Aditya

I shouldn't know her schedule anymore. I shouldn't care enough to track the exact moment her footsteps hit this street. But here I am, leaning against a lamppost like some goddamn ghost, waiting for her classes to get dismissed.

She steps out of her class, last of the students in the crowd, like always. She hasn't seen me yet. Typical, head down, clutching her books like they are her armour. She plucks out her headphones from the black tote hanging on her arm before putting them on, blocking out the noise around her and skips down the stairs with a slight smile on her face.

Someone had a fine day, it seems.

It's been two weeks since I'd seen her, running out of the club after she'd very reluctantly treated my wounds after being forced to sit in my lap.
As much as she'd denied herself the pleasure, her face and the redness of her cheeks gave away all the answers I needed from her.

She still cared. Cared enough for tears to well in her eyes when she saw me beating someone bloody, cared enough not to run away, but to stay, to make sure I wasn't the one hurting.

Inaya turns at the corner of the street, crossing the traffic, her gaze focused on the cars passing by. I push myself upright, falling in step behind her, keeping a safe distance so she doesn't notice.

It'd become a routine now to walk her home without her knowing I was anywhere near. She never seemed to notice, or maybe she did and never said anything. Maybe, like me, this was one thing she refused to let go after we broke up.

My mind swarms with vivid memories of us holding hands after her classes. Not a single day passed that she didn't walk out of that college building with a smile lighting up her face the moment she spotted me. She'd run down the stairs, giggling, before falling into my arms. Sometimes we'd take a detour for ice cream, and then I'd walk her two blocks from her house, close enough to keep her safe, far enough not to get caught. It was like that every day. An unspoken ritual. Our own little perfect thing.

Until it wasn't.

Until her father found out, and she refused to fight for us. Until she broke all the promises we'd made to each other. Until she threw away the foundation of our relationship, if it meant absolutely nothing to her. Like it wasn't tearing her apart on the inside like it had me.

My hand finds the chain around my neck, fingers tightening around the ring that hangs from it. The metal feels cold, yet my flesh burns with the memories it carries. Each memory presses into me like a bruise that never fades, and sorrow lingers at the back of my throat, bitter and unyielding.

My gaze catches on Inaya. The dupatta she had pulled over her head dances with the wind, almost stubborn in the way it refuses to stay still. For a moment, it clings to her before slipping free, tumbling down until her head is bare. A sound leaves me, something between a chuckle and a sigh, hollow and unsteady, as the fabric flutters away. She doesn't notice the way my chest aches at the sight. To her, it's just the wind. To me, it's a reminder of how easily things slip through your fingers, no matter how tightly you try to hold on.

She always had this habit of covering her head whenever she wore Kurtis. Even with me, she'd tug the dupatta over her head with a shy smile, excusing it by saying she'd learned it from her mother. I never called it outdated or odd, how could I, when it lit her up with a kind of quiet pride? It made her happy, and I never wanted to be the reason she dimmed.

But right now, all I can think about is pulling her close and tearing that stubborn dupatta away. Not out of anger, but out of this desperate need to free her from every absurd thing she's been taught to carry in her father's house. To strip away every layer that isn't hers, until only she remains, bare, unshackled, and entirely herself.

Lost in my thoughts, my foot lands on something jagged hidden in the dust, and a hiss of pain slips past my lips before I can bite it back. The sound is loud enough to make Inaya halt mid-step a few feet ahead. She pulls out her earphones and whirls around. Before I can retreat into the shadows, her gaze collides with mine, silent, startled, and heavy with shock. For a heartbeat, neither of us moves.

Her eyes narrow on me, and she lets out an audible scoff.

"Have you been following me?" She shouts out, loud enough for me to hear.

I grit my teeth in pain, shaking my foot to get rid of the pain as I reluctantly shake my head.

"No. Why would I follow you?" I try to sound annoyed, as if her presence left a bitter taste on my tongue, when it was her taste that I wanted.

Inaya folds her hands in front of her chest, shooting glares in my direction as I try to stay still, my foot still crying from what had poked it.

"So you just happen to be on the same route as me, which leads to my house?" She questions, pointing out my obviousness.

I roll my eyes, trying to buy myself some time to find a comeback for her question.

"Not everything in this world revolves around you, Miss Khan," I say, knowing very well that it's another one of my lies.

The solid mask on her face falters, and her eyes soften with something sombre. A pang of guilt claws at my chest for being harsh, for letting my words cut her just to give her a retort.

