The campus was buzzing with excitement as the Navratri festival kicked off in full swing. The entire college courtyard had been transformed into a vibrant space, adorned with fairy lights, colorful drapes, and beautifully arranged rangoli at the entrance. The rhythmic beats of dhol and traditional Garba music together echoed through the air, mixing with the laughter and chatter of students dressed in their festive best.

Anshika adjusted her lehenga as she stepped into the courtyard, feeling slightly self-conscious. Her outfit—a black and gold embroidered lehenga—was a stark contrast to the simple kurtas and jeans she usually wore. The rich fabric swayed around her feet as she walked. Her natural wavy hair cascaded down her back, and jhumkas dangled delicately from her ears.

She hadn't expected the stares. Or the way her friends suddenly gushed over her. Ugh, compliments are so awkward!

"Arre waah, Anshika! Aaj toh tu proper gujju chhokri lag rahi hai!" Priya teased, twirling her dandiya sticks.

"Wow, Anshika! You look like a proper gujju girl today!"

"Haan, bohot pyaari lag rahi hai!" Meera joined, with her compliment.

'Yes, you look really pretty!"

"Tum dono mujhse bohot zyada sundar lag rahi ho," Anshika smiled, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"You both are looking so much more beautiful,"

Kartikey had seen Anshika countless times before—lost in her books, quietly practicing her dance, lost in her thoughts. But this... this was different.

As she stepped into the courtyard, the world around them seemed to slow. The black and gold lehenga suited her in a way that made it impossible to look away. The intricate embroidery caught the soft glow of the lights, but it was nothing compared to the hesitant glow on her face. The way the soft curls framed her face, the way those jhumkas swayed when she turned her head—everything about her felt... different. Yet entirely her.

Kartikey smiled slightly, leaning against the pillar, watching her adjust the dupatta with that little crease of nervousness between her brows. She has no idea how beautiful she looks, does she?

She looked breathtaking. And completely unaware of it.

Kartikey had always noticed her, but tonight, noticing wasn't enough. His fingers twitched with the urge to tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, to tell her just how stunning she looked. Instead, he simply stepped closer, a slow smile tugging at his lips as he watched her adjust her dupatta, still slightly unsure.

Does she even know what she's doing to me?

Her friends had already joined the Garba circle, leaving her alone for a moment. As she took a deep breath, a familiar presence settled beside her.

"Kuch zyada hi sundar nahi lag rahi tum?" Kartikey's voice was low, teasing, yet there was something else in his tone—something that made her stomach flip.

"Aren't you looking too beautiful?"

She turned to find him standing there, dressed in a dark blue kurta, the sleeves rolled up to his forearms as usual. He looked effortlessly handsome, but Anshika quickly pushed the thought away.

"Tumhe toh bas mauka chahiye na taang khichne ka," she said, rolling her eyes, trying to ignore the way his gaze roamed over her.

"You just always want a chance to tease me,"

Kartikey smirked, but his eyes held a warmth she was slowly getting used to. "Aaj mazaak nahi kar raha."

"I'm not joking today."

Before she could respond, Rahul and the others called them towards the Garba circle. "Anshika, Kartikey, aao na! Start ho gaya!"

"Come here, it's starting!"

She nodded, grateful for the distraction, and hurried toward them. The music picked up pace, and soon, the courtyard was filled with students performing Garba in synchronized steps. Anshika moved gracefully, her body swaying with the rhythm, her ghangra twirling as she spun.

Kartikey watched from a distance at first, his arms crossed as he leaned against a pillar. His eyes never left her—not even for a second. He had seen her dance before, but never like this. There was something mesmerizing about the way she moved tonight, her hesitation forgotten, lost in the beats of the music.

Rahul nudged him. "Bhai, bas dekhte hi rahega ya khelne bhi aayega?"

"Bro, are you going to keep looking or will you play?"

Kartikey smirked. "Aata hoon," he said, stepping forward.

"I'm coming,"

Kartikey wove through the crowd, his gaze never straying from her. Anshika had always been graceful, but tonight, she was something else entirely—her every movement fluid, her lehenga swirling around her like a midnight storm kissed by gold. The soft glow of fairy lights reflected in her eyes, her laughter blending effortlessly with the rhythm of the dhol.

He had never seen her like this before. Carefree. Unbothered by the stares. Completely lost in the moment.

She was breathtaking.

And yet, he noticed things others didn't. The way she instinctively glanced around before letting herself get too caught up in the dance. The way she subtly avoided the boys who twirled too close. The slight hesitation before letting go, as if years of restrictions still clung to her.

A small crease formed between his brows when he noticed a few guys stealing glances at her. Some whispered amongst themselves, their eyes lingering a second too long. His jaw tightened when a guy he didn't recognize stepped a little too near. Kartikey didn't wait—he was already moving, cutting through the others, his steps calculated. By the time the guy tried to twirl in sync with Anshika, Kartikey was beside her, his eyes never leaving her.

His gaze flickered to the guy who had been inching closer, and his eyes hardened. The guy hesitated for a moment before quickly stepping back, blending into the crowd as if he hadn't just been hovering around Anshika. Satisfied, Kartikey turned his attention back to her.

