“Jo zakhm tu de, wahi mera marham ban jaaye,
Jo zehar tu pilaye, wahi meri rooh ko jeevan de jaaye.”

(The wound you give becomes my healing,
The poison you pour becomes the life of my soul.)

The morning sun slanted through the curtains, filling Haya’s room with a deceptive warmth. She sat at her desk, pen poised over her notebook, though she hadn’t written a single word. The page remained blank, waiting—just as she was.

Her nights were restless now. Ever since him. Since the whisper of his hand on her wrist in the marketplace. Since the cruel lines in her notebook. Since the way her body had learned the shape of fear and desire at once.

She tried to convince herself she could still live normally. Help Maa. Avoid Sameer’s snarls. Go to class. Smile. Breathe.

But everything had shifted. Even the sound of the rickshaw outside felt like a signal. Every shadow at the edge of her vision carried his presence.

Still, she forced herself to move. Forced her body into rhythm. Because life demanded it.

Her cousin Aaliya arrived just after breakfast, barging into the house like a storm.

“Arre Haya! Zinda ho ya Rudali ban gayi ho?” Aaliya grinned, dropping onto Haya’s bed without ceremony. Her bright bangles clinked, her dupatta trailing dangerously close to the teacup. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Haya managed a small smile. Aaliya was a year younger, loud and irreverent, her laughter echoing through every corner. Where Haya was soft and careful, Aaliya was reckless, teasing, and blunt.

“I’m just tired,” Haya murmured.

“Lies!” Aaliya poked her arm. “Your tired face looks different. This looks like—hmm—someone has been thinking about a boy.”

Haya’s cheeks flushed instantly. “Aaliya!”

“Batao, kaun hai? College ka ladka? Shopkeeper? Uff, don’t tell me it’s one of Sameer bhai’s useless friends. I’ll break their teeth.”

Haya shook her head quickly. “No one.”
The word felt heavy on her tongue. A lie that tasted like truth, because Rudraansh was not “someone.” He was everything—shadow, danger, obsession. But she could never tell Aaliya that.

Aaliya flopped backward dramatically. “Fine, fine. Keep your secrets. But I swear, Haya, one day I’ll drag the truth out of you.”

Her laughter filled the room, and for a moment, Haya’s chest loosened. A moment of false normalcy.

Rudraansh’s Shadow POV

From the black SUV parked two houses away, Rudraansh leaned back, cigarette burning between his fingers. He could see the flutter of Aaliya’s dupatta through the half-open window, hear the echo of her laughter.

His jaw tightened.

He hated that sound.
It wrapped around Haya, tried to pull her away from the silence he was crafting for her.

The girl—Aaliya—was irrelevant. But her presence irritated him. She was noise, distraction, interference.

Haya’s soft laugh followed, faint but clear. Rudraansh’s fingers curled tighter around the steering wheel.

That laugh belonged to him.
Every smile. Every sigh. Every broken breath.

And soon, he would take it.

At the College

Later, Haya and Aaliya walked to college together, their dupattas flying in the breeze. Aaliya chattered endlessly about professors and assignments, while Haya stayed quiet, lost in thought.

But she felt it.
That same heavy pull. That same invisible gaze.

She glanced around the crowded courtyard—students laughing, vendors calling, bikes rushing past. Nothing unusual. And yet her heartbeat stuttered.

He was here.
She couldn’t see him, but her body knew.

In the lecture hall, Aaliya whispered jokes, earning glares from the professor. Haya forced herself to take notes, her handwriting shaky. Every few minutes, her eyes drifted to the window, expecting to see him standing there.

And once—just once—she swore she did.
A tall figure in black, leaning casually against a tree outside. Watching.

She blinked, and he was gone.

That evening, when Haya returned home, she found a small envelope tucked into her notebook.

Her stomach dropped. She hadn’t left it there.

With trembling hands, she unfolded the paper.

“Aaj tumhari hansi lambi thi. Mujhe pasand nahi aayi.”
(Your laughter lasted too long today. I didn’t like it.)

No signature.
No explanation.

But she didn’t need one.

Her hands shook so violently she nearly tore the paper.

He had been there. At college. Watching. Listening. Deciding.
Her laughter wasn’t hers anymore. Nothing was.

That night, Aaliya teased her again, curling up beside her on the bed. “Tell me, Haya, what’s really going on with you? You’re acting strange. Is there someone?”

Haya forced a smile. “No one.”

But as the light went out and Aaliya drifted into sleep beside her, Haya’s eyes remained wide open, staring into the dark.

Because at the window, beyond the glass, she saw him.

Rudraansh.

Standing still. Watching. His gaze locked to hers, unwavering.

