The following morning dawned gray and heavy.Rain fell in soft threads against the dorm windows, turning the world into a blur. Meera sat at her desk, staring at the droplets sliding down the glass, her reflection ghosting faintly behind them.
She hadn't seen Aarav since last night. No calls. No messages. No shadow waiting outside the gate. The silence should have felt like peace. Instead, it felt like waiting.
That realization made her chest tighten in panic.
You're not supposed to miss him.
By noon, her nerves had frayed again. The absence had begun to ache. Every corridor felt too wide, every sound too sharp. When she saw him finally — walking across the courtyard, umbrella in hand, calm and composed — her breath hitched before she could stop it.
He looked the same. Unbothered. Untouchable.But when his gaze found hers, something flickered — not amusement, not control — something dangerously close to concern.
He crossed the space between them like he always did: steady, certain.
"You didn't answer my message," he said quietly.
Meera's throat went dry. "I didn't want to."
"Then why didn't you block me?"
The question landed too close to truth.
Her voice trembled. "Because I thought ignoring you would be enough."
He tilted his head, rain dripping from his hair onto his collar. "Was it?"
"No," she whispered, before she could stop herself.
They stood in the drizzle, the courtyard strangely silent around them. Meera wanted to move, to run, to breathe something other than his calm. But his presence filled the air like gravity.
Her anger flared again, desperate and defensive. "You ruin everything, Aarav. My friends, my work, my peace. I can't even take a photo without wondering if you're behind it."
"Then stop wondering," he said softly. "Know it."
Her hands shook. "You think this is love?"
He didn't blink. "No. This is what happens when someone finally matters."
"People matter without possession," she hissed.
"For you, maybe."
There was no arrogance in his tone — just truth, sharp and sad.
The rain fell harder. Meera turned away, but his voice followed, low and steady.
"You keep calling it control," Aarav said. "But you still look for me in every crowd."
She froze. Her heartbeat drowned out the rain.
He wasn't wrong. That was the worst part.
"I hate you," she said, and her voice broke mid-syllable.
Aarav stepped closer, his hand hovering near her cheek but not touching. "Then why does it sound like you're trying to convince yourself?"
Her eyes burned. "Because maybe I am."
The words came out like confession, like surrender and rebellion at once.
They stood there, drenched and silent.For the first time, Meera didn't move away. And Aarav didn't reach for her.
There was no victory in his gaze — only quiet knowing, and something that looked dangerously like pain.