in the same room as me and left as soon as she caught a sight of me quietly — and very sneakily — sitting a few tables away from her.

So yeah, Kaynaaz Rajvanshi is avoiding me like the plague. And I, Aayan Khan, have no idea what to do with it.

Despite her best attempts to pretend like I'm the bane of her existence, I know, she knows, WE know: that kiss wasn't accidental.

Whenever she passes me in the halls, and my eyes gaze at her hands, they're always squeezed into a tight fist, her face fisted into a horrified expression as if she's seen one of those hospital ghosts they're always gossiping about.

What she'll never realise, though, is the promise I've made to myself of finding her even in the most crowded room. Whether by the signature blue colour of her scrunchie, or the glittering silver earrings which have never been taken off even once over the years I've known her. And I go crazy when I don't find her.

Meri aankhon ko intezaar rehta hai uske noor ka, Woh haseen chehra na dekhu toh raat bhar nind rooth jaati hai.

(My eyes wait for her, and without looking at her beautiful face, I can't get any sleep)

I've been more than patient with her. I know she needs time to figure out things, and I'm a gentleman who knows how to step back when a lady needs her space. But COME ON, I'm like a love-sick puppy for her, how can she abandon me like this?

Honestly, at this point, I deserve a medal for this resistance. I haven't pulled her wrist and locked her in a room with me, I haven't cornered her on the staircase. Haven't even pulled a Bollywood-style movie to get her attention, which is usually my go-to resolution to EVERYTHING. Only for this stubborn, cold-shoulder-giving, silent treatment torturer.

But I swear, if she ducks behind one more nurse's station or uses another life-size anatomy model as a human shield, I'm going to lose my brain—right along with the last shred of dignity I'm clinging to.

And the worst part? It's not even her ignoring me.
It's that my own sister thinks I've lost it.

I was trying to subtly get Kaynaaz's attention—subtly, mind you—until Inaya waltzed in with all the grace of a wrecking ball and went:

"Bhaiya, you dropped your pen. Again. For the fifth time."

No one understands my strategy.

This is the kind of slow burn people write epic novels about. The torturously unresolved tension. The hero-waits-for-her-to-realise-he-is-the-one arc. Except in this version, I'm the idiot-hero who set himself on fire halfway through.

Before I accept the fact that she might escape me like she has for the past week, I see her. She's leaning against the desk in the calling room, hair falling out of her scrunchie. Her arms are folded as she stares at the wall in front of her quietly.

The hallway and the room are empty, considering the slow hours, most of the staff have retired to go home or take a break and go outside. It's just her, the soft ticks of the clock, and my own slow breaths. Her head slightly falls to the side, shoulders drooping. She looks exhausted, but beautiful nonetheless.

I want to step away, give her space. But my heart says otherwise. I walk right into the thick walls she has around herself.

"You look like someone who's lost her will to live. How are u planning to save others, then, Ms. Rajvanshi?" I question, my voice low, a bit teasing.

Her shoulders tense when she hears me. She doesn't move or look at me. Just shakes her head slightly as if annoyed or irritated.

Which she probably is.

I take a few steps towards her, steadily, as if she'll pounce on me like a hungry lioness if I get too close to her. She doesn't move, doesn't blink. Just kept staring at the opposite wall like it offended her personally. But I see it—her fingers tightening where they're crossed over her chest, her jaw clenching like she's bracing for impact.

"Relax, ma'am," I murmur, stopping a few steps away from her. "I'm not here to bite or get scratched. Unless, of course, if you're into that kind of thing,"

That earns me a flicker of reaction, a twitch of her lips, it's barely there before it disappears. She shakes her head slowly, letting out a soft sigh. She seems tired, and the way her face is lacking its usual lustre makes me want to step in a break all these high walls she has around herself and wreck this distance keeping us apart.

"Long day?" I ask softly.

Silence.

"Kaynaaz," I say again, gentler this time, "you can't pretend I'm invisible, because I've it on good authority that it's not the ghosts that blush and shake every time they pass me in the hallways,"

She exhales, barely, and I see the flush spreading across her cheeks. She looks up to meet my gaze just for a moment before looking away, staring at a point on the floor.

I fist my fingers, holding my place so I don't grab her and pull her into me. It's difficult to defy the laws of attraction, especially after that kiss she gave me. The warmth of her plump lips on mine, the breathless noises she made, the soft caress of her hand over my skin. I've lost it.

"Let's forget whatever happened that night," she says, suddenly. Her voice is small and quiet, the complete opposite of her dominant and confident demeanour.