He wasn't thinking about garba anymore. His eyes were fixed on Anshika as she moved effortlessly, her feet tapping against the ground in perfect rhythm. Her lehenga fanned out gracefully as she twirled, and for a moment, Kartikey felt as though everything around them had blurred—the music, the crowd, the lights.

It was just her.

She wasn't just dancing. She was lost in the moment, in a way he had never seen before. Every step, every turn, every sway of her body held an ease that he had rarely witnessed in her. Anshika was always careful, always aware of her surroundings. But right now? Right now, she was free. And he couldn't take his eyes off her.

His smile faded as his gaze darkened with something more intense—something even he wasn't sure how to name. There was admiration, yes, but also something deeper, more possessive. The way her jewelry jingled in sync with the beats, the way her laughter echoed in the air, the way her cheeks flushed with excitement—it was intoxicating.

And so was the way others were looking at her.

Kartikey's jaw tensed. He wasn't the only one who had noticed how mesmerizing she looked tonight. A few guys on the other side of the circle had their eyes on her too. One of them, Aryan, seemed especially keen—his eyes followed Anshika's every move, his smirk widening each time she twirled.

A sharp surge of irritation shot through Kartikey's veins.

She was completely unaware of it, caught in the music, but Kartikey saw everything. The way his gaze flickered down to her waist as she spun, as if he had the right to look at her like that. Kartikey clenched his jaw.

Anshika, still lost in the music, barely registered his irritation until she felt the warmth of his hand brushing against hers. She glanced up, her breath catching slightly as she found him looking at her—not with his usual teasing smirk, but with something far more intense.

"Kya hua?" she asked, breathless from the garba.

"What happened?"

Kartikey exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Kuch nahi," he said, his voice softer this time. "Bas tumhe dekh raha tha."

"Nothing, just looking at you."

He tilted his head slightly, smirking at her. "Aur soch raha tha, agar tum roz aise ready hoti, toh college mein sab ka dhyaan sirf tumhare upar hota."

"And I was thinking, if you got ready like this every day, everyone in the college will just keep looking at you.'

Heat crept up her neck. "Mazaak karna band karo."

"Stop joking."

But he wasn't joking, not this time. His eyes darkened slightly, his smirk fading just a little. "Main serious hoon, Anshika."

"I'm serious, Anshika."

Her breath hitched, and she quickly looked away, pretending to focus on the steps. "Tum ab mujhe shaanti se garba bhi nahi karne doge?" she muttered, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck.

"Now you won't even let me play garba in peace?"

Kartikey smiled, some of his usual teasing returning. "Kar sakti ho, par sirf mere saath."

"You can, but only with me."

Before she could protest, he twirled her effortlessly holding her hand, his grip firm yet gentle. The world around them blurred again, but this time, she was aware of him—of the way his hand steadied her, of the way his eyes never wavered from hers.

Anshika had danced before, but not like this. Not with someone whose presence alone made her heart race, whose gaze made her feel things she wasn't ready to acknowledge.

Their movements synchronized naturally, as if they had always danced together. The music sped up, and so did they—spinning, stepping, laughing. The tension in her melted away, replaced by something else entirely. She wasn't sure what it was, but she didn't want it to end.

Neither did he.

Each time she tried to move away, Kartikey found a way to pull her back—sometimes with a playful spin, sometimes with a subtle tug at her wrist. He wasn't ready to let her slip away into the away again.

What is happening to me? Her heart hammered against her ribs, and she wasn't sure if it was the dance or him. Probably him. Definitely him. Every time he pulled her back, every time his fingers brushed against her skin, a warmth spread through her—a warmth she didn't know how to handle. She had danced before, but this... this was something else. Something unfamiliar yet intoxicating. She should step away. She should put distance between them before she lost herself in this moment. But each time she tried, he wouldn't let her go. And the most startling thing was—she didn't really want him to.

She fit so effortlessly with him, like she was meant to be there. Kartikey had danced before, but not like this. Not with someone who made him want to forget everything else. He had expected her to resist, to shy away—but instead, she was moving with him, matching his steps, losing herself just a little. And he wasn't going to let her slip away. Not now, not yet.

Every twirl, every stolen glance, every hesitant smile from her made his hold tighten just slightly, as if reminding her—I'm right here. Stay with me a little longer.

But he wasn't the only one noticing her anymore.

Rahul and the others had caught on, their knowing smirks barely hidden. Meera nudged Priya, whispering something that made them giggle. Anshika groaned inwardly. She knew they would tease her about this later.

And Kartikey? He seemed completely unbothered, as if he didn't care who was watching. Maybe he really didn't.

Or maybe he wanted them to see.

As the final beats of the music echoed through the courtyard, the crowd erupted into cheers. Anshika, slightly breathless, stepped back, creating some much-needed space between them. Kartikey, however, was still looking at her, his expression unreadable.

She opened her mouth to say something—anything to break whatever was happening between them—but before she could, Meera and Priya rushed over, grabbing her hands and pulling her away.

"Chal chal, ab humare saath!" Priya grinned, winking at her.

"Come on, dance with us now!"

