Author's POV

The room was drowned in silence. Moonlight slipped in through the window, softly spilling across the space—just enough to light up a few scattered shapes in the room.

Azael and Alizeh lay side by side. But between them, a blanket stretched lengthwise like an invisible wall, keeping a guarded distance.

That wall was her condition when Azael had asked her to share the bed with him.

Yet, even with the rule, sleep refused to come. Her eyes stayed open, mind tangled with thoughts she didn’t want to think.

Before tonight, Alizeh had never shared a bed with anyone. The thought itself felt foreign, heavy. Her solitude had always been her shield, her stillness. Even in Bangalore, her cocoon of loneliness had been her refuge, a place where she never had to surrender her space to someone else.

But tonight was different. The room, the bed, and even the person lying beside her—all felt unfamiliar, unsettling, sending shivers down her spine.

On the other side, Azael was awake too, lost in memories.  The moment four years ago when he first saw her flashed through his mind—how he had instantly fallen for her. Now, the same girl was beside him, under the same sheet. Sleep seemed like a distant dream.

Though their thoughts were different, the person dwelling within those thoughts was the same for both. She was in his mind, just as he was in hers.

Suddenly, Alizeh felt a faint tug at the edge of the duvet, so light she thought it was her imagination. But then the pull came again, firmer, relentless. The fabric slid down her body in slow betrayal until half of it slipped away, leaving her startled. In that instant, one thought struck her—it was Azael. Who else could it be? After all, he too was wrapped in the very same duvet.

FLASHBACK

Alizeh was just about to lie down on the bed when she noticed there was only one duvet—and that too was draped casually across Azael’s body. Narrowing her eyes, she muttered through clenched teeth,“Mr. Khan, don’t you have any other duvet, or do I have to share  this one with you along with the bed?”

Azael had been absently scrolling through his phone, but the sharp edge in her voice made him look up at once. He set the device aside and replied with a calm drawl, “Of course I have blankets. One is here with me—” he paused deliberately, a sly curve tugging at his lips, “—and the other one is right there, thanks to your silly condition.”

He gestured toward the bed, where she herself had placed a blanket earlier, dividing the space between them like a fragile wall.

Alizeh bit back a retort, grinding her teeth as she strode toward the bed, irritation written across her face.

Meanwhile, Azael’s expression shifted. A sly glint flickered in his eyes, followed by a mischievous smile. Because he knew very well—his apartment was stacked with blankets. Yet he had lied, only so the two of them would be left with one to share… and so he could feel her closeness in the quiet of the night.

FLASHBACK ENDED

Lost in that thought, Alizeh suddenly felt him try again. But this time, she was ready. Before Azael could tug, she pulled the blanket so swiftly that not only did the part he’d grabbed slip away, but even half of his own share ended up on her side.

A triumphant warmth surged in her chest, almost like the joy of winning a playful contest. She hugged the blanket close, hiding a tiny smile against its folds.

What she didn’t realize, though, was that it happened just as much because Azael had been holding on loosely, letting the fabric slide smoothly from his hand. Without that, she would never have had the strength to snatch it from him.

For a single breath, the room sank into silence.

Then, Azael slowly rolled over on the bed, now his face turned toward Alizeh’s back.With patience and ease, he drew himself closer to her.

The gentle warmth of her body pulled him in like gravity, as if he could not resist. He moved even closer, and the subtle, intoxicating scent of her skin filled Azael’s lungs, overwhelming his senses.

He lost himself in her scent—until there was almost no distance left between them.

The border—that thin, fragile sheet—might as well have been smoke. Pretend. Meaningless. Whatever wall they had imagined, it had already fallen away.

Azael’s body was no longer held back. He had crossed every line. He was here—close enough that his presence wrapped around her like another duvet, heavier, hotter than anything fabric could ever be.

He cleared his throat softly, just enough to draw her attention, his breath ghosting over her neck as he leaned closer. There was a deliberate patience in him, a quiet promise of mischief waiting to unfold.

His lips hovered near her ear, close enough for her to feel the heat of his presence, yet not touching—every inch of that small distance charged with tension.

Then he finally spoke, his voice dropped low, intimate, teasing, and dangerous all at once, “Is this a territorial war, princess?”