Did she just ask me to forget the most ground-breaking kisses of my life?

"Which night exactly, Kaynaaz? The one from those few years ago, or the one from a few days ago?" I question her, watching the flush on her cheeks grow a darker shade each second.

Sometimes I ask myself, "Aayan, why even try?" And then I remember the way she'd pressed her lips to mine all those years ago, not a care in the world, not a care of her brother would practically murder us both if he'd found out, not a care of a single soul except her own. Which in that moment had craved me, like I now crave her.

She hesitates to reply, before answering shakily, "Just let it go, Aayan, you and I? It's not going to work. You left me, and you'd leave again. Besides, I'm not interested."

Her words hit a nerve.

She has leverage over me—the kind that comes from being the one who stayed, while I was the one who walked away. She has every right to ignore me, to shut me out. I disappeared after she offered me a piece of her heart that night. It wasn't just a kiss—it was her trust, her want, her version of saying "I'm yours" without actually saying it. And I left.

It wasn't her fault. It was mine.

Maybe if I'd stayed, she'd already be in my arms now. Smiling like she does with everyone else. Laughing that beautiful laugh she hides from me these days.

I need to prove her wrong, because as much as she wants to deny me and the feelings she holds so deeply in her heart, I can see right through the facade. Right through the brick walls, she locks herself behind.

Kaynaaz shifts away from the desk behind her, her fingers brushing the back of her coat in a subtle, practised motion like she's trying to dust off more than just lint. Then, with barely a sound, she steps around me, poised and distant, already halfway into her escape.

"Kaynaaz, wait," I say hurriedly, softly grabbing her wrists as I pull her back into my chest. Her back presses into my chest, her own chest heavily as if she's just run a mile. She freezes under my hold, her wrist still in my grip, while my other hand softly rests on her waist.

I place my chin on her shoulder, breathing in the fading scent of her perfume. It has that sweet fragrance of cherries and flowers, overpowering the subtle notes of something more woody and dark.

Suits her. Her personality feels the same way her perfume smells.

She takes a deep breath, steady and slow, as if preparing herself for something. But she stops. The air stills in her chest. I watch her carefully, waiting for her to breathe again, for the rhythm of her body to resume. But it doesn't. It's as if she's forgotten how to breathe entirely.

Panic prickles beneath my skin. I gently turn her toward me. My hands find her face, cradling it with tenderness. Her eyes meet mine, wide and unfocused, blinking slowly.

"Baby, breathe," I whisper, my thumbs brushing lightly against her cheekbones.

She stills. A beat passes. Then another.

And then—finally—her lips part, a shaky breath tumbling out as if she's only just remembered how. She swallows, eyes flickering, uncertain. And then her voice comes, barely audible, like it's not meant for the space between us.

"You're a bad influence on me, Aayan," she whispers, her gaze breaking from mine as she looks everywhere else. The walls, floor, anything that isn't me.

I caress her cheeks softly, taking a deep breath myself.

"You scared me. Why would you stop breathing like that?" I question.

"I don't know," she replies hesitantly, "all I know is, we need to stay far apart from each other, I don't like u, nor I will, I have no place in my heart for people who leave me. This will become something toxic,"

Her eyes flick back to mine—sharp, unyielding, like she's dissecting every inch of me, peeling back skin and soul with the same measure. But she doesn't move. Doesn't flinch. Doesn't pull away from my hands.

And that's when I smile. Because behind that fierce, defiant facade... she's still letting me hold her.

I lean in, slow and certain, our breaths mingle, warm and shallow. I stare into her eyes, wide, searching, unreadable, but she doesn't look away. And then, my gaze dips.

Her lips, glossed in that familiar cherry shine she wears, gleam under the dull corridor lights. They part under my stare, soft and uncertain, and she draws in a slow, shaky breath, like she's bracing herself for impact.

"Min kärlek," I murmur, voice low and dripping with every wicked memory I've ever held of her. "Are you sure you stand by those words? Because from what I remember... You weren't exactly resisting a few days ago. You were devouring my lips like you couldn't get enough, like you didn't care if I was poison."

I lean in closer, close enough that her breath catches against my cheek, before whispering against her ear.

"Trust me, Kaynaaz. I see right through that little act you keep putting on."
"You want to kiss me again. Desperately. You want to press your lips to mine until you forget your own name. And then—just maybe—beg me to claim you right here while I scream that you're mine."

Kaynaaz

I stare intently at my reflection in the mirror in front of me. My hair is astray, my eyes have dark bags underneath them, and the white hospital coat around me is now wrinkled and has dirt clinging to it in certain places. My lips are partly, the cherry lip gloss I had applied this morning has almost faded away.