She begins to turn away, her shoulders sinking as if she's ready to surrender the argument. But then her gaze drops to the chain around my neck. I watch her expression shift, triumph flickering through the despair, a silent declaration that she's uncovered more than I ever intended to show.

"Well, clearly, Mr. Singhania," she says, her voice steady but edged, "yours revolves around me. Considering you're... following me." She pauses, lips curving as she corrects herself. "No... stalking me. Though you're not very good at it."

Her words slice through me, sharp because they're true. My jaw tightens, anger sparking beneath my skin, not at her, not entirely, but at the way she strips me bare with so little effort.

Before I can stop myself, I close the distance between us in two strides. My hand catches hers, firm, and I pull her into me. Our breaths collide in the charged space between us, her defiance pressed against my fury.

"I was all about you," I grit out, my voice low, heavy with the weight of every unsaid thing, "until you chose your side. Until you decided it was better to be the obedient daughter than to stand up for yourself." My grip tightens just slightly, not enough to hurt, just enough to keep her from slipping away. My gaze burns into hers as I add, "I really wonder, Inaya, where does this fire disappear when it comes to your father?"

She stares at me in disbelief before snatching her hand out of my grip.

"You're ridiculous," She says, her voice controlled as if she's holding onto so much anger.

Her eyes linger on me for a moment before drifting to the ring hanging from the chain around my neck, and then lower, settling on my hand.

The same hand she had bandaged that night at the club.

Something soft flickers across her face, the tension easing. Her expression shifts, not to triumph this time, but to something almost fragile, relief.

"Stop following me, or I'm going to get you reported," She warns before slipping away from me.

The space between us widens, her presence slipping from me like the wind slipping through open fingers. But I can't let her walk away, not with her silence hanging like the final word. Not when there's still so much burning on my tongue.

I push forward, my steps quickening until I'm beside her again. She doesn't look at me, her eyes fixed straight ahead, but I match her pace anyway, close enough that our shoulders nearly brush, close enough that she can't pretend I'm not there.

"You can't just ignore me when I'm walking right next to you," I state the obvious.

Inaya doesn't say a word, just walks on, trying her best to believe that I am invisible.

Before I can get another word out, she veers off our usual path, slipping left toward the more crowded sidewalk. Her pace quickens, and she weaves through the press of people with practised ease, putting more and more distance between us. I lose sight of her for a moment until my gaze finds her hurrying up the steps of the public library.

I follow after, pushing people aside to make way. Some let out groans and the other throw a few curses at me, but I ignore them, having more important matters to take care of.

As I step into the library, its vastness takes me by surprise. Warm light spills down from the high ceilings, casting a golden glow across the space. Towering shelves stretch from floor to ceiling, lined with endless rows of books, each aisle marked by signs hanging above them.

I let my eyes drift across the library, scanning the maze of towering shelves and scattered study tables. The air is filled with the faint rustle of pages, the occasional scrape of a chair, and the low hum of whispered conversations. My gaze flickers from face to face, searching, restless, until the crowd becomes a blur.

And then I spot her.

She's tucked away between the shelves marked Medicine, her figure half-hidden by the rows of books that loom high above her. Her dupatta slips loose against her shoulder, trailing softly as she tilts her head to read the spines. There's a quiet intensity in the way she stands there, absorbed and unbothered, as if the world outside doesn't exist.

For a moment, I forgot why I was angry. Forget the biting words and the stubborn silences. All I can see is her, utterly herself, yet impossibly far from me, even when she's only a few steps away.

I don't give myself the chance to hesitate. My feet move of their own accord, carrying me down the aisle until the faint outline of her becomes clearer with every step. She's standing with her back half-turned, fingers skimming over the spines until one catches her attention. She pulls it free and flips it open, her head bent, strands of hair slipping loose as she scans the page.

I stop beside her, close enough to catch the faint scent of her shampoo, and lean against the shelf with deliberate ease. The wood groans softly under my weight, and the sudden noise breaks her concentration.

She flinches, clutching the book a little tighter as her eyes fly up to meet mine. For a heartbeat, she looks as if she's been caught doing something she shouldn't.

I don't say a word. Not yet. I just watch her, letting the moment stretch, knowing full well I've already unsettled her simply by being here.

Her eyes lock on mine, wide and startled, the book trembling faintly in her hands. I let the silence stretch a little longer, leaning casually against the shelf, before a smirk curls at my lips.

"You know, Inaya," I murmur, my gaze steady on hers, "for someone who claims she wants nothing to do with me, you've made quite a habit of running... every single time we're in the same place."

I tilt my head, lowering my voice just enough for only her to hear. "Almost like you're scared of what might happen if you stayed."

Her fingers tighten around the book, her lips parting as if to fire back. I stay where I am, unhurried, letting the weight of my words hang between us while she wrestles with them.

She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment, dragging in a deep breath before turning her face away. "You're insufferable," she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

A slow smile tugs at my lips. I step closer, closing the space between us, and pluck the book from her hand with deliberate ease. It lands with a muted thud on the nearby shelf, forgotten. My fingers find her chin, tilting her face up as I pull her closer until there's barely a breath between us.

"These are just excuses, Inaya," I say, my voice low, dangerous. "Excuses you feed yourself to bury the memories you've locked away—the ones of us. Of our love. Of every single time I made you feel something more than this charade you're clinging to."

Her eyes widen, but I don't stop. I lean in, my grip firm but not cruel, my words cutting between us like fire.

"I wasn't so insufferable when I had you screaming my name in pleasure, was I... rose?"

She draws in a deep breath, her chest rising slowly against mine. Her eyes flicker up to meet my gaze, then falter, dropping helplessly to my lips.

The sight sets fire to my veins. Heat rushes through me, burning hot and fast, until it coils low in my stomach and tingles race down my spine. Every nerve in my body screams to close the distance, to claim the kiss she's silently daring me to take.

But I don't. I force myself still, jaw clenched, fighting the storm inside me. Because the moment I give in, if I let myself taste her again, I know I'll never be able to stop.

Before either of us can lose control, she breaks the moment. Her hand slips between us, snatching the book from my grasp, and she takes a hurried step back. Without a word, she spins on her heel, her dupatta trailing behind her as she speed-walks down the aisle of books.

I stand frozen for a second, watching her retreating figure, every instinct in me demanding I close the distance, grab her wrist, and crash my lips against hers right there, in front of everyone. The thought alone makes my pulse hammer, my body aching with the memory of how she once tasted.

But I don't. I force myself to slow, keeping a safe distance as I follow. Because if I let myself fall prey to that desire, I know I'll lose more than just control.

So I let her slip into another aisle, pretending she's shaken me off. All the while, I shadow her quietly, waiting for the moment she looks up and realises I've never really let her go.

The game stretches on for almost an hour. Inaya moves briskly from aisle to aisle, plucking the books she needs with sharp, purposeful motions, never once sparing me more than a fleeting glance. I trail her at a steady distance, my fingers grazing random spines, pretending to be absorbed in titles I don't even read. It's all a performance, hers to escape, mine to linger.

Every time she turns a corner, I follow. Every time she quickens her pace, I match it. The space between us never truly closes, yet it never widens either. The library hums with quiet life, but for me, it's only her, her presence, her defiance, and her stubborn silence.

Finally, she halts mid-step, her shoulders stiffening as if she's had enough. I don't notice until it's too late. My eyes are fixed absently on the spines of a row of books, feigning interest, when I collide with her back.

The impact is gentle but sudden, jolting us both. She whirls around, her glare sharp enough to cut through me, while I stumble back half a step, caught between surprise and the urge to laugh at myself.

She spins around, eyes blazing. "Do you mind? Or are you planning to stalk me right into the grave?"

A smirk tugs at my lips as I steady myself, leaning lazily against the shelf. "If that's where you're headed, Inaya, then yeah—I'll walk you there too. God forbid you get lost without me."

Her nostrils flare as she clutches the stack of books tighter to her chest. "You're unbelievable."

"Funny," I murmur, tilting my head, "that's not what you used to call me."

Her lips press into a thin line, but I see the flicker in her eyes before she looks away. "Don't twist this into something it isn't. I don't need you here."

I step closer, lowering my voice just enough for only her to hear. "Then why do you keep noticing every move I make?"

Her glare snaps back to mine, sharp enough to cut, but her silence betrays her. I grin, unbothered. "Exactly what I thought."

She parts her lips, the beginning of another biting retort trembling on her tongue—when a voice threads through the quiet of the library, from the other side of the bookshelves.

"I'm fine, really. Dad seems better today. I even talked to Kaynaaz about things."

The sound freezes us mid-breath.

Kyra.

I watch the recognition strike across Inaya's face like lightning. Her jaw tightens, her shoulders go rigid, and the air between us shifts.

She can't be seen with me. Not here. Not by her.

Before she can react, I move. My hand finds her wrist, tugging her back into the shadowed corner of the aisle. She gasps, almost dropping the books, but I press in closer, my body caging hers against the shelves. The scent of old paper and her skin mingles in the heated air between us.

