Chapter 2: The Stalker or the Savior?
The golden watch on Isha's wrist pulsed with a faint, rhythmic heat, like a second heartbeat. She stood paralyzed under Advait's piercing gaze. In the future—the one she had just escaped—this man was a legend whose face was plastered on every billboard in Mumbai. Here, standing inches away from her in the hazy morning light of Marine Drive, he was just a twenty-three-year-old boy with sharp eyes and a heavy secret.
"I asked you a question," Advait said, his voice tightening. He took a step toward her, his tall frame blocking the salt-tinged breeze. "How do you know about my hand? Who are you working for?"
Isha's mind raced. If she told him she was from the year 2026, he'd call the nearest psychiatric ward. If she said she was a psychic, he'd think she was a fraud.
"I'm... I'm a student," she blurted out, her voice steadier than she felt. "I study sports medicine. I saw the way you were favoring your left side when you ran. And the way you're rubbing your thumb against your index finger right now... it's a classic sign of nerve compression."
It was a half-truth. In her original life, during the years she spent in physical therapy, she had become an expert on nerve damage and recovery.
Advait stopped rubbing his hand immediately, shoving it into the pocket of his hoodie. His eyes didn't soften, but the immediate suspicion flickered into a confused wariness.
"Even if that's true," he muttered, "how did you recognize me? I'm wearing a mask, a hoodie, and it's five in the morning."
Isha looked at him, her heart aching. I'd know your silhouette in a pitch-black room, she thought. I've spent five years memorizing every note of your voice and every line of your face.
Your eyes," she said softly. "They're hard to hide
Advait turned away, looking out at the gray expanse of the Arabian Sea. The waves crashed against the tetrapods with a violent spray. "Go home, kid. And forget you saw me. If I see a 'leak' about my health on the internet tomorrow, I'll know exactly who to find."
"Wait!" Isha reached out, catching the edge of his sleeve.
He whipped around, looking shocked that someone would dare touch him.
It's not just the hand," Isha said, her words tumbling out in a rush. "The December tour... the 'Blue Moon' concert. Advait, please. If you get an invitation to a private afterparty at the Crystal Lounge... don't go. Promise me you won't go."
Advait's expression shifted from annoyance to genuine concern—not for himself, but for her mental state. "The Blue Moon tour? That's just a working title in my private notebook. It hasn't even been pitched to the label yet."
He leaned in closer, his shadow engulfing her. "Are you a stalker? Have you been bugging my apartment? Because that's the only way you'd know that name."
"I'm not a stalker!" Isha cried, her eyes shimmering with tears. "I'm trying to save your life!"
The intensity in her voice made him pause. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to stand still. A car honked in the distance, and the first few rays of the sun began to pierce through the Mumbai smog.
"Save my life?" Advait let out a cold, dry laugh. "I'm at the top of the charts, I'm about to sign the biggest contract of my career, and I've never felt better. I don't need saving."
He began to walk away, his pace brisk.
"You're lonely!" Isha shouted after him, her voice carrying over the sound of the waves.
He stopped in his tracks but didn't turn around.
"You can't sleep without white noise because the silence scares you," she continued, remembering the interviews he'd given months before his death. "You hate the smell of lilies because they remind you of your mother's funeral. And right now, you're terrified that the world will find out you can't hit the high notes in your new song because your throat is constantly dry from anxiety."
Advait turned slowly. This time, his face was pale. The mask couldn't hide the shock in his eyes. He looked at Isha as if she were a ghost.
"Who are you?" he whispered.
Before she could answer, the golden watch on her wrist began to vibrate violently. A sharp pain shot through her head, and the world began to tilt. The "System of Fate" was reacting. She had said too much. The timeline was trying to correct itself.
"Isha!" a voice called out from the distance.
She turned to see a younger version of her brother, Aaryan, running toward her. He looked exactly as he did five years ago—messy hair, college backpack, and a look of pure annoyance.
"Isha! Mom is going to kill you! You snuck out for a run without telling anyone? You know your leg isn't fully—"
Aaryan stopped as he reached her, his eyes falling on the tall man in the hoodie standing nearby.
"Is this guy bothering you?" Aaryan asked, stepping protectively in front of his sister.
Isha looked back at Advait, her vision starting to blur at the edges. She wanted to say more. She wanted to tell him that she would be there, that she wouldn't let him fall this time.
Advait looked from Isha to Aaryan. He pulled his hoodie lower, masking his face completely. "Your sister is delusional," he said coldly, though his voice lacked its earlier bite. "Keep her away from me."
He turned and disappeared into the morning fog, his figure swallowing by the gray light.
"What was that about?" Aaryan asked, shaking Isha's shoulder. "And why are you crying?"
Isha looked down at her hands. They were shaking. She had met him. She had touched him. He was alive. But she also realized the weight of her task. Advait wasn't just a star; he was a fortress. And she was just a girl who shouldn't exist in this time.
"Aaryan," she whispered, clutching her brother's arm. "What's the date today? Exactly?"
"It's August 14th. Why?"
"I have four months," she murmured to herself. "Four months until the Blue Moon concert. Four months to make him believe me."
As they walked back toward their old apartment—the one they had sold in her original timeline to pay for her surgeries—Isha felt the weight of the golden watch. It was cooler now, but she knew the clock was ticking.
She wasn't just a runner anymore. She was a racer. And the prize was the life of the man who had unknowingly saved hers.