I gently pull out the blue scrunchie holding my hair together, before it falls halfway down my back, curled at the edges from being held in a bun all day. A slow sigh leaves my chest as I relish the feeling of being free from such a hectic day.

The coat comes off next, along with my top and next my jeans. I stand frozen, half naked, staring into the mirror as if something or SOMEONE might walk through it.

Someone I might not admit I want to walk through it, but someone I dream about almost every day. Someone who's gotten on my nerves more than I've let anyone else. Someone who ignites fear and desperation in me to the point that it scares me.

Someone whom I say I hate, but end up calling out in my deep slumber.

I had to run away from him today. From Aayan. Again.

I couldn't bear his closeness, couldn't bear that I might give in again, beg him for exactly what he said I would. So I fled. Broke out of his hands cupping my face ever so slightly, tearing my gaze from his eyes before running away to the locker room to get my things and go home.

I flushed violently, embarrassingly so. I only realised it when Kyra raised an eyebrow the moment I walked through the door and asked if I had a fever. Apparently, I was so warm my face had turned the exact shade of a tomato. And all because of him.
That someone.

That infuriating, gorgeous, entirely-too-close-for-my-own-good Aayan Khan. 

It hurts to feel this way for him. Because I don't want to. I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemies—to ache for someone who left them behind without warning, without goodbye.

My heart burns the way a candle would on a winter night. Flickering, fragile, struggling to stay alight as the cold creeps in from all sides, wrapping around it like a cruel, suffocating blanket. And yet, even as the flame trembles, it refuses to go out.

Because it knows who lit it.
And it still remembers the warmth of his hands.

Kissing him all those years ago and kissing him again at the party were both drunken mistakes. Or at least, that's what I've been telling myself. That it was just the alcohol, the moment, the rush. Nothing more. But if that's true... why does it still hurt?

Why does my heart twist every time I remember how he left after that? How he disappeared into thin air, without a word, like the kiss meant nothing to him? Like I meant nothing? As if he regretted everything the moment it happened. As if Kyra's birthday night was just another moment he couldn't wait to forget—

even while I've been doing everything I can just to do the same. How hypocritical.

After reaching home that day, after the awards party, my heart quivered—tight and restless—with the fear that he might disappear again. And that this time, I wouldn't survive a single day after that. Because as much as my mind usually holds power over my heart, especially when it comes to everything else in my life... I'm afraid even my brain has surrendered. It loves the thoughts of Aayan just as much—his voice echoing, his presence haunting every quiet corner of me.

And if he leaves again, if he slips through my fingers like he did once before...
Then both my head and my heart will destroy me—
not instantly, but slowly, painfully—

As his memory fades away like a dream, I'll never be able to fall back into. Just like they did last time. Only this time, it will kill me. Probably.

That's why, whatever he has for me, and whatever I stupidly feel towards him, isn't love. It's toxic, it's poison for the both of us.

And wouldn't it be stupid for two humans to kill each other over the name of love? This isn't one of Kyra's fantasy books.

It's life, where u lose something to get something. And it's better to lose him than to lose myself trying to get him. Not that I want to, anyway.

I let out a sigh before falling back on my bed, away from the mirror, away from the reflection that taunts my thoughts, telling me I'm wrong. My hair sprawls around, and I curl up into myself, hugging my knees to my chest. I need to shower before I fall asleep, but I can't be bothered to get up from this bed.

The mattress feels unusually comfortable, like it's wrapped in warmth I didn't know I needed. A lazy smile tugs at my lips at the thought of a full night's sleep—deep, undisturbed, and safe.

Without thinking, I reach for the nearest blanket, thin and soft, and pull it over my half-clothed body. My fingers curl into the sheets, seeking something to hold on to, maybe warmth, maybe him, as my eyes grow heavier, lids fluttering, breath evening out.

Somewhere in the haze between sleep and thought, his memory curls itself around me like smoke, impossible to ignore. It creeps in through the quiet, settles in the creases of the pillow, and lingers in the air.

I try not to think of his hands, of the way they held me like I was something fragile and burning all at once. I try not to think of the heat in his eyes or how his voice sounds softer in the dark. But he's everywhere.

In the space beside me, that feels too empty.
In the beat of my heart that still forgets to be angry.

I tell myself to stop. To sleep.

But his name presses itself behind my lips like a secret. My body gives in before my mind can fight it—melting into the sheets, into silence, into the ache.

And then—
I dream of him again.