There was amusement in his tone, but beneath it lay a challenge, a subtle demand for her reaction. He wanted to see if she would flinch, if she would surrender even in the smallest way.

But, Alizeh said nothing in response. She only hugged the blanket tighter to her chest, letting the fabric be her shield, her only reply.

For a while, the room stayed silent. Then, when Azael noticed she was still quiet, he spoke again— “ Agar chaho, toh aadhi aadhi bant lete hai...,” his voice carried a playful tone. ya phir tum poora le lou, main tumhe odh loonga.”

(If you want, we can share it half and half... or you can take the whole duvet. I'll just use you instead)

The moment those words left his mouth, Alizeh’s breath caught. The hidden meaning in his voice struck her like lightning.  Her heart was racing wildly. Words stuck in her throat, and it felt like every nerve in her body was burning.

Her face turned hot and red. His words had reached deep inside her. Yet she refused to answer—afraid that her voice might reveal all the secrets she wasn’t ready to admit, even to herself.

Azael noticed everything—her trembling shoulders, her uneven breaths. He wanted to see more of that storm inside her, the restlessness his words had set aflame.

“What happened, Princess?” his low voice teased. “Did you like imagining yourself wrapped in me?”

But this time, she didn’t stay silent. Turning quickly on her side, her lips spilled words before she could stop them. “W-what? N-no! It’s not like that at all, Mr. Khan!” she blurted out, her voice wavered, betraying her.

At that moment, only a breath of distance remained between their lips. Without realizing that Azael was right behind her, Alizeh had suddenly turned over. And just like that, the two of them were so close that their breaths began to collide, each exhale brushing against the other’s lips as if melting into them.

For a few fleeting seconds, time stood still. Their hearts beat faster, pounding together as though in the same rhythm. They were so near that if either of them had moved even the slightest bit… a kiss would have happened.

For a few heartbeats, they simply stared into each other’s eyes—silent, unblinking, as if the room itself held its breath.

Then, with that same mischievous smile lingering on his lips, Azael dragged a hand down his face and leaned back slightly.

Only then did Alizeh’s breath finally ease, as if she realized how long she had been holding it in. Because just a moment ago, the way he had lifted his hand… she had feared something entirely different.

At that very instant, Azael parted his lips, about to speak—but before a single word could leave him, Alizeh pressed her hand firmly over his mouth. Her eyes flashed, and in a sharp, low whisper she said, “Ab ek aur sabd nahi, Mr. Khan, warna main yaha se chali jaungi.” The finality in her tone left no room for argument.

(Not another word, Mr. Khan, or I’ll walk away from here)

Her words reached his ears, but it was as if they barely registered. Azael’s attention was consumed entirely by that single touch—her soft hand pressed against his mouth, the gentle warmth of her palm seeping into his skin.

The world seemed to shrink to that one point of contact, stirring something dark, restless, and unbearably alive inside him.

Alizeh, too, wasn’t untouched. The warm gust of his breath fanned across her hand, burning against her skin, leaving her pulse unsteady.

And then, through her trembling palm, his voice rumbled—low, rough, deliberate, dangerously close. “apna haath mere honthon se hata lo, jab tak ki tumhara irada usai us jagah ke chaaron aur lapetne ka na ho jo abhi tumhari wajah se sakht hai, “he murmured, letting no chance to tease her slip away.

(Take your hand off my lips… unless your intention is to wrap it around that place which is hard right now only because of you.)

Hearing his teasing whisper, Alizeh tore her hand away at once—as though his lips had scorched her skin.

Her breath caught in her throat, and for a fleeting moment, she didn’t know where to look. The air between them felt heavier now, charged, like an invisible current passing through.

Azael said nothing. He only regarded her in silence, his eyes dark, intent, refusing to release her from their grip. The longer he watched, the more unsettled she grew, until even the quiet seemed loud.

Then, with deliberate ease, he leaned back against the pillow. His movements were unhurried, almost careless, but his gaze—unblinking, unwavering—never once left her face.

Alizeh couldn’t bear the heat of his gaze any longer. She quickly turned her back on him, covering herself completely with the duvet.

But Azael had no plans of stopping. His eyes naturally followed the curve of her body beneath the sheet. Even through the fabric, he could see the outline—her slim waist, her delicate figure, curled up like a butterfly folding in on itself.