Anshika barely had time to glance back before she was whisked away into another garba circle. Kartikey watched her go, his smirk fading into something softer.

He had never thought much about fate before. But tonight, watching Anshika dance under the fairy lights, surrounded by colors and music, he wondered if maybe—just maybe—fate had brought her here for him.

Anshika barely had time to catch her breath after another round of garba, before someone stepped into her path. A guy she vaguely recognized from college—Aryan, she thought his name was—smiled at her, slightly out of breath from dancing.

"Tum bohot accha garba karti ho," he complimented, his eyes lingering on her a little too long.

"You're really good at garba,"

Anshika offered a polite smile, shifting slightly to the side, but he matched her movement. "Thanks," she said, glancing around, hoping to slip away.

But Aryan wasn't done. "Agar tumhe problem na ho toh," he said, extending his phone towards her. "Can I have your number?"

"If you don't have any problem then,"

Before she could think of a response, she felt it—a shift in the air, the weight of a familiar gaze.

Kartikey.

He stepped between them so smoothly that it almost looked casual. Almost. But Anshika saw the way his jaw clenched, the way his fingers curled into a loose fist at his side. His height and broad frame made Aryan instantly take a step back, uncertainty flickering in his eyes.

"Koi problem hai?" Kartikey's voice was deceptively calm, but there was an edge to it that sent a clear warning.

"Any problem?"

Aryan let out an awkward chuckle, shaking his head. "Nahi, bas Anshika se baat kar raha tha."

"No, I was just talking with Anshika."

Kartikey's lips curved into a sharp smirk, but there was no humor in his eyes. "Toh ho gayi baat?" His voice was lower now, quieter, more dangerous.

"Are you done talking then?"

Aryan opened his mouth, as if debating whether to push his luck, but one look at Kartikey's expression and he took a step back. "Haan... haan, bas milna tha," he muttered before blending into the crowd, much like the last guy Kartikey had scared off.

"Yes... yes, just wanted to meet her,"

Anshika exhaled, not realizing she had been holding her breath. "Tum... yeh sab zaroori tha?"

"You... was this necessary?"

Kartikey didn't look at her. Instead, he ran a hand through his hair, his irritation still visible. "Mujhe nahi pasand jab koi aise dekhta hai tumhe."

"I don't like it when someone looks at you like that."

She blinked. It's nothing! Shut up! "Toh? Main khud handle kar sakti thi."

"So? I could handle it on my own."

His gaze snapped to hers, intense and unreadable. "Par kiya nahi."

"But you didn't."

She opened her mouth to argue but found herself at a loss for words. Kartikey let out a frustrated sigh before turning on his heel and walking away from the noise, his broad shoulders tense.

Kartikey had been keeping an eye on her. He wasn't hovering—at least, that's what he told himself—but he was aware of her. How could he not be? She had been dancing, laughing, losing herself in the rhythm of garba, and he had been watching, taking in every flicker of her expressions, every time she adjusted her dupatta, every hesitant smile she gave to someone.

He had seen it happening from across the courtyard—the way Aryan had stepped into her path, the way his gaze lingered on her longer than necessary. And then, the moment Aryan extended his phone towards her, Kartikey moved. Instinct. Possessiveness. Maybe both.

Stepping between them had felt as natural as breathing. He hadn't needed to think about it—he just couldn't stand there and watch. Couldn't let some guy look at her like that, talk to her like that, as if he had the right. As if she was just another girl to flirt with.

His voice had been calm, too calm. But he knew the sharp edge underneath it was enough. Aryan had understood the warning without Kartikey having to spell it out. Good.

But then Anshika—stubborn Anshika—had questioned him. And damn it, that had been the part that frustrated him the most.

"Toh? Main khud handle kar sakti thi."

He had barely managed to hold back a scoff. 

Did she not see the way that guy was looking at her? Did she not feel how uneasy he was making her? Kartikey had. And he hated it.

"I don't like it when someone looks at you like that."

The words came out before he could stop them, raw and honest.

She didn't get it. She didn't understand what it did to him to see someone else try to get close to her. To see her being looked at like that—as if she was available, as if any random guy could just ask for her number like she owed him something.

It made his blood boil.

So, no, he didn't regret stepping in. He didn't regret the warning in his voice, the way Aryan had backed off without another word. What he did regret was the frustration twisting in his chest, the way Anshika still didn't see what was right in front of her.

Kartikey exhaled sharply, feeling frustration and something far more complicated churn inside him. He didn't want to fight with her. He didn't even know why he was so riled up. All he knew was that the idea of someone else looking at her—wanting her—made his blood boil in a way he wasn't ready to admit.

So, without another word, he turned on his heel, putting space between them before he said something he couldn't take back. But as he walked away, jaw tight, fists clenched, only one thought echoed in his mind—

She doesn't get it. And maybe, neither do I.

Anshika watched him go, biting her lip. She knew him well enough to understand—he needed space. But something about the way he had reacted, the way his protectiveness had flared so fiercely, made her uneasy. It wasn't like she hadn't seen this side of him before, but tonight, it felt different.

After a few minutes of hesitating, she finally decided to follow him.

