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Aapki aankhon mein khoya hoon main, ye nasha kyun hai,

Har pal bas apka  intezaar kyun hai.

Ek nazar ne dil ko chhoo liya,

Aur phir duniya ka har rang bekaar kyun hai.

_____

Rudhransh pov.

“What the fuck—Amber’s gone?” I snapped, voice sharp as I slammed the car door shut. My eyes scanned the empty seat beside me, heart thudding with frustration. He was just here. He never leaves my side.

I was in the parking lot, the college buzzing with chaos. Neil and Rihaan were already inside, preparing to confront the supplier. The plan was simple: corner him, confiscate everything, and shut this down. But nothing about this place felt simple.

Security was a joke.

Weapons were moving through the campus like textbooks, and the staff didn’t have a clue. This wasn’t petty stuff—these were serious arms. The kind that could tear through lives.

And now Amber—my lion, my companion—was missing.

I hadn’t planned to bring him. But he didn’t resist. And now he was somewhere in this madness, exposed.

“I swear, once I find him, I’m going to give him hell,” I muttered, slipping on my mask and pushing through the crowd.

The college was a circus. Screams, cheers, phones in the air. Darshan Raval had arrived, and the entire campus was vibrating with excitement. But I didn’t care. My focus was razor-sharp. Amber. Only Amber.

I moved fast, cutting through the crowd, ignoring the music, the lights, the frenzy. My boots hit the marble with purpose. I ducked into the back corridors—dim, quiet, away from the noise. The silence hit me like a wall. For a moment, I could breathe.

Then I turned a corner—and collided with someone.

She stumbled. I caught her.

Reflex.

Her body was light, her saree brushing against my arm like silk. Her eyes were shut tight, bracing for impact. I held her steady, one arm around her waist, the other gripping her wrist.

And then… something shifted.

Her eyes opened.

Slow. Uncertain.

And I froze.

Not because she was beautiful. Not because of the way the light caught her face.

But because something about her felt… known.

Her presence hit me like a memory I couldn’t place. Like a scent I’d smelled before. Like a voice I’d heard in a dream.

She looked at me—not startled, not afraid. Just… searching.

And I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t speak.

Couldn’t explain the strange pull in my chest.

“Yeh ladki… yeh pal… kyun lagta hai jaise pehle ho chuka hai?” 

[This girl… this moment… why does it feel like it’s already happened before?]

Then footsteps echoed behind me. I let go.

She steadied herself, eyes still locked on mine.

I turned away, disappearing into the corridor before I could ask her name.

Amber was still out there.

But something told me… this girl wasn’t just a moment.

She was a shift.

As I looked into her eyes, something shifted.

Her hand rested lightly on my shoulder—small, hesitant, but steady. Her lips trembled, like they were holding back something unsaid. And her eyes… they weren’t just looking at me. They were searching. Sparkling with innocence, yes—but also something else. Something that felt like resolve.

I felt myself smile.

Not because I wanted to.

But because something in her reminded me of someone I couldn’t forget.

She clutched my shirt with both hands, her grip tight, almost desperate. Like she needed me to stay. Like her very breath depended on it.

And then… the memory hit.

“Aapne mujhse vaada kiya hai… aaj se aap sirf mere ho. Jab main badi ho jaungi, tab aap mujhse shaadi karoge.” 

[You promised me… from today, you’re only mine. When I grow up, you’ll marry me.]

Her voice. That tiny voice from years ago. Still echoing in my mind like it was spoken yesterday.

I don’t even know what she looks like now.

But she lives in me.

In every silence. In every storm.

I had warned her to stay away. Told her the truth about the danger that followed me. About the blood on my hands. About the world I couldn’t shield her from.

But she never listened.

And if she came back… I knew I wouldn’t be able to let her go again.

I’d cage her.

I’d make her mine.

But not now.

Not when I was already losing control.

The girl in my arms—this stranger—was stirring something I couldn’t afford to feel. Her presence was too close. Too warm. Too familiar.

I couldn’t let her affect me.

Not her.

Not anyone.

I looked at her face again, and something inside me froze.

My smile faded.

My grip loosened.

My eyes turned cold.