Alizeh lay still, her eyes shut, but she could clearly feel the weight of his stare. Even in silence, unspoken words filled the air between them.

Soon, her exhaustion pulled her into sleep. But Azael remained awake—watching her.

CAFETERIA

As always, the cafeteria was brimming with students. At some tables, laughter and teasing filled the air; at others, light arguments sparked between friends.

Someone was confessing their feelings, while in a far-off corner couples were lost in each other’s arms.

Meanwhile, a few students sat hunched over their laptops, eyes glued to the screens, completely immersed in their work.

Amidst all this noise and chaos, in a quiet corner sat Aria and Alizeh. As usual, Alizeh held a cup of coffee in her hands, sipping it slowly. For her, coffee wasn’t just a drink anymore—it was a habit, almost an addiction. Just as people nowadays post reels with captions like “Tea is an emotion”—For Alizeh, coffee had become her emotion.

Breaking the comfortable silence, Aria suddenly asked, “Do you really not remember what happened at the party last night?” Her tone carried a touch of seriousness.

Alizeh’s expression turned slightly irritated. She furrowed her brows, setting the coffee mug down with a faint thud. “Aria, I’ve already told you everything I remember. Don’t ask me the same thing over and over again.” She retorted, her voice carried a snap of annoyance—it was obvious Aria had asked this before, and hearing it again was getting on her nerves.

FLASHBACK

Last night, when Alizeh had fainted at the party, Azael had taken her to his apartment.

That entire night, Aria had tried calling Alizeh again and again to check if she was alright. But Azael had put Alizeh’s phone on silent, so she never saw the calls.

Frustrated, Aria even dialed Azael’s number, but all she got in return was the automated message— “Number not reachable.”

In the morning, when Alizeh woke up, checked her phone and found dozens of missed calls from Aria, she was stunned.

It felt as if Aria must’ve been in some kind of trouble, so she immediately called back and, in a worried voice, asked—

“So many calls? Are you alright? Actually, my phone was on silent, so I didn’t realize.”

Aria replied— “Nothing happened to me. On the contrary, I was calling to check if you were alright. After what happened at the party last night, and then when you suddenly fainted. I got pretty scared.”

Hearing this, Alizeh fell silent for a moment, lost in thought.

Then, with a puzzled tone, she asked—“Last night at the party… what exactly happened?”

Aria quickly shot back—“Why? Don’t you remember?”

Alizeh said softly—“Yes… I remember I was dancing with Zeydan.”

Aria frowned, as if she couldn’t believe that was all Alizeh remembered, so she pressed further—“And after the dance?”

Alizeh shook her head slightly and said,“Azael and you both told me I fainted. Maybe I just felt dizzy while dancing.”

Aria still didn’t seem convinced.

With a serious tone, she said—“Alizeh, if you’re joking, please stop. This is serious.”

A bit irritated now, Alizeh snapped back,“Why would I joke about this? Since you keep asking, why don’t you tell me what exactly happened last night?”

For a moment, Aria looked like she was about to say it… her lips even parted, but then, for some reason, she stopped.

Keeping her silence, she only said to her,“whatever you’re saying… that’s what happened.”

FLASHBACK END

Aria leaned forward, studying her face closely. “This isn’t normal, Alizeh. Why are you behaving so strange?” she murmured, worried, flickering in her eyes.

Alizeh was about to snap back when her ears caught a familiar voice.The moment it reached her, a current shot through her veins. sharp and electric. Almost against her will, she followed the sound—turning her head slightly over her shoulder. And there he was.

At the far edge of the cafeteria stood Azael, speaking to someone. He wore a black shirt tucked into formal trousers. The sleeves were rolled high, veins pressing against skin as if sculpted by intent. His hair, as usual, was deliciously unruly. One hand buried casually in his pocket, the other braced against the wall. Sunlight draped his face, illuminating him like he belonged less to reality and more to some secret painting.

But then Alizeh’s gaze shifted to the figure beside him.

At first, she could only see her back, so she couldn’t tell who it was.  But when she looked closer, realization hit her—  it was her classmate, Huma.

A sudden restlessness clawed through her chest. Her expression tightened, betraying a feeling she had never once admitted to herself. For she often repeated, almost like prayer, that Azael meant nothing to her. That she saw him only as a professor, nothing more. But her eyes, her clenched jaw, the silent ache blooming inside—those told a truth she refused to name.

