“वो उसकी पहली मोहब्बत थी, वो उसका आख़िरी जुनून—बीच में बस नफ़रत का एक लंबा सफ़र था।”

THEIR SCENE FROM PAST BOOK.

14 years ago. | DELHI | SKYHIGH INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL| FOOTBALL CAMPUS SIDE.

The rhythmic, high-octane sounds of elite training filled the air once more-the squeak of studs turning sharply on the hard turf, the solid thwack of leather balls hitting targets, and Kabir's deep, velvety baritone directing the defensive line like a general.

15-year-old Ayaan stood near the hydration bench for a moment, watching his brothers dive back into the grind. The competitive fire was burning bright across the pitch, but his own brilliant, analytical mind needed a different kind of calibration. He needed to isolate the variables, block out the external noise, and let his thoughts settle into a state of absolute, mathematical rhythm.

Slowly, effortlessly, Ayaan lifted his sleek white headphones from around his neck and slid them over his ears.

With a single tap on the earcup, a low, smooth lo-fi hip-hop beat flooded his senses, completely drowning out the shouting of the players, the heavy thud of the balls, and the distant hum of the massive Skyhigh campus. The world around him instantly slowed down into a quiet, rhythmic sequence.

He didn't join the main grid. Instead, Ayaan turned toward the outer perimeter of the athletic complex. He adjusted the strap of his training jersey and stepped onto the red synthetic jogging track that encircled the entire facility.

He started with a loose, easy stride. Within three paces, his lanky, athletic frame found its natural, fluid cadence.

Ayaan went for a jog. Alone.

As he moved past the chain-link fences, his dark eyes remained entirely calm, staring straight ahead. His breathing synchronized perfectly with the steady thumping bass in his ears. To anyone watching from the main building, he looked like a lone wolf cutting through the golden hour, completely detached from the world. But inside his head, the data was flowing with absolute clarity.

With every stride he took, his mind mapped out the dimensions of the pitch. He calculated the exact wind resistance of the Delhi air, the slight bounce of the hard ground, and the predictable defensive closing-angles of Abhimanyu's back four. He didn't need to shout or crash into tackles right now; his body was memorizing the movement, storing the kinetic energy like a coiled spring waiting to explode at 0800 hours tomorrow.

On the main pitch, Kabir paused for a split second, his striking blue eyes tracking Ayaan's distant, rhythmic figure gliding along the far edge of the track. A subtle, highly satisfied smirk played on the captain's chiseled lips. He knew exactly what that look on Ayaan's face meant.

The math genius was in his zone.

"Eyes on the ball, Siddharth!" Kabir rumbled, turning his full attention back to the squad. "Move, move, move!"

The sun began to dip below the towering glass structures of Skyhigh International, painting the entire complex in a fierce, blood-orange glow. The lions of Ooty were pushing themselves to the absolute limit, some together on the turf, and one charting his own silent path on the track. The preparation was complete, the boundaries were set, and tomorrow, the capital was going to witness an absolute masterpiece.

The red synthetic track was almost deserted as the sun began to bleed into the horizon. Ayaan, caught in the rhythm of his own internal calculations, was maintaining a steady, athletic pace, his gaze fixed a few meters ahead.

He didn't see the figure rounding the sharp bend near the spectator bleachers until it was too late.

THUD.

Ayaan's broad shoulder collided hard with someone else's. The impact sent his headphones flying from his neck, and a sharp gasp echoed through the air. Ayaan stumbled, his balance wavering for a fraction of a second, as the other person tripped, arms flailing.

It was a girl, dressed in a sleek, vibrant Skyhigh cheerleader's uniform-a metallic gold-and-black skirt and top, her hair tied in a high, bouncy ponytail. Around her neck, just like Ayaan's, hung a pair of identical, high-end studio headphones. She had clearly been practicing her routine, her face flushed with the exertion of the day.

"Ohh!.. I'm sorry!" she gasped, her voice light and breathless. She immediately bowed politely, her hands coming up to steady herself.

Ayaan didn't even register her face. His brain was still replaying the tactical positioning of the midfield, and the bump was just a minor environmental glitch. He didn't offer a smile, didn't look up-his focus was entirely on the high-fidelity tech hitting the track.

"Nevermind!" Ayaan stated, his tone clipped and purely functional, his eyes locked on his headphones resting on the rubberized ground.

He lunged for his gear at the exact same moment she reached for her own fallen set.

CLACK.

It wasn't their hands that collided; it was their heads. A dull, painful thump echoed as their foreheads met with a sharp, synchronized impact.

"Ahh!" the girl hissed softly, her hand flying to her forehead, her eyes squeezed shut in a momentary sting of pain.

Ayaan recoiled instantly, his hand touching his own temple. The sudden, physical shock finally snapped him out of his tactical trance. He looked up, his dark, calculating eyes finally focusing on the girl in front of him.