She found him near the quieter part of the courtyard, where the festival lights barely reached. He was leaning against a pillar, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the distance. He looked... troubled.

She hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. "Kartikey?"

"Tum yahan kya kar rahi ho?" he asked, not looking at her.

"What are you doing here?"

"T-tumhe dekhne aayi thi," she admitted, stepping closer. "Tum theek ho?"

"I-i came to check on you, are you okay?"

He let out a humorless chuckle. "Mujhe kya hoga?"

"What will happen to me?"

She studied him for a moment before speaking softly. "Toh tum wahan se aise kyu aa gaye?"

"Then why did you come here like this?"

Kartikey finally looked at her, and for the first time tonight, she saw something vulnerable in his expression—just for a second before he masked it again.

"Tumne usko mana kyun nahi kiya?" His voice was low, but there was an edge to it. "Bola kyun nahi ki dur rahe?"

"Why didn't you deny him? Why didn't you tell him to stay away?"

She blinked, caught off guard. "Maine—matlab, mujhe laga... zaroorat nahi thi."

"I-i mean, I thought... it wasn't needed."

"Zaroorat thi," he said firmly, pushing off the pillar and stepping closer. "Tumne nahi dekha woh kaise tumhe dekh raha tha? Kaise tumse baat kar raha tha?"

"It was needed, didn't you see how he was looking at you? How was he talking to you?"

She swallowed, feeling her heartbeat quicken at his proximity. "Kartikey, woh sirf... tum itna overreact kyun kar rahe ho?"

"It was just... why are you overreacting so much?"

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he didn't say anything. Then, in a voice much quieter, he asked, "Agar tumhe problem nahi thi toh tumne mujhe dur jaane ko kyun nahi kaha?"

"If you didn't have any problem, then why didn't you tell me to go away?"

Anshika stilled.

She hadn't expected that.

His gaze searched hers, looking for something—anything—that would make sense of whatever he was feeling. "Maine jo bhi kiya... tumne ek baar bhi mujhe nahi kaha, Kartikey don't. Tumne mana kyun nahi kiya, Anshika?"

"Whatever I did... you didn't tell me once, Kartikey don't. Why didn't you stop me?"

She opened her mouth, but no words came out. She didn't have an answer—not one she was ready to admit, anyway.

Kartikey took a step closer, his voice barely above a whisper now. "Tumhe koi problem nahi thi?... tumhe achha laga?"

"You didn't have any problem?... you liked it?"

Her heart skipped a beat, her breath catching in her throat. The way he was looking at her—intense, almost desperate for an answer—made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something she wasn't ready to face.

She swallowed hard. "Kartikey," 

He huffed out a laugh, stepping back. "Let it be."

Anshika let out a slow breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of her heart. "Wapas chalein? Sab wait kar rahe honge."

"Let's go back? Everyone must be waiting."

Kartikey looked at her for a long moment before speaking. "Tum jao... main aata hoon."

"You go... I'm coming."

Anshika turned to leave but stopped after a few steps, glancing back at him once more. Kartikey was still standing there, still lost in thoughts she couldn't quite decipher.

The question hung in the air between them.

And as she walked away, her heart felt heavy.

Her mind tangled in the weight of everything that had just happened.

Kartikey's words echoed in her head—"Tumne mana kyun nahi kiya, Anshika?"

Why hadn't she?

She had told herself it was unnecessary, that she could simply turn down Aryan's request. But then why had she been relieved the moment Kartikey stepped in? Why had she let him handle it without protest?

Her fingers curled around the edge of her dupatta as she exhaled shakily. Kartikey wasn't just angry. He wasn't just being protective. There was something else in his eyes tonight—something raw, something she wasn't sure she was ready to understand.

And then... "Tumhe koi problem nahi thi?... tumhe achha laga?"

Anshika's heart clenched. She had seen the way he had looked at her when he asked that. As if the answer mattered. As if it was something he needed to hear.

The realization sent a shiver down her spine. She had always known Kartikey was different with her—had always been aware of the way he stood a little too close, the way his gaze lingered longer than necessary, the way he always found her, no matter how crowded the place was.

But this was the first time she had felt the weight of it. The first time she had seen something vulnerable in his eyes. And that scared her.

What are we doing, Kartikey?

She didn't know. And maybe—just maybe—she wasn't ready to find out.

As she neared the festival lights again, the lively sounds of garba and laughter filling the air, she suddenly felt distant from it all. Her friends were waiting. The celebrations were still in full swing. But a part of her was stuck back there, in the quiet shadows of the courtyard, standing in front of Kartikey as he asked her a question she hadn't been able to answer.

The festive energy of the garba night slowly gave way to the after-party excitement, as the group gathered near the entrance, deciding their next destination. Someone suggested ice cream, another voted for chai, before it was finally decided, a nearby late-night dosa joint, famous for its crisp dosas and tangy chutneys.

"Kartikey, chal na." Rahul nudged him, noticing his unusually quiet demeanor.

"Kartikey, let's go."

Kartikey, who had rejoined the group a few minutes ago, gave a slight nod. His usual smile was absent, his expression unreadable. Anshika, standing a few feet away, stole a quick glance at him, but their eyes didn't meet.

"Haan yaar! Mera bhi mann kar raha hai dosa aur filter coffee ka," Prerna added, linking arms with Anshika.

"Yes! I also want dosa and filter coffee,"

Anshika smiled at her friend but felt the weight of the unspoken tension between her and Kartikey. He hadn't looked at her properly since their conversation in the courtyard, and it left her feeling unsettled. Was he still upset? Or was she reading too much into it?

The group piled into their respective vehicles, and despite herself, Anshika hesitated for a second before sitting in the same car as Kartikey. He was at the wheel, Arjun in the passenger seat, and she found herself squeezed into the backseat with Priya and Meera, as Rahul decided to take his bike.

The drive was filled with laughter and conversations, but the weight of silence between Anshika and Kartikey was impossible to ignore. She could feel the occasional glances from Priya, as if she sensed something was off, but thankfully, she didn't say anything.

The group made their way to the dosa stall, a small but bustling place with the scent of butter and masala thick in the air. Tables were occupied by college students and families alike, the soft clatter of utensils adding to the ambience. They found a spot near the corner, squeezing onto two wooden benches.

As orders were placed—cheese dosas, Mysore dosas, and filter coffee—Anshika felt the tension still lingering in the air. She was hyper-aware of Kartikey's presence across from her. He was sitting next to Arjun, idly scrolling through his phone, but his expressions remained distant.

"Oye, kya chal raha hai?" Arjun elbowed Kartikey playfully. "Itna serious kyun hai?"

"What's going on? Why are you so serious?"

Kartikey replied, shaking his head. "Kuch nahi. Bas thoda thak gaya hoon."

"Nothing. I'm just tired."

Anshika found herself gripping her glass of water a little too tightly. She knew him better than that. Kartikey was rarely this quiet in their group.

As the conversation flowed around her, Anshika's phone buzzed in her lap. Glancing down, she saw her mother's name flashing on the screen. A sudden unease gripped her chest. She hesitated for a moment before picking up, moving away from the group.

"Hello, Mummy?"

"Anshu, beta," her mother's voice was gentle but firm. "Tum ab tak ghar nahi pohonchi?"

"Are you not home yet?"

Anshika swallowed, her fingers tightening around her phone. "Mummy, main... bas friends ke saath hoon. Hum garba ke baad..."

"I'm just with my friends. We were just..."

"Itni raat ko? Beta, tumhe pata hai na—"

"This late? You know na-"

"Mummy, bas thodi der aur," she interrupted, keeping her voice steady despite the growing anxiety pressing against her ribs. "Main jaldi flat pohonch jaungi."

"Just a little bit... I'll reach home soon."

Her mother sighed. "Theek hai, lekin beta, tum jaanti ho tumhare Dadaji ko der tak bahar rehna pasand nahi hai. Tum jitna jaldi ho sake ghar pahuncho."

"Okay fine, but you know na your dadaji will not like it. Go home soon."

"Haan, Mummy," Anshika said quietly, nodding even though her mother couldn't see her. "Main ghar pohonch ke phone karungi."

"Yes mummy, I'll call you after reaching home."

"Accha, apna dhyan rakhna. Aur bata dena jab ghar pahunch jao."

"Ok, take care of yourself. And call me after you reach home."

"Haan, Mummy."

"Yes, mummy."

As she ended the call, she realized her hands had gone slightly cold. The old, familiar weight of expectations and restrictions sat heavy on her chest. She blinked a few times, staring at her phone screen, trying to push away the unease before anyone noticed.

But someone already had.

Kartikey.

Anshika took a deep breath, forcing herself to shake off the discomfort creeping up her spine. But it was useless. Her mother's voice echoed in her mind, and the fear of disappointing her family overshadowed every other thought.

She needed to leave. Now.

"Guys, I-I have to go," she blurted out, grabbing her bag. The words came out rushed, her tone more clipped than she intended.

Her friends turned to look at her, startled by her sudden change in demeanor.

"Arey, abhi toh order kiya hai humne," Meera frowned. "Itni jaldi kya hai?"

"But we just ordered, what's the hurry?"

"Yaar, thodi der aur ruko na," Arjun chimed in. "Itna maza aa raha hai."

"Stay for a bit na, we are having so much fun."

Anshika shook her head, her hands fidgeting with the hem of her dupatta. "Nahi, sach mein. Mujhe abhi jaana hoga."

"No, really. I have to go now."

Something in her tone made the group fall silent. Her urgency was evident, the way her fingers trembled as she pushed back her hair, the nervous shift in her stance.

"Arey, par itni jaldi kya hai?" Rahul piped up. "Sab saath niklenge na?"

"But what's the hurry? Everyone will leave together na?"

"Nahi, mujhe abhi jaana hai," Anshika insisted. She could feel the weight of their stares, their concern, but she couldn't bring herself to explain. How could she? How could she tell them that it wasn't as simple as staying out late? That every extra minute outside meant more questions, more restrictions, and a reminder that she wasn't supposed to be here in the first place?

"No, I have to go now."

Everyone exchanged glances before Priya tried again. "Agar kuch tension hai toh bata na. Hum hai yahan."

"If there is some tension. We are here."