She remembered the moment, days ago, when Huma had stepped up to Azael to ask for a selfie. How she had burned from the inside, her body igniting in irrational fury. The same fire now consumed her again—brighter, more merciless.

For a fleeting second, a wild thought took root to get up, step between them, seize Humma by the collar and demand she leave, Or perhaps to simply cast her a single, cutting look—sharp enough that Huma would retreat on her own.

“Uh-oh…”Aria said, pulling Alizeh violently back to the present from her spiraling thoughts.

She tore her gaze away at once, reaching for her cup of coffee, feigning calmness. But Aria had already caught the angle of her eyes.

“Is there something going on between you two? Because from the way you just looked at Huma, it seemed like you were planning her murder.” Aria stated, raising her brows.

Alizeh choked mid-sip. Coughing, she hurriedly set the cup down, masking her panic with a fabricated sternness, she growled, “Aria… seriously. Stop cooking up these filmy stories. He’s my professor, I respect him. That’s it. Nothing more.”

Aria pressed her lips together, smiling knowingly, as she remarked playfully. “Respect, huh? That must be why every time you look at him, the scene turns into a slow-motion Netflix drama.”

Alizeh rolled her eyes,  “You seriously need to spice everything up, don’t you? And tell me—when have I ever looked at him?” she snapped, trying to cover her fluster with teasing.

Without hesitation, Aria shot back,“I only say what I see. And as for looking at him? You do it every single time he’s around.”

“Aria!” Alizeh hissed, shooting her a glare.

But Aria was unfazed, she only laughed, shrugging she remarked casually, “I’m just telling the truth, babe.”

With a deep exhale, Alizeh rose from the table,  slung her bag over her shoulder with warning eyes, “Fine. Think whatever you want. I’ve got something to do.” She said firmly and walked away.

I turned the door handle and stepped into the bathroom. My gaze instantly fell to the floor—so clean, so gleaming, as if it had just been scrubbed and polished. For a moment, this bathroom felt less like a university washroom and more like the restroom of a luxury hotel.

I glanced around the washroom. And realized  that no one was there except me. The silence comforted me, as I set my bag down on the vanity, finally allowing myself to breathe.

I lifted my eyes, that's when my eyes landed on the mirror, and I froze. The girl staring back at me was me—but not the me I wanted to see. My face seemed tired, worn out, my eyes slightly puffed… as though sleep had been a stranger all night. And of course—it had been.

How could I have slept when last night, for the very first time, I had shared a room, a bed, even a duvet —with someone? And not just anyone. With Mr. Khan.

Even though my boundaries had drawn a safe distance between us, the sheer thought—that I had slept beside him—was enough to rob the night of all peace.

I turned the faucet, watching the clear stream flow down into the washbasin. Placing my hands beneath it, I felt the smooth rush of water against my skin—a simple, grounding sensation.

I gathered some in my palms and brought it up to my face, letting it wash over me. The touch was light, refreshing, and it seemed to clear away more than just the faint traces of fatigue clinging to me.

Droplets slipped down my cheeks, and as I pulled out my handkerchief from the bag, I gently pressed it against my skin, dabbing away the last traces of water from my face, I slipped the handkerchief back into my bag, and pulled out a small bottle of moisturizer.

The cool cream felt soothing as I smoothed it gently over my skin, each stroke grounding me further. Just this simple ritual was enough to renew a fragile sense of calm.

Just as I straightened up, a sharp pinch twisted low in my stomach, forcing me to freeze. My hand instinctively pressed against my belly, where the ache was - familiar, unwelcome. It was the same ache I had felt earlier that morning, just before leaving for the university.

A frown crept onto my face as the memory returned, unsettling and sharp.

I stayed by the sink, steadying my breath, hoping it would ease. But the dull throb only reminded me of what I already knew—this pain always arrived a couple of days before my period, a warning I could never ignore.

Earlier, sitting across from Aria in the cafeteria, that same twinge had caught me off guard.

For a moment, panic surged through me—what if my period started right then and there? But then I remembered the pad I had slipped into my bag before leaving for university this morning. I needed to put it on—especially when I was wearing my light pink coquette two-piece. If a stain showed, there was no way to hide it, and I couldn't take that risk.

So, cutting Aria off mid-conversation, I told her I had some work to finish and slipped away.