And then I knew.

The curve of her cheek. The softness in her gaze. The way she looked at me like she’d known me forever.

Kashmir.

She was the girl I met in Kashmir.

I didn’t turn around, but I felt it.

Her gaze.

It lingered on me like a soft breeze brushing against bare skin—unseen, but unmistakable. I clenched my jaw and shrugged off the feeling, forcing my focus back to the task at hand. I had no time for distractions. Not today.

The music began—soulful, sweeping, the kind that made people stop and feel. The crowd erupted in cheers as the singer’s voice soared through the venue. But I didn’t care. I never liked this kind of music. Too emotional. Too exposed.

Twenty minutes had passed.

Still no sign of Amber.

He was somewhere on this campus, and I needed to find him before Neil and Rihaan made their move. The weapon exchange was happening today, and the college’s security was laughable. Students walked past with backpacks full of illegal gear, and no one batted an eye.

I could’ve found Amber in seconds.

All it would take was one flick of power—one pulse of energy—and his location would light up in my mind like a flare. But I hesitated. If anyone saw me, I’d have to erase their memory. One thought. One blink. Gone.

I’d done it before.

But something held me back.

And then… I felt it again.

That gaze.

I turned.

She was standing near the edge of the crowd, half-lit by the stage lights. The same girl I’d caught earlier. The one who’d stumbled into my arms like a forgotten memory.

Our eyes met.

And something inside me stilled.

I expected to see the singer on stage, but instead, a couple was dancing—fluid, flawless, lost in the rhythm. The music blurred. The lights dimmed. The crowd faded.

All I saw was her.

She wasn’t looking at me with recognition. Not fear. Not curiosity.

Just… stillness.

Like something in her was trying to remember.

But I knew she wouldn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because I had taken that from her.

Years ago, in Kashmir.

After the accident. After the promise. After the moment that changed everything.

I had erased it all.

Her memories. Her questions. Her connection to me.

“Tum mujhe bhool jaogi… par main tumhe kabhi nahi bhool paunga.” 

[You’ll forget me… but I’ll never forget you.]

She didn’t know who I was.

But I did.

And now, standing in the middle of a crowd that didn’t matter, watching her hum to a song she didn’t know was once ours—I felt the weight of every choice I’d made.

I couldn’t let her affect me.

Not again.

Not when the world I lived in was built to destroy everything soft.

But her presence… it was already unraveling something.

And I didn’t know how to stop it.

"

.

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Prisha pov...

I couldn’t help but wonder—what’s happening to me? Why am I so drawn to this stranger’s gaze?

It felt like he wasn’t just looking at me… he was reaching into something deeper. Like his eyes carried a weight I couldn’t name. A pull I couldn’t resist.

I stood frozen, my breath caught somewhere between my ribs and my throat. His gaze wasn’t invasive—it was intense, yes, but not threatening. It was the kind that made you feel seen. Not just looked at. Seen.

Butterflies stirred in my stomach, fluttering against logic. I didn’t know him. I’d never met him. And yet… something inside me whispered otherwise.

We were locked in a silent stare, the world around us dissolving into a blur of lights and sound. The crowd, the music, the cheers—all faded. His eyes held me still, like time had paused just for us.

I searched his face for answers. For familiarity. For something to explain the strange ache blooming in my chest.

But all I saw was a deep, unreadable gaze. Piercing. Still. And then… it changed.



His eyes clouded over, like someone had drawn a curtain across them. The connection snapped. I looked away quickly, pretending to be absorbed in the dance performance on stage.

My heart was racing.

A shiver ran down my spine.

What just happened?

I pressed a hand to my chest, trying to steady my breath. “Come on, Prisha… what’s going on in your heart?” I whispered to myself. “Let it go. Just breathe. Just relax.”

But I couldn’t.

Not fully.

The dance performances continued—one after another, vibrant and loud—but I barely registered them. I clapped when others clapped. Smiled when Janvi nudged me. But my mind was elsewhere.

Still circling that moment.

Still replaying that stare.

It wasn’t until the final performance ended and the crowd began to disperse that I felt it—the sudden urge to escape. To breathe. To be alone.