And then—slowly—he raised his hand, pressing his palm flat against the glass.

Not knocking. Not asking.
Just claiming.

Her breath hitched violently, and for the first time, she couldn’t decide—
Was she more afraid that he was outside?
Or that she wanted him to come in?

The silence after Aaliya’s sleep was deafening.

Haya lay frozen, the sheets pulled up to her chest, eyes locked on the shadow beyond the glass. Rudraansh didn’t move, didn’t blink. Just stood there, his palm still pressed to her window as if marking territory.

She squeezed her eyes shut, counted to ten, and opened them again.
He was gone.

But the terror wasn’t. Neither was the pull.

The next day, college ended late. Aaliya had left earlier, giggling with friends, leaving Haya to walk home alone. The streets were dusky, lined with shadows.

Her dupatta slipped from her shoulder as she clutched her books tighter, trying to shake off the unease crawling down her spine.

Then it happened—
A sudden hand caught her wrist, dragging her into the narrow alley between two shuttered shops.

Her breath broke into a gasp, books tumbling to the ground.

And there he was.

Rudraansh.

Tall, immovable, dressed in black as always, his face partly hidden in the dim light. His grip on her wrist was steel, his other hand braced against the wall beside her head, caging her in.

For a heartbeat, she couldn’t breathe.
Not from fear alone—but from the sheer gravity of him.

“Chhod dijiye,” she whispered, voice trembling. Let me go.

He tilted his head, lips curling in the faintest shadow of a smile.
“Tumhein lagta hai main kabhi chhodunga, Haya?”
(You think I’ll ever let you go, Haya?)

The sound of her name in his mouth sent a shiver ripping through her.

He shifted closer, so close his breath fanned across her cheek, warm and deliberate. His fingers slid from her wrist up to her pulse, pressing lightly, controlling her heartbeat with the simplest touch.

“You laughed yesterday.” His voice was a low, lethal murmur.
Her lips parted, confused. “Kya—?”

“I told you…” his thumb brushed her racing pulse, “…I didn’t like it.”

Her throat tightened. “Aap—college mein the?”

Rudraansh leaned in, his nose grazing her temple. “Main hamesha hoon. Jahan tum ho, wahan main hoon. Tumhari saans bhi meri ijaazat ke bina nahi chalti.”

(I am always there. Wherever you are, I am. Even your breath doesn’t move without my permission.)

Her knees weakened, her back pressed against the wall, trapped. His hand slid down, brushing the curve of her waist through the fabric, claiming without consent.

“Rudraansh—” she whispered, the name foreign on her tongue, forbidden yet undeniable.

He froze at the sound, then smirked darkly. “Phir se bolo.”
(Say it again.)

Her lips quivered. “Rudraansh…”

He groaned low, dangerous, as if the sound itself fed his obsession. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, hovering but not touching her lips.

“You keep saying no,” he murmured, his forehead brushing hers. “But your eyes…” His gaze devoured her, stripping her bare. “Your eyes beg me to come closer.”

She shook her head, tears burning. “Please…”

“Please, what?” His hand slid back to her wrist, pressing her against the wall. “Please stop? Please leave you? Or please destroy you faster?”

The words twisted inside her, leaving no escape.

“You don’t know it yet, Haya,” he whispered, voice dropping into a vow, “but you belong to me. Tum meri ho. Aur main tumhe kabhi kisi aur ki nahi hone dunga. Agar tum meri nahi bani, toh main tumhe khud se bhi cheen loonga.”

(You are mine. And I’ll never let you belong to anyone else. If you won’t be mine, I’ll even steal you from yourself.)

Her breath hitched violently, her chest rising and falling against the cage of his body.

For a long, suffocating moment, his lips hovered near hers, almost brushing, but he didn’t kiss her. Instead, he whispered against her mouth:

“Remember this feeling. Because from today, you will never escape me. Har jagah tum mujhe mehsoos karogi. Saaye ki tarah. Khoon ki tarah.”
(Everywhere, you will feel me. Like a shadow. Like blood.)

And then—he was gone.

Just as suddenly as he appeared, Rudraansh stepped back into the darkness, his presence vanishing into the night.

Haya collapsed against the wall, trembling, her body still burning with the phantom of his touch.

When she stumbled back into the main street, she noticed it.

Her books lay scattered on the ground where she’d dropped them—
but one of them had been opened. A single page torn out.

In its place, a note written in his sharp, slanted hand:

“Next time, main rukunga nahi.”
(Next time, I won’t stop.)

Her knees nearly gave way.
Because for the first time, she understood—
this wasn’t the beginning of danger.

It was the beginning of her undoing.

To be continued......