She was young-perhaps three or four years his junior-with a sharp, pretty face that was currently winced in a mix of surprise and irritation. She blinked, looking up at him, her eyes widening as she realized she had just head-butted the tallest, most intimidating-looking player from the visiting team.

The silence on the track stretched out, save for the faint, tinny sound of music still playing from their tangled headphones on the ground. Ayaan looked down at the mess on the floor, then back at her, his usual lethal smirk replaced by a look of bewildered, momentary annoyance.

"Great," he muttered, his voice barely audible as he rubbed his temple. "Spatial awareness test... failed."

Ayaan froze, his brain momentarily struggling to process the sudden, tactile reality of the situation. He had been expecting an apology or perhaps a bit of awkward small talk, not a direct tug on his jersey.

She pulled him down by his collar, the scent of her hairspray and the faint, sweet smell of energy drink hitting him as she leaned in. Thump.

A second, deliberate bump-much softer this time-landed right against his forehead.

Ayaan blinked, completely stunned by the sheer boldness of the gesture. He was towering over her, the physical closeness so abrupt that his usual analytical defenses were momentarily bypassed.

"Seeng nikal aatein hain," [Horns start to grow,] she stated with a straight, playful face, as if she were reciting some ancient, local nursery rhyme.

Ayaan let out a scoff, his lips twitching into an amused, incredulous grin. He leaned back, shaking his head. "Who tells a stranger that? I'm human, not a bull."

"Well, you definitely look like one when you're jogging," she retorted, her eyes dancing with mischief. She picked up the headphones from the track, handing one pair to him and keeping the other for herself. "Don't trip over your own feet next time, genius."

She didn't wait for a rebuttal. With a confident spin, she turned and jogged off toward the cheerleading practice area, her ponytail swinging behind her. Ayaan stood there for a second, watching her go, still feeling the lingering sensation of the accidental head-butt. He shook his head again, a low chuckle escaping him, and turned to walk in the opposite direction.

He slid the headphones back over his ears, ready to return to his internal tactical map. But the moment the music kicked in, his brow furrowed.

Crackle. Static. Pop.

The audio sounded distorted, the bass lines jagged and uneven. He pulled them off, scowling at the expensive hardware. "What now? Are you kidding me?" he muttered, frustrated. He tapped the side of the device, checking the Bluetooth connection, but the signal was completely erratic.

Excuse me!

The voice drifted to him from a distance. Ayaan turned, his dark eyes sharpening as he saw the same girl jogging back toward him, looking equally annoyed as she pulled off her own set of headphones.

"I guess our headphones got exchanged!" she called out, stopping a few feet away from him.

Ayaan looked down at the pair in his hand, then at hers. He saw the subtle, custom-made stickers on the side of his-he'd forgotten he'd put them there. They were, indeed, mixed up.

He moved to hand hers back, but as he reached out, he froze. A familiar, rhythmic beat was bleeding out from her headphones-the exact same complex, lo-fi melody he had been listening to. He looked at her, his expression shifting from annoyance to genuine shock.

"Wait," he said, his voice dropping into a low, inquisitive tone. "You listen to this track? It's not exactly common in a school canteen or a cheerleading playlist."

The girl paused, her eyes widening slightly as she listened to the music echoing from his set. A slow, knowing smile spread across her face. "Complex, minor-key, heavy on the polyrhythms? It helps with the choreography. Makes the movements sharper."

Ayaan stared at her, genuinely impressed. For a guy who thought he was the only one in this school who operated on a completely different frequency, finding a girl-a cheerleader, of all people-who shared his hyper-specific taste in music was, to put it mildly, the most interesting thing that had happened to him all day.

"You're a bit more than just a cheerleader, aren't you?" Ayaan asked, his usual lethal smirk returning, but this time, it was softer, curious.

"Btw!.. Hi.. I'm Araadhna!.. Araadhna Nandan!" she said, her smile bright and confident as she extended her hand toward him.
Yes this girl was Araadhna Nandan , Just 11 years old.

Ayaan's hand started to reach out instinctively, but he stopped dead. He looked at her outstretched palm, then up at her face, his gaze hardening. The surname hit him like a cold gust of wind. Nandan. Abhimanyu Nandan. The same arrogant, infuriating captain of the Skyhigh squad. He realized with a jolt that this girl was Abhimanyu's younger sister.

His hand retracted quickly, and he took a subtle, distancing step back, his face returning to that familiar, guarded mask of indifference.

Araadhna's expression shifted, her smile faltering as she looked at his recoiling hand. A flush of offense crept up her neck, and she pulled her hand back, her posture turning defensive. "Who are you?" she asked, her voice losing its warmth. "I've never seen you on campus before. You're not from here, are you?"

