Haya’s POV
The next morning began the same—sharp words, clattering utensils, Shabana’s complaints like clockwork.
But inside Haya, something had shifted.
She carried her notebook in her bag, tucked deep, like a secret flame.
At breakfast, Sameer wolfed down food before rushing out with his friends. Shabana, half-distracted with a phone call, barked a few orders at Haya but barely looked at her.
Invisible. Always invisible.
And yet, last night she’d written a poem that still burned in her chest:
“Jab tak zindagi ka sauda hai,
main apni khud se wafaa karungi.
Aur agar koi meri khamoshi tod de…
toh shayad main bhi saans lena seekh loon.”
(As long as life is a bargain,
I will stay loyal to myself.
And if someone dares to break my silence…
maybe I’ll finally learn how to breathe.)
Haya spent her day moving like a ghost through the campus.
Her professors praised her diligence, classmates borrowed her notes, but nobody really knew her. Nobody asked what she wanted, what she dreamed.
But someone did.
From afar. Always from afar.
In the shadow of a parked car, hidden from sight, he leaned back with a cigarette untouched in his fingers. His eyes never left her.
“Tum samajhti ho tumhe koi nahi dekh raha.
Par meri nazar tum par se hatti hi nahi.
Main tumhari har muskaan, har aansoon, har saans gin raha hoon.
Aur jis din tumhe chhooa… tumhe khud se mita doonga.”
(You think no one sees you.
But my gaze has never left you.
I count your every smile, every tear, every breath.
And the day I touch you… I will erase you from yourself.)
The cigarette burned to ash in his hand. He didn’t notice. His hunger was for something else.
Afternoon
In the library, Haya tucked herself into a corner, notebook open but untouched. Her pen hovered over the page as she stared out the window.
That feeling again.
That prickle of eyes on her skin.
She pressed her lips together. “You’re imagining things,” she whispered. “Stop being silly.”
But her hand trembled as she wrote, almost unconsciously:
“Jab bhi mehsoos hota hai koi paas hai,
mera dil tez dhadakne lagta hai.
Kya darr hai, ya kismat ka sandesh?”
(Whenever I feel someone near,
my heart begins to race.
Is it fear, or is it fate’s message?)
She slammed the notebook shut.
Evening —
That night, Sameer staggered home drunk, shouting into his phone.
Shabana rushed to him, worried and scolding, while Haya hovered silently.
“…tum samajhte kya ho mujhe?!” Sameer was slurring at someone on the other end of the line. “Main nahi darta kisi se. Main Rudraansh ka bhi deal tod sakta hoon—samjhe?!”
The name sliced through Haya’s mind like a blade.
Rudraansh. She’d never heard it before.
But it lingered in the air like danger itself.
She quietly stepped away, pretending not to have heard.
From the car parked outside, his jaw tightened.
Sameer. Foolish boy. Playing with debts, spilling names he shouldn’t.
But Haya—
Haya had heard.
Her wide, innocent eyes catching onto threads she didn’t understand.
“Ab tumhare ghar ke andar bhi mera naam goonjne laga hai, Haya.
Yeh sirf shuruat hai.”
(Now even inside your home, my name has begun to echo, Haya.
This is only the beginning.)
Night —
Later, in her room, Haya pulled out her notebook again. The night was heavy, her thoughts restless.
She wrote softer this time, almost a confession:
“Kya koi hai jo mujhe dekhta hai?
Jo meri khamoshi sunta hai?
Agar hai… toh kyun darr bhi lagta hai,
aur saath hi… ek ajeeb si chaahat bhi?”
(Is there someone who sees me?
Who hears my silence?
If there is… why does it frighten me,
and yet… awaken a strange desire too?)
Her pen slipped from her hand. She pressed her palms to her face, whispering into the dark. “What’s wrong with me?”
Rudraansh’s POV
“Galti tumhari nahi hai, Haya.
Chaahat toh meri hai.
Tum sirf meri tasveer mein dhal rahi ho.”
(The fault isn’t yours, Haya.
The desire is mine.
You are only molding yourself into my image.)
He was closer tonight. Too close.
It was past midnight when the knock came. Loud, sharp, echoing through the house.
Shabana’s voice rang out, panicked. “Kaun hai is waqt?!”
Sameer stumbled into the hall, pale now, all bravado drained. He muttered something under his breath, words Haya couldn’t catch.
Then—
The door opened.
The man who stepped inside filled the entire doorway. Broad shoulders draped in black, eyes like a predator’s fixed on prey. The air itself seemed to bend around him, darker, heavier.
Sameer stammered, “R-Rudraansh bhai—main… main samjha sakta hoon—”
But Haya heard nothing else.
Because his gaze had already found her.
Unblinking. Piercing. Claiming.
And in that moment, she understood—
The eyes she had felt all along…
they were his.
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