I don’t know why, but saying these things directly always feels so strange to me. She’s my best friend, and more than that, she’s a girl herself. Still the words just never come out of my mouth. Maybe it’s just me, and my silly habits against the world.

Leaving like that in a hurry might’ve made her think I was just trying to avoid the whole Mr. Khan issue. It’s strange how her mind always circles back to him, almost like an obsession, constantly imagining there’s something between me and him. She keeps thinking I might actually like him.

But honestly, I don’t. I have no feelings for him whatsoever. If she wants to keep believing that, let her. It doesn’t bother me anymore, she can hold on to her obsessions—it’s none of my concern.

I reached into my bag again, my fingers fumbling around impatiently. “I put it right here in the morning,” I muttered under my breath, irritation sharp in my tone. “Ugh, why can’t I find it?” I hissed quietly, hand still buried inside as the zipper strained wider under my restless tug.

One by one, my fingers brushed past my sketchbook, a handful of pencils, my Kiko Milano lip gloss, the Laneige lip balm, Beauty of Joseon sunscreen and moisturizer, Skin1004 toner pads, even my plain handkerchief—practically every single thing I usually needed, except the one i needed right now.

A low groan slipped out before I could stop it. With my period date so close, my mood was already on edge, and now this—of all the times—not finding the pad felt like the universe was testing me. My chest tightened as frustration burned through me, threatening to spill over.

Just then, the soft click of the door opening reached my ears. My shoulders tensed for a moment, but I didn’t look up. Probably just someone else coming in to use the washroom, I told myself, trying to ignore it.

I yanked the zip of my bag shut in frustration and pressed my palms flat against the edges of the washbasin, fingers digging hard into the cold ceramic as if squeezing out all the irritation building inside me. My head dipped low, shoulders hunched, trying to steady myself.

Then came the sound of the door closing—slow, deliberate. Something about the pause between the opening and the shutting made me uneasy.

Normally, I wouldn’t have noticed, but my nerves were already frayed and that silence pressed harder than it should have. Even so, I didn’t turn around.

I kept thinking about it when a familiar trace of cologne slipped into the air. That scent I had recognized before—warm, woody, sharp in a way that hooked into memory. My lips pressed together as I tried to brush it off. It could belong to anyone. Lots of people might use the same cologne.

Still my body betrayed me. Before I could stop myself, my head began to lift and I was just glancing toward the door, but before my eyes could turn, they caught the reflection in the mirror in front of me.

And that's when my breath hitched. For a second, my lungs refused to work.

In the reflection, Mr. Khan was leaning casually against the tiled wall as if he owned the space. His head tilted slightly, that unmistakable half-smile carved across his face. Those blue eyes— God, under this light, they looked even sharper, brighter—staring straight into mine through the glass.The intensity of it shot through me, a shiver curling down my spine before I could steel myself.

I couldn’t help but compare him to how I’d seen him just hours ago in the cafeteria—his hair then messy, carelessly tossed. But now… neat. Brushed back. Controlled. It didn’t make him look softer—it made him look more dangerous. More precise. And somehow, impossibly, even harder to ignore.

I realized—almost with a sting of shame—that I’d been staring at him longer than I should. My pulse quickened, and an inner voice snapped me back to myself: Stop gawking. Get a grip.

Straightening, I forced my shoulders back, shook the tension from my arms, and finally turned to face him directly. My brows drew together, frustration spilling into my voice before hesitation could stop me.

“What are you doing here, Mr. Khan? This is a ladies’ washroom.” i blurted out, half assuming he had probably walked in by mistake.

For a moment, he didn’t reply. He just kept looking at me—steady, unblinking. The weight of his gaze pinned me where I stood, like my feet had forgotten how to move. My throat ran dry, heart pounding hard against my ribs, and still his silence spoke louder than words.

Then, at last, his lips curved—faint, deliberate—and in that low, unsettlingly calm tone, he said, “Haan toh main yahan apni aurat ke liye hee aaya hoon”

(Yes… I came here for my woman.)

The words struck me before I could brace myself. My body reacted on its own, betraying me completely. A shiver ran through me, traveling from my neck down to the pit of my stomach.

The sharp ache that had been twisting in my abdomen all this time—the dull, relentless period cramp that had soured my mood—suddenly loosened. It dissolved, melting away into something else entirely.

What filled its place was unsettlingly different: a strange warmth, a soft flutter low inside me, the kind that made me press my teeth against my lip just to keep a sound from slipping out.

I hated it. I hated how his voice could twist my pain into something dangerously close to pleasure.

My lips parted, ready to speak—maybe to snap back at him, maybe to throw something sharp enough to make him feel even half of what I was feeling. But before the words could tear out, my eyes caught on his right hand.

And my stomach dropped.

He was holding something. For the first few seconds, my brain didn’t catch up with my eyes, but then the realization crashed over me—sudden, cold, humiliating.

The warmth inside me, that strange flutter I didn’t even ask my body for, collapsed into a hot flush of shame burning across my cheeks.

A packet. Of pads.

Seriously? For a dizzy moment, my thoughts scrambled: Did he… actually bring that for me? The idea slammed into me before I could shut it down, my chest tightening with an ache I couldn’t name. I forced it away just as quickly. No. Impossible. Nobody knew about this. Not even Aria. So how could he?

Stop overthinking, Alizeh, my subconscious mocked me cruelly. There has to be another reason. Maybe it was for someone else. Maybe he had a girlfriend I didn’t know about. Yes, pakka. Inki koi girlfriend hogi. He didn’t look like a professor type anyway, guys like him always had someone. Haan, maybe for his girlfriend. That had to be it. Definitely not for me.

My reasoning almost worked, almost calmed me—until another thought cut me open like glass. Then why was he bringing it inside a ladies’ washroom? If it was for his girlfriend, he could’ve just handed it outside. Right?

My teeth dug into the inside of my cheek as irritation spiked, hotter than the cramps twisting in my stomach. The more I thought, the more the possibility gnawed at me—agar ye mere liye huwa toh?

The embarrassment. The confusion. All of it boiled together until the frustration burst. Before I could stop myself, the words snapped out.

“Are you stalking me, Mr. Khan?” I hissed, my voice sharp, my patience already fraying.

Instead of flinching, he let out a low chuckle that curled through the cramped washroom like smoke. The sound made my skin prickle—half with anger, half with something else I refused to name. His smirk deepened as he tilted his head slightly, eyes locked on mine without wavering.

“Stalking?” he repeated, slow and deliberate, as if savoring the word on his tongue. A soft click of his teeth followed, his gaze never breaking. “That’s such an ugly word.” He pushed off the wall and moved closer, the space between us shrinking, every step calculated, unhurried.

His voice dropped, a velvet edge brushing across the few inches of air left between us. “I prefer craving. And that is exactly what your body wears perfectly.

A sudden rush of heat shot through me, catching me off guard. Almost without realizing it, my palms slammed hard against the cold basin, fingers curling until the edge bit into my skin.

The shock of it grounded me, but also betrayed me—the tremor in my wrists, the whiteness blooming across my knuckles. I gripped tighter, as if holding on to that ceramic surface might stop the chaos spiraling in my chest.

“You’re disgusting,” I snapped, throwing the words like knives, even though my voice trembled under the weight of too many emotions.

But instead of offense, amusement lit his features. His gaze dipped briefly to the packet still dangling from his fingers, then rose back to me, something wicked sparking in his eyes.

“If I really disgusted you, sweetheart…” he murmured, the words low, intimate, cutting. “you wouldn’t still be standing here, feeding my hunger with just your presence.”

The line seared into me, making my jaw lock, my breath falter—because the worst part was, he wasn’t entirely wrong. Why was I still here? The moment I saw him, I should’ve grabbed my things and left.

But it wasn’t too late.

With that thought, I yanked my bag from the vanity, slung the strap over my shoulder, and without sparing him another glance, strode toward the door.

But before I could take more than a step forward, he moved—suddenly, sharply—stepping right into my path.

I faltered, almost stumbling into him, before catching myself with a stubborn lift of my chin, defiance tightening my spine. My pulse thundered in my ears. What the hell is wrong with him? The words pressed at my lips, ready to explode—until his hand rose between us.

The packet in his hand swung up, level with my face, dangling like a challenge. His voice dripped slowly and taunting, every word deliberate. “tum khud pehnogi, ya main pehna dun?

(Will you wear it yourself… or should I help?)