“I’m just going to the washroom,” I told Janvi, my voice quieter than usual.

She nodded, distracted by her phone.

I stood up from my seat, and like clockwork, the two bodyguards my brother had hired were already on their feet, flanking me without a word.

I sighed, rubbing my temple. “Stop following me around all the time. I’m just going to the washroom, not escaping the country,” I muttered, trying to sound firm but not rude.

They didn’t flinch. Just exchanged a glance and stayed put.

“Seriously, you guys stay and enjoy the function. I’ll be fine,” I added, waving them off.

It wasn’t their fault. They were just doing their job. And honestly, they were good at it. Both were my age—one a national-level karate champion, the other practically a fish in water, a surfing prodigy. Sometimes I wondered how they ended up guarding me instead of chasing medals and waves.

Janvi was still seated, laughing at something on her phone, completely immersed in the concert. I left the three of them behind and made my way toward the washroom, weaving through the crowd.

But as I walked, a strange feeling crept over me.

Like someone was watching.

Not the casual kind of glance you get in a crowd. This felt… focused. Intentional.

I paused mid-step and glanced over my shoulder.

Nothing.

Just students chatting, dancing, phones in the air.

I turned back, brushing off the chill that had settled on my spine.

“Kuchh jyaada hee soch rahee hoon main,” I whispered to myself, scolding the overactive part of my brain.

But even as I walked on, the feeling didn’t leave.

(I am thinking too much)

"I shoved all my thoughts to the side and kept walking, trying to shake off the strange feeling that had been clinging to me since the concert. The corridor leading to the washroom was eerily quiet—no footsteps, no chatter, just silence thick enough to hear my own heartbeat.

It unnerved me for a second.

But I brushed it off. “It’s just a washroom, Prisha. Not a haunted house.” I did what I needed to do, washed my hands slowly, and stepped back out into the corridor.

The silence was still there.

I exhaled and started heading back toward the function area, scrolling through my phone to distract myself. The crowd’s distant cheers were growing louder again, and I felt myself relax.

And then—

A roar.

Not a scream. Not a speaker glitch.

A roar.

Deep. Guttural. Wild.

I froze.

My phone slipped from my hand and hit the marble with a sharp crack. My breath caught. My skin went cold. Sweat broke out across my forehead like someone had turned on a faucet inside me.

I didn’t want to look.

But I had to.

Slowly, I forced my eyes open, my body stiff as stone.

And there it was.

A tiger.

A real tiger.

Just a few steps away.

Its eyes locked onto mine, golden and unblinking. Its chest rose and fell with slow, deliberate breaths. Its teeth were bared—not in a snarl, but in something worse. Something quiet. Intentional.

I couldn’t move.

My legs were jelly. My hands were trembling. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure the tiger could hear it.

“Yeh sapna hai… hona chahiye… please, sapna ho,” I whispered to myself. 

[This has to be a dream… please, let it be a dream.]

But it wasn’t.

It was real.

And I was face to face with a creature I’d only ever seen behind glass or on screens.

I didn’t scream.

I couldn’t.

My voice was gone. My thoughts were scrambled. My body was frozen.

And the tiger… it just stared.

Like it was waiting.

Like it knew me.

I swallowed my spit and started backing up slowly. But as I was moving back, the tiger just kept coming closer with those hungry eyes...

"Can't believe there's a tiger on campus and no one knows about it. It's dangerous, but my priority now is to save myself from this tiger eyeing me as its next meal...





", I opened my mouth and screamed.

Loud. Desperate. The kind of scream that tears through your throat and doesn’t care who hears it.

The tiger’s ears twitched.

Its eyes narrowed.

And then—it moved.

Fast.

Faster than I could process.

Its massive body lunged forward, muscles rippling, mouth wide open, teeth gleaming like blades. The roar that followed was deafening, primal, and it shook something loose inside me.

I stumbled backward, heart hammering against my ribs, legs barely responding. My phone lay forgotten on the floor. My breath came in short, ragged bursts. I was crying—I didn’t even realize it until the tears blurred my vision.

This was it.

My last day.

My last breath.

My mind flooded with memories—my family, my childhood, Janvi’s laughter, my brothers teasing me, my mother’s warm hands on my forehead. Every moment I’d ever loved came rushing back like a final montage.

I closed my eyes.

“Bas yahi pal hai… yahi antim yaad.” 

[This is the moment… the final memory.]

I braced myself.

And then—

A hand.

Out of nowhere.

It grabbed mine—tight, urgent—and yanked me sideways with such force that I slammed against the wall.

“Ouchhh!” I gasped, pain shooting through my shoulder.



My waist was throbbing from the sudden jerk. The impact had knocked the breath out of me, and I winced, pressing my back against the cold wall.

I kept blinking, trying to steady my vision—and there he was.

The same masked figure.

The one I’d bumped into earlier in the corridor.

His face was still hidden, but I knew it was him. I could recognize him by the way he stood, the way his eyes locked onto mine, and even by the faint scent that lingered around him—earthy, sharp, familiar in a way that made no sense.

We’d only met once.

Yet somehow… I knew him.

His stare was intense. Not curious. Not kind. It was the kind that made you feel like you were being read, page by page, without permission.

“Let me go,” I said quietly, voice trembling despite my effort to sound firm.

But he didn’t move.

His grip on my wrists tightened, and before I could react, he lifted my hands above my head, pinning them with one hand. His other hand slid down, brushing against my bare waist.

I flinched.

The contact sent a jolt through me—sharp, electric, unwelcome.

A chill crept up my spine.

“What on earth are you doing? Let me go!” I blurted out, panic rising in my throat.

He didn’t flinch.

Didn’t blink.

His hand stayed firm on my waist, fingers pressing into my skin with quiet control.

“Not so soon, dewdrop,” he said, voice low and rough, like gravel wrapped in silk.

The nickname hit me like a slap.

I tried to pull away, twisting my wrists, but he held me easily—like he’d done this before. Like he knew exactly how much pressure to apply.

“Who are you?” I demanded, breath catching. “Why are you holding me like this? Let me go. Please.”

He didn’t answer.

Just stared.

Closer now.

His face inches from mine, eyes unreadable, breath steady.

And I—

I didn’t know whether to scream or stay silent.

All I knew was that something about him felt dangerous.

And something about me… was already unraveling.

My waist throbbed from the impact, but I barely registered the pain. My breath was shallow, chest rising and falling too fast. He was still in front of me—still masked, still unreadable—but something in his eyes had shifted.

I recognized him.

Not by face.

By presence.

By the way the air changed when he was near.

His grip hadn’t loosened. My wrists were still pinned above my head, and his body was pressed too close, his leg anchoring mine, making it impossible to move.

I tried again, pushing against him with my knee, twisting my torso to break free.

But he didn’t budge.

Instead, his fingers moved again—slowly, deliberately—tracing the curve of my waist like he was memorizing it.

I gasped, voice cracking. “Aapko samajh nahi aata kya? Hatayiye haath!” 

[Don’t you understand? Take your hand off me!]

He tilted his head slightly, eyes burning through the mask.

And then he spoke.

“Nahi samajh aata… aur nahi chhod sakta aapka haath,” he said, voice low, rough, unwavering. 

[No, I don’t understand… and I can’t let go of your hand.]

“Kyuki sirf main pakad sakta hoon aapko.” 

[Because only I have the right to hold you.]

The words hit me like a wave.

My body stilled.

Not because I agreed.

But because something in his eyes made me freeze.

They weren’t wild. They weren’t soft.

They were burning.

Focused.

Like he wasn’t just looking at me—he was claiming me.

I stared back, heart thudding, breath caught between panic and disbelief.

"“Aapko paane ke liye saalon ki pyaas jheli hai maine… har saans, har khwab mein sirf aapka intezaar tha. Aapko chhodna mere bas mein hota… toh kab ka chhod deta. Par ab jab aap meri saanson mein ghuli hain, toh aapko khona khud ko khatam karne jaisa hoga.” 

["I’ve endured years of thirst just to find you… in every breath, every dream, it was only you I waited for. If letting you go were in my control, I would’ve done it long ago. But now that you’re dissolved into my breath, losing you would be like ending myself."]

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