Anshika forced a reassuring nod. "Nahi Priya, bohot late ho gaya hai. Mujhe ghar jaana hai."

"No Priya, it's very late. I need to go home."

Kartikey, who had been watching her closely, finally spoke. "Anshika, kya hua?" His brows drew together in concern. "Sab theek hai?"

"Anshika, what's wrong? Is everything okay?"

She didn't meet his gaze. "Haan, bas... ghar jaana hai."

"Yes, just... need to go home."

"Achha theek hai, main drop kar deta hoon," he said immediately.

"Ok fine, I'll drop you home."

"Nahi, main chali jaungi," she replied too quickly.

"No, I'll go."

But Kartikey wasn't convinced. His eyes narrowed slightly as he stepped closer. "Kaise jaogi?" His voice was firm, his usual casual tone replaced with something more serious. "Itni raat ko akele jaana safe nahi hai."

"How will you go? It's not safe to go alone this late."

Anshika opened her mouth to argue, but before she could, he continued, "Main drop kar raha hoon. No more discussion."

"I'm dropping you."

"Kartikey, main—"

"I-"

"Anshika," he cut her off, his voice gentler this time but just as unwavering. "Please."

She swallowed, the fight draining out of her as she exhaled shakily. "Theek hai."

"Okay."

Kartikey nodded, and without another word, he took her bag from her hand, his way of ensuring she wouldn't change her mind. "Chalo."

"Come on."

As they walked toward his car, Anshika could still feel the weight of everyone's curious stares on her back. But more than that, she felt the warmth of Kartikey's presence beside her—steady, protective, and patient.

Kartikey unlocked the car and pulled open the passenger-side door, stepping back to let Anshika slide in. She hesitated for a fraction of a second before getting in, smoothing her dupatta over her lap as she stared straight ahead.

Kartikey rounded the car and got in, glancing at her once before starting the engine. The hum of the car filled the space between them as they pulled onto the road, but the silence was far louder.

He flicked a glance at her as he shifted gears. She was sitting unnaturally stiff, her hands clasped tightly together in her lap, her gaze locked on the passing streetlights outside.

Something was wrong.

Anshika was always quiet, but this was different. Her hands were clenched in her lap, her posture unnaturally stiff. She was staring out the window, but it was obvious she wasn't looking at anything in particular.

His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

"Kya chal raha hai, Anshika?" He finally broke the silence, his voice steady but laced with curiosity.

"What's happening, Anshika?"

She blinked, as if she had forgotten he was there. "K-kuch nahi," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"N-nothing."

Kartikey sighed. "Tumhe lagta hai mujhe samajh nahi aata jab tum pareshan hoti ho?" He turned onto a quieter road, his fingers gripping the steering wheel tighter. "What happened suddenly?"

"You think I can't see when you're worried about something?"

Anshika bit her lower lip, pressing her nails into her palms. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to explain how one phone call was enough to pull her out of the moment and remind her of all the boundaries she wasn't supposed to cross.

Kartikey was watching her from the corner of his eye, his concern growing with each second she remained silent.

"Anshika," he tried again, his voice softer this time. "Mujhe bata sakti ho. Koi problem hai kya?"

"You can tell me. Is there a problem?"

She exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in her seat. "Nahi, bas... late ho raha tha," she answered, knowing it was a weak excuse.

"No, it's just... I'm getting late."

Kartikey frowned, he wasn't buying it. Not for a second.

Her body language, the way her hands trembled slightly, the way she was avoiding looking at him—it was all too telling.

"It doesn't seem like that," he muttered, keeping his eyes on the road. "Tum aise react kar rahi ho jaise koi tumhe yahan se pakad ke le jaayega."

"Why are you acting like someone is going to drag you away from here."

She inhaled sharply, his words hitting a little too close to home.

Kartikey caught that reaction, and it only made his curiosity burn stronger.

"Anshika," he said again, firmer this time.

Anshika pressed her lips together, willing herself to stay composed. She didn't want to talk about it. She didn't want to admit how suffocated she felt. If she did, she might just break down right here in his car.

She couldn't afford that.

"Kuch nahi hua, Kartikey." she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Nothing happened, Kartikey."

He didn't believe her. He knew there was more, but he also knew Anshika. She was stubborn. She wouldn't talk until she wanted to.

But damn if it didn't frustrate him to see her like this.

"Toh itni anxious kyun lag rahi ho?" he pressed. "Kisi ne kuch kaha?"

"Then why are so anxious? Did someone say something?"

She shook her head.

His jaw clenched. He hated this—hated seeing her like this and not being able to fix it.

His usual teasing, his usual confidence—none of that felt right at this moment. He knew he couldn't push her, not when she was already retreating into herself.

So, he let out a small sigh and simply said, "Theek hai, abhi nahi batana chahti toh mat batao. But remember if you ever need anyone to talk to, I am right here."

"Fine, it's okay if you don't want to tell now."

Anshika's fingers curled against her dupatta. His words, though simple, made something tighten in her chest.

She didn't reply, but for the first time since she got in the car, she let herself glance at him. Just for a moment.

And Kartikey? He noticed.

He didn't say anything, but a quiet promise settled in his mind.