My stomach twisted. Shame and fury collided, heating my cheeks until they burned. He held it so casually, like it was nothing. Like ripping me open in this way was some kind of game.

Seriously, you have no shame at all?” I snapped, each word bitten off.

His answer came without hesitation, low and heavy, the whisper landing far too close.“For you… I’ve left all my shame behind. From my tongue to—”

His gaze shifted downward, deliberate and slow, dragging my attention with it before I could stop myself. Heat ran up my neck the moment I realized where his eyes had landed. My stomach clenched, shame and anger sparking all at once.

Before he could even finish his words, my hand moved on instinct, clamping tightly over his mouth. To my utter shock, his lips pressed against my palm in a sudden kiss. Soft, warm, wet—his breath brushed my skin in uneven bursts. My eyes darted to his, and there they were—glittering with mischief, unashamed, as if he was daring me to react.

How could he? I thought, fury rising like heat in my chest. This man doesn’t know what decency means. What sort of lunatics does this university appoint him as professors? He thinks I’ll bend, obey, belong to him. But he doesn’t know—I’m far wilder than he’ll ever handle.

Anger grounded me. With my free hand, I snatched the packet from his grip, the crumple of plastic sharp in the silence. “Keep your indecency to yourself,” I hissed, tucking it into my bag. My voice cut cold. “I can manage on my own.”

A muffled laugh buzzed under my palm—deep, sarcastic. This time I knew—he was mocking me. He slowly peeled my hand off his lips, curling his fingers around my wrist. His touch burned hot.

Freed at last, his lips hovered much too close as he whispered against my cheek, “Will you stop finding excuses to touch my lips?”

I yanked my hand back, glare sharp. “Don’t flatter yourself,” I spat. “I have zero interest in you, Mr. Khan.”

He finally shifted, taking a step back, as if to give me space. But the illusion of distance lasted only a breath. His eyes dragged down my body—slow, deliberate, unhurried. From my face, to my shoulders, lingering at my chest, then lower his gaze felt like it was peeling away every layer I wore, stripping me naked without even touching. Heat rushed to my cheeks, not desire but the sting of violation.

That single look pinned me against invisible walls, making me feel exposed in ways words couldn’t capture.

My pulse kicked hard, unease tying itself into knots. And then, almost cruelly, when his eyes traveled back up to mine, there was nothing soft in them—only an unflinching glint, arrogant, as if he knew exactly what that look had done to me.

His smirk curved, steady and dangerous, as if he’d already won a battle I wasn’t aware I was fighting. He let the silence drag just long enough to tighten the air between us.

Then, in a voice low and edged with certainty, he spoke.“But your trembling body tells another story, sweetheart.”

The word clung to me like smoke, suffocating and heavy. My fists curled at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I forced a dry laugh past the tightness in my throat. My eyes narrowed, sharp as blades, when I answered, “Sweetheart? Don’t throw cheap pet names at me. They don’t work.”

His smirk didn’t falter. It hardened. Dangerous. Constant.

He leaned in slowly, too close, his lips brushing the air beside my ear. His whisper seared warm against my skin.“One day… hearing me call you sweetheart will be enough to soak you between your sexy legs”

And with that, he pulled back, opened the washroom door, and slipped out, leaving the scent of his cologne thick in the air.

I stood frozen, chest tight, fury and unease tangled inside me. There was only one word echoed in my mind to define him— Psychopath.

A man who needed a psychiatrist more than anyone I'd ever known.

      -ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The golden-orange sunset painted the whole street like a perfect Instagram filter. Alizeh and Aria stepped out of the university gates, still buzzing from the day, and walked toward the roadside where they waited for their car. Phones in hand, they scrolled lazily through reels, the evening breeze brushing their hair as the city hummed softly in the background, almost like background music in a rom-com.

Alizeh suddenly broke the peaceful silence, eyes lighting up. “Bro, my reels are literally spammed with Ang Mutya Section E clips these days—it’s insane,” she said, laughing as she nudged Aria. “I swear I can’t stop watching them. The outfits, the vibes, the chemistry—it’s chef’s kiss.”

Aria’s head shot up instantly. “OMG, sameee! Like literally every time I open Insta, boom—a new clip. And that couple? Uff. Too good. My entire feed is just them.”

Alizeh giggled, shaking her head. “I’m shipping them so hard, I can actually picture their wedding.” She rolled her eyes at herself but smiled dreamily.

Aria leaned in like it was the juiciest tea ever. “Lowkey? Same.”

For a moment, both of them just burst into laughter, the soft evening light wrapping around their little moment. Then suddenly, Alizeh’s eyes gleamed.

“why don’t we binge it tonight? Like, at my place. We’ll get food, chill, and just watch everything. Total vibe.”

Aria’s jaw dropped in exaggerated drama. “Stop. That’s actually perfectttt. Binge-watch party, yes please.”

Their laughter and chatter had lifted the energy even higher. Both girls were still caught up in their jokes when suddenly, a car screeched to a halt right in front of them.

The smiles lingered on their faces, but their eyes instantly fixed on the car. For a few moments, nothing happened—silence filled the air. Neither of them could tell who it was. Time itself seemed to pause.

Then, slowly, the car door opened. And out stepped Zeydan. His movements carried a certain self-assuredness, an aura that instantly shifted the mood around them. Step by step, he began walking towards the girls, every stride making the suspense grow heavier.

Just then, Zeydan came closer and stopped right in front of Alizeh. His eyes scanned their faces, calm but probing, before he finally spoke. “You both look unusually happy… headed to a party, are you?”

For a few seconds, neither of the girls answered. The air felt heavier, as if his words had unsettled the light mood from moments before.

At last, Aria broke the silence. Her tone was steady, almost defensive. “Yes, we are. But why does that matter to you? And more importantly—what exactly are you doing here?”

Hearing Aria’s sharp reply, Zeydan fell silent for a short while. His expression shifted ever so slightly, as though he were weighing his words. Then, in a calmer voice, he spoke. “Nothing serious. I’m just hosting a party at my place tomorrow… and I wanted to invite you both.”

The girls exchanged a surprised glance, the sudden shift in tone catching them off guard. For a brief moment, it almost felt like some unspoken barrier between them and zeydan had lifted.

For a moment, there was silence. Aria noticed that zeydan’s gaze had been resting on Alizeh for a while, as though lost in thought.

Breaking that quiet, she spoke firmly, her eyes narrowing slightly. “But we’re not friends, Zeydan. So why exactly did you invite us?”

Almost without hesitation, Zeydan answered, his voice steady and sincere, “But I consider both of you my friends. That’s the reason I came—to invite you properly.”

Aria was just about to refuse when Alizeh cut in gently, “Okay, we’ll come. Thank you for the invite. You can go now.”

Hearing this, a faint smile appeared on Zeydan’s face.

Just before leaving, he turned one last time, letting his gaze linger on Alizeh for a fleeting moment.

Without saying a word, he stepped into his car and drove away.

As soon as he was gone, Aria spun toward Alizeh, her voice filled with disbelief. “What was that? I was literally about to say no—and you just agreed! Why did you say yes?”

Alizeh kept her gaze fixed on the street for a moment before answering quietly. “Because… if he came all this way to invite us properly, what was the point of refusing?”

Aria frowned, crossing her arms.

“That doesn’t make sense, Alizeh. Just because he showed up and asked politely doesn’t mean we owe him anything. You could’ve simply turned him down.”

Alizeh turned to her, her voice calm but firm. “Why should we have refused him, Aria? He came to us as a friend, didn’t you see that? When someone approaches you genuinely, it doesn’t feel right to turn them away.”

Aria shook her head immediately, her tone sharper. “I’m telling you, Alizeh—you should keep some distance from him. I don’t get good feelings about him, not at all.”

Alizeh answered quickly, almost cutting Aria off. “Of course you won’t feel anything about him. Because all your good feelings are for Azael, you’re always talking about him. He’s the only one who seems right to you, isn’t he?”

Aria’s eyes narrowed, and she stared hard at Alizeh. “This has nothing to do with Azael. I’m telling you honestly—I just don’t trust Zeydan. If you can’t understand that, then fine. It’s up to you, and—.”

She was about to say more, but just then their car pulled up outside.

The sudden sound cut through the tense silence, pulling both girls out of the moment.

As they gathered their things, Alizeh spoke more softly, almost to bring closure.“Alright then, we’ll see each other tonight, at our place. Don’t forget—our drama night is waiting.” 

Without another word, they stepped into the car, and the engine hummed to life.

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