"Shh," I whisper, close to her ear, feeling the hitch of her breath against my chest. "Unless you want her to see."

Inaya's lips press into a thin line, her eyes locking on mine with a silent plea. I hold her stare, wordless, and for a dangerous second, I forget about Kyra's voice altogether, forget everything but the quiet way Inaya's innocence undoes me, brick by brick.

Another voice filters through the shelves, deep and edged, a stark contrast to Kyra's gentle tone.
"Stop worrying about others and take care of yourself first, sweetheart."

I catch the faint exhale of Kyra's sigh before she murmurs something too soft for me to catch. The intimacy of it all hangs in the silence that follows, and I feel Inaya shrink further against the shelves, like the words alone are enough to expose us.

My head dips into the crook of Inaya's neck, and she jolts in place, a soft gasp slipping past her lips as my hands settle on her waist. Her body goes rigid, like every muscle is braced to push me away, yet she doesn't. She stays rooted, frozen, caught between fight and surrender.

I breathe her in, the faint trace of her perfume mixing with the warmth of her skin, and I can't stop myself. I nuzzle closer, my nose grazing that delicate curve. A shiver runs through her, and then she exhales, a low sigh that I feel more than hear, fanning against my cheek.

I take a dangerous step then, one I know I shouldn't. My lips part, brushing against the curve of her neck in the barest, softest press. The taste of her skin lingers, electric, and in the next breath, she melts. Her fingers fist into the front of my shirt, tugging me closer even as her body trembles with denial.

"Adi..." The way she breathes my name, barely more than a plea, slices straight through me. Her voice carries resistance, but her grip tells another story. "Don't," she whispers, the word trembling against the heat of her own betrayal, because while her lips say no, her hands refuse to let me go.

I let the faintest smile tug at my mouth, my voice a low murmur against her skin.

"Then stop me."

And without giving her the chance, I lower my head again, pressing my lips back to her neck, slower, firmer this time. Her skin is warm beneath my mouth, and the faint shiver that runs through her makes my pulse hammer recklessly in my chest. I drink in every little reaction, the way her breath stutters, the way her body yields against mine despite the faint resistance in her words.

My hand tightens at her waist, drawing her closer as though I could fuse her to me, and my lips trail lower, tasting the delicate line where her neck meets her shoulder. Her scent wraps around me, intoxicating, pulling me deeper into the haze I swore I'd resist.

Inaya's fingers twist harder into my shirt, and then, so quiet I almost miss it, her lips part in a sound that makes my blood burn. A soft, helpless moan, slipping past her defences, betraying everything her words try to deny.

I linger there, hungry for more, feeling her melt further into me, as if the world outside this corner of the library has ceased to exist.

I can't stop myself. My lips wander lower, tracing her collarbone, lingering there as if branding her with the weight of my hunger. Every sigh that escapes her draws me deeper in, until there's nothing left of my restraint. Inaya's back arches ever so slightly, her body betraying the battle she's fighting with herself.

Her fingers clutch at me like I'm the only thing holding her upright, and I swear I hear my name again, soft, broken on her tongue, a plea and a warning tangled together.

Suddenly, a sharp clatter echoes from the next aisle, the sudden noise slicing through the haze like a blade. We both freeze. Her eyes snap open, wide and startled, her breath ragged against my cheek.

Before I can say a word, she shoves at my chest, just enough to create distance. Her face is flushed, lips parted, innocence and fire colliding across her expression. For one unguarded second, she's bare to me, red-cheeked and shaken. Her breath is still uneven, chest rising and falling too quickly, her cheeks burning with a flush she can't quite hide. Her eyes flick to mine, bright with defiance but laced with something rawer, something she can't disguise no matter how hard she tries.

But then it's gone. The walls slide back up, quick and unyielding. She smooths her hair, schools her face into neutrality, and takes a sharp step back, putting the space between us that her heart hadn't wanted moments ago.

"Don't think for a second this means anything," she snaps, the words tumbling out like broken glass, sharp but trembling, betraying the very control she's desperate to hold onto.

I watch the way her throat bobs as she swallows, the way her hands tighten into fists at her sides, as if she's fighting the urge to do the opposite of what she just said.

Before I can answer, she shoulders past me, brushing against my arm like the last spark of a fire before it dies, heat lingering even after she's gone.

And I stay rooted where I am, a slow smirk tugging at my lips, because no matter how fiercely she fights it, I already know she felt every second just as much as I did.