She wasn't telling him today. But someday, she would. And when she did, he would be there.

Kartikey slowed the car to a stop outside Anshika's building, shifting gears before pulling up the handbrake. But he made no move to unlock the doors just yet as he turned to look at her. The dim streetlight outside cast a soft glow inside the car, highlighting the tension still visible in her face.

"We're here," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

Anshika nodded, reaching for her bag. There was an odd weight in her chest, a suffocating tightness that had been building since the call from her mother. She took a slow breath, hoping it would ease, but it didn't.

Anshika exhaled slowly, unbuckling her seatbelt. She was exhausted—not just from the night but from the weight pressing down on her shoulders. She reached for the door handle, but Kartikey's voice stopped her.

"Anshika," he said, his tone careful. "Tum theek ho na?"

"Are you okay?"

She forced a small smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes. "Haan, main bas... thodi thak gayi hoon."

"Yes, I just... I'm just tired."

He didn't believe her, but he didn't push. Not now.

"Accha, ghar jaake rest karna," he said instead, his eyes not leaving her face. "Aur agar kuch bhi ho... you know you can call me, right?"

"Ok, rest after getting home, and if you need anything..."

Anshika's fingers tightened around her bag strap, her throat dry. The sincerity in his voice made her heart clench. She gave him a quick nod before murmuring, "Thank you, Kartikey."

"Anytime, Anshika."

She stepped out of the car, the cool night air brushing against her skin as she hurried toward the building entrance. Kartikey watched until she disappeared inside, a deep frown creasing his forehead. Something was definitely wrong, and it wasn't just about being late.

Inside her flat, Anshika locked the door behind her and leaned against it, exhaling shakily. The weight in her chest had only grown heavier. Without thinking, she pulled out her phone and dialed her mother's number.

It rang only once before her mother picked up. "Anshu, tum ghar pohonch gayi?"

"Are you home?"

"Haan, Mummy. Bas abhi aayi," Anshika said, trying to keep her voice steady.

"Yes, mummy. Just got home."

A sigh of relief came from the other end. "Theek hai. Tumhe pata hai na beta, itni der tak bahar rehna theek nahi hai? Tumhare Dadaji ko ye bilkul pasand nahi aayega."

"Ok fine. You know na, it's not okay to stay out so late? Your grandfather will not like it at all."

Anshika swallowed hard, her grip tightening around the phone. "Mummy, main bas—"

"Mummy, I just-"

"Theek hai, beta. Magar yaad rakhna, yeh aakhri baar hai ki tum itni der tak bahar raho."

"Okay fine. But remember, this was the last time you were out so late."

The anxiety curled tighter around her chest. "Mummy, main dhyan rakhungi."

"Mummy, I will remember."

"Accha, ab so jao. Kal subah jaldi uthna hai." her mother's voice softened slightly.

"Ok, now sleep. You need to get up early."

"Haan, Mummy."

"Yes, Mummy."

As the call ended. The unease from earlier had solidified into something colder, heavier. She rubbed her arms absentmindedly, as if trying to shake off the invisible chains tightening around her.

She knew her limits. She always had.

Tumhe pata hai na beta, itni der tak bahar rehna theek nahi hai?

"You know na, it's not okay to stay out so late."

Yeh aakhri baar hai ki tum itni der tak bahar raho.

"But remember, this was the last time you were out so late."

Anshika sat on the edge of her bed, her fingers trembling as she placed her phone down. The conversation with her mother still echoed in her mind, each word sinking deeper into her chest, making it harder to breathe. She stared at the blank wall ahead, blinking rapidly as her vision blurred.

She had done everything right. She had come home when asked, reassured her mother, promised to follow the rules. She had tried so hard to be the perfect daughter, to follow every rule, to never give her family a reason to doubt her. But the weight of it all was suffocating.

A shaky breath escaped her lips as she curled her arms around herself. The night had been so perfect for a while—she had laughed with her friends, danced without overthinking, felt a sliver of freedom she rarely allowed herself. And yet, one phone call was all it took to remind her that she would always be bound by expectations, by rules she never had a say in.

Tears welled in her eyes, blurring her vision as she buried her face in her hands. A soft sob slipped past her lips, the dam finally breaking. She tried to keep quiet, biting down on her lower lip to muffle the sound, but the heaviness in her chest refused to stay contained.

Why did it feel like no matter what she did, she would never be enough?

She wasn't reckless. She wasn't irresponsible. She wasn't doing anything wrong. And yet, the guilt gnawed at her, whispering that she had disappointed them. That she had crossed a line she shouldn't have. That she had no right to want more than what she was allowed.

Her body trembled as the sobs wracked through her. Her hands fisted in the bedsheet, her nails digging into the fabric as she tried to breathe through the storm raging inside her. But the more she tried to silence it, the louder it became.

She hated feeling this way—like she was trapped in a life that wasn't fully hers. Like she was walking a tightrope between duty and desire, always teetering, always afraid of falling.

Her mind spiraled with a dozen thoughts at once.

What if she had stayed longer? What if she had ignored the call, just this once? Would it have been so wrong? But she knew the answer even before she asked herself. The guilt would have eaten her alive. The disappointment in her mother's voice, her Dadaji's disapproval, the questions, the warnings—it would have been unbearable.

Tears streamed down her cheeks as she clenched her fists tighter. She wanted to scream, but the walls of her room felt too thin. She wanted to run, but she had nowhere to go.

For a fleeting second, she thought of Kartikey.

His steady gaze, the way he had immediately offered to drop her home without any hesitation, the way he had seen right through her when no one else had.

She exhaled shakily. He had asked her if she was okay. And she had lied.

She curled into herself, her arms wrapping around her knees as the tears came freely. The overwhelming weight of it all—the constant expectations, the suffocating restrictions, the fear of being seen as disobedient—became too much to contain.

Her shoulders shook as she cried, silent sobs racking her frame. She buried her face in her hands, trying to muffle the sound, as if even in her own space, she wasn't allowed to break down.

She didn't know how long she sat there, curled up in the quiet of her room, letting out the emotions she had kept bottled up for so long. But as the tears slowed, exhaustion took its place. Her head ached, her body felt drained, and yet, the storm inside her refused to settle.

For the first time, she wondered—what if she could let go? Just a little. What if she could push past the barriers, even if just for herself?

What if she could allow herself to want something, even if she wasn't sure she was allowed to have it?

She wiped her tears with trembling fingers, frustrated with herself. She hated this weakness, this feeling of being caged in by expectations she had no power to change. But most of all, she hated how much she wanted to talk to someone about it—how much she wanted to talk to him about it.

But she couldn't.

Because even though he had offered, even though his voice had been warm and patient, she knew she couldn't let herself depend on him.

This was her battle.

And she was alone in it.

Anshika inhaled deeply, forcing the air into her lungs, trying to steady herself. After a few moments, she wiped her face again and straightened up. She couldn't let herself break like this. She had to be fine. She had to be strong.

Even if it meant pretending.

Sniffing quietly, she reached for a glass of water from her bedside table and took a small sip, letting the cool liquid soothe her burning throat. Then, she wiped her face one last time, forcing the emotions back into the box she had built for them.

Tomorrow, she would wake up, go about her day, and act as if tonight never happened.

Because that's what she always did.

That's what she had to do.

Kartikey sat in his car outside Anshika's building longer than he should have, his hands gripping the steering wheel tightly. His jaw clenched as he replayed the night in his head, trying to piece together what had gone wrong. One moment, she had been laughing with her friends, a rare carefree smile lighting up her face, and the next—

The next, she had turned into someone else entirely. Withdrawn. Distant. Almost... afraid.

A muscle ticked in his jaw as frustration gnawed at him. What had happened between the time she got that call? Because he was sure now—it had started right after she answered her phone. Her mother, most likely.

What the hell had happened? That had stolen the light from her eyes so fast?

His mind flashed back to the way she had looked in the car—rigid, distant, like she wasn't even there. She had barely spoken, and when she did, it was clear she was holding something back.

And that weak excuse—'Bas late ho raha tha.'

Bullshit.

Kartikey let out a rough sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. He hated this. He hated not knowing what was wrong. He hated that she hadn't told him. But more than anything, he hated the idea that she had no one to talk to about whatever was bothering her.

He leaned back in his seat, staring at the roof of his car. Maybe he had pushed too much. Maybe he should have let her be. But how could he, when every instinct in him screamed that something was wrong?

A part of him wanted to call her, just to check if she was okay. But he knew she wouldn't pick up. 

Kartikey cursed under his breath. He wasn't used to feeling this helpless. On the field, in life, he was the kind of person who took action, who found solutions. But right now, he had none.

He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. No. He wasn't going to let this go.

If Anshika thought she could just push him away and pretend everything was fine, she was wrong.

Tomorrow, he would try again. He would make her talk, make her open up—even if it took time. Even if she resisted.

Because no matter how much she tried to hide it, he had seen it in her eyes.

He had seen it in her eyes tonight—that silent, overwhelming weight pressing down on her.

She was breaking.

And Kartikey wasn't about to stand by and watch.

He had seen the way her fingers trembled, the way her eyes avoided his, the way her breath hitched when he said she looked like someone was going to drag her away. He hadn't been wrong, had he? She had reacted like he had hit too close to the truth.

What was she so scared of?

His grip on the wheel tightened. He hated this. Hated not knowing what was wrong. Hated that she wouldn't tell him. Hated that she felt like she had to carry it all alone.

The urge to go back inside, to make her talk, to force her to let him in, was strong. But he knew Anshika. Pushing her wouldn't work. She would only withdraw further, lock herself up tighter.

And he couldn't afford that.

Sighing, he finally put the car in gear and pulled away from the curb, driving through the near-empty streets, the city lights blurring past him. But even as he drove home, his mind refused to quiet down.

He hated feeling this helpless.

He hated that she thought she had to go through this alone.

But most of all, he hated that he had no idea how to make it better.

-------------------------------------------------------🌻

Umm... too intense maybe?

But that's what we all signed up for with these two, I guess.

And I hope y'all liked today's chapter, please let me know by voting and commenting. 

Thank you so much for reading, I love y'all❤️