Ayaan didn't blink. He wasn't about to get caught up in the politics of her brother's team. "No.. need to know!" he stated flatly, his tone cold enough to end the conversation.

He turned away, reaching out to grab his headphones from her grip, but she didn't let go. She held onto the headband firmly, her knuckles white, her eyes flashing with a sudden, feisty indignation.

"You know.. I don't like those who show their faltu ka attitude!" she stated, her voice sharp and ringing with authority despite her being four years his junior. She didn't look intimidated by his height or his cold demeanor; instead, she looked ready to start a war right there on the track. "It's just a pair of headphones, not a state secret. You behave like you own the entire complex just because you're tall and look like you're carrying the weight of the world."

Ayaan looked down at her, his dark eyes narrowing. He was used to people backing down when he used that tone, but she was standing her ground with an intensity that reminded him uncomfortably of Abhimanyu.

"Attitude isn't something I show, Araadhna," Ayaan replied, his voice a low, dangerous murmur as he leaned in slightly, not out of aggression, but to make sure she understood the distance. "It's just the reality of who I am. Now, give them back. My team is waiting, and I don't have time for local drama."

He tugged at the headphones. She held on, her eyes locking onto his with a stubbornness that was clearly a family trait. The air between them was electric-a bizarre, high-tension standoff between a Woodside strategist and a girl who clearly had no idea exactly who she was trying to boss around.

Araadhna didn't budge. In fact, she planted her feet firmly on the red synthetic track, her grip on the headband tightening. A glint of pure, chaotic energy sparked in her eyes-the look of someone who didn't care about social hierarchies or the "lethal" aura Ayaan usually projected.

"Drama?" she echoed, letting out a sharp, mocking laugh that sounded eerily like her brother's. "You're the one acting like you're in a low-budget spy movie. Keep your attitude. I'm keeping the music."

Before Ayaan could react, she deftly hooked the headphones around her own neck and sprinted backward, her gold-and-black skirt swishing as she moved with the agility of a trained dancer.

"Hey!" Ayaan stepped forward, his analytical calm finally snapping into genuine frustration. "That's not funny. Give them back."

"Catch me if you can, 'No-Need-To-Know'!" she taunted, her voice echoing across the empty track. She did a quick, perfectly executed back-handspring, landing gracefully and darting toward the storage sheds, her ponytail bobbing in rhythm with her mocking laughter.

Ayaan stood rooted to the spot, completely baffled. He was a guy who mapped out victory paths in his sleep; he dealt with physical confrontations on the field and intellectual standoffs in the canteen. But a 11-year-old girl, who happened to be the sister of his biggest rival, pulling a hit-and-run on his equipment? This wasn't in any of his scenarios.

He felt the adrenaline of the jog turn into the restless, itching irritation of a challenge. He was the fastest winger on the Woodside squad-he didn't lose races.

He didn't run; he accelerated.

His stride lengthened, his feet hitting the track with precision as he went into a full-out sprint. He closed the distance in seconds, his shadow looming over her.

"I said, give them back," he commanded, his voice right behind her ear.

Araadhna didn't look back. She swerved sharply, cutting a corner toward the practice bleachers, laughing at the top of her lungs. "You're fast for someone who doesn't have a name! But are you fast enough to handle a Nandan?"

She dived under the lowest row of bleachers, a tight, narrow space that required a crawl. She crawled through, popping up on the other side and waving the headphones teasingly in the air.

Ayaan skidded to a halt, glaring at the narrow gap. He could easily crawl after her, but the sheer absurdity of the situation made him pause. He was the most composed, lethal player in the regional tournament, and here he was, being outmaneuvered by a girl who looked like she'd spent her entire life collecting chaos.

"Hey you!!" he warned, but there was a crack in his frustration now, a tiny, reluctant smile threatening to break through his serious mask.

"Come on, Mr. Grumpy-Pants!" she yelled back, bouncing on her toes, the headphones still dangling from her hand. "If you beat me to the main entrance, you get them back. If you lose, you have to admit that you're just a sore loser!"

Ayaan looked at the bleachers, then at his team practicing in the distance, then back at the girl who was currently rewriting every rule of his afternoon. He shook his head, his dark eyes darkening with a competitive spark.

"Fine," he muttered to himself, his lethal smirk returning. "If it's a game you want, it's a game you'll get."

He pushed off the track, his muscles coiling as he prepared to turn this chase into something she wouldn't forget.

Ayaan didn't just sprint; he moved with the predatory, calculated grace of a winger who knew every inch of the pitch. He didn't take the gap under the bleachers. Instead, he vaulted over the first three rows of metal seats in one fluid, athletic motion, landing on the other side just as Araadhna was scrambling to her feet.

She gasped, her eyes widening. "Cheater! That's against the rules!"

"Rules?" Ayaan chuckled, his voice losing its cold edge as he trotted toward her, a genuine, lopsided smirk playing on his lips. "I don't recall agreeing to any 'crawl-through-bleachers' clauses in our contract."

Araadhna pivoted, ready to bolt again, but she tripped over the laces of her cheerleading sneakers. As she wobbled, Ayaan instinctively lunged forward-not to tackle her, but to steady her by the shoulders.

She slammed into his chest, the impact stopping her mid-escape. She froze, looking up at him with a startled, wide-eyed expression. Ayaan, realizing he had just caught his rival's sister by the shoulders, quickly pulled back, but his hands lingered a second too long, his palms still brushing the fabric of her cheer top.

"Caught you," he whispered, his tone playful, mocking the intense energy of the chase.

Araadhna looked up at him, her face flushed from the sprint and the sudden proximity. She didn't pull away; she just blinked, her breathing heavy. "You're... you're too tall. It's unfair. My center of gravity is all wrong."

"Your center of gravity is fine, you're just slow," Ayaan teased, reaching out to gently pluck the headphones from her grip. His fingers brushed against her knuckles-a brief, electric contact that made them both pull back slightly.

He slid the headphones around his neck, looking down at her with an amused, soft expression. "You know, for a Nandan, you're surprisingly... chaotic."

"And for a grumpy, mysterious stranger, you're surprisingly easy to annoy," she retorted, crossing her arms and trying to regain her composure, though her cheeks were still bright pink. She pointed a finger at him. "You're lucky I'm practicing for the finals. If I weren't so tired, I would've outrun you easily."

"Sure you would have," Ayaan hummed, stepping back, putting a respectable amount of space between them. "Are you always this much of a headache to everyone you meet, or am I just the lucky winner?"

Araadhna tilted her head, a cheeky, adorable glint in her eyes. "Only to people who need a little bit of fun in their lives. You looked like you were about to turn into a statue with that serious face of yours."

Ayaan scoffed, though he couldn't hide the smile tugging at his mouth. "I have a match tomorrow, Araadhna. Serious is the default setting."

"Well, tomorrow you can be a statue," she said, backing away toward the practice area, her ponytail swinging. She paused, looking over her shoulder with a daring grin. "But right now? You're just the guy I beat in a race. Don't forget it, mystery boy!"

She spun around and skipped away, her cheerleading skirt swaying as she headed back to her squad.

Ayaan stood in the middle of the track, watching her go. He reached up, touching his forehead where she had bumped him, a faint, lingering sensation of the impact still there. He let out a soft, incredulous laugh, shaking his head.

"She's a total crackhead," he muttered to himself, but as he turned back to rejoin his team, he wasn't looking at the pitch anymore. He was looking at the spot where the girl in the gold-and-black uniform had just disappeared.

For the first time all day, the tactical maps in his head were completely silent.

After that day, they never met again. UNTIL...One day...The chase happens again. 
But
It wasn't innocent as back then.

-

SCENE 2

AYAAN

I must have said it to myself a dozen times since dawn: today was unequivocally not my day.

From the second my boots hit the mud at 0400 hours, I had been pissed off. Slaughtering a cell of armed hostiles in a damp, silent forest isn't supposed to be an exercise in patience; it’s supposed to be clean, fast, and routine. I’ve put down mercenaries, insurgent leads, and black-market syndicates without breaking a sweat or losing my edge. Normal civilians tremble, faint, or Fucking pray when they see men like me. They don't fight back, and they certainly don't fight back well.

But this woman? This fucking civilian in white sneakers and a pastel kurti was actively breaking every single physical and psychological rule of engagement I had ever learned.

It was interesting for about thirty seconds. After that, it became a test of my sanity. My patience level is usually higher than anyone in Sector 9 gives me credit for, but she was slowly, systematically tearing it away piece by piece—like she fucking owned it.

"Darling... I am asking you one last time," I said, my voice dropping into a deep, lethal rumble that usually signaled the immediate end of an interrogation.

And fuck!

She didn't surrender. She didn't hand over the device. She literally turned her back on me, tossed her hair over her shoulder, and started strolling away through the trees like we were out for a romantic midnight walk in a public park.

I let out a slow, sharp exhale through my nose. I controlled myself. I forced my hands to stay flat at my sides for one final beat.

Now, it was officially over.

I lunged forward, closing the gap instantly. My fingers snapped around the back of her neck, locking onto her nape with absolute precision, and yanked her backward. Her back slammed flush against my tactical vest, the impact forcing a soft gasp from her throat. Before she could twist out of my grip, I hooked my fingers under her chin and tilted her head back, forcing her dark eyes to meet mine as I loomed directly over her.

"Do you think you are some kind of queen or what?" I growled, my jaw clenching so tight my teeth ached.

She didn't freeze. She didn't even flinch. She just blinked up at me through long, dark lashes, her silver jhumkas brushing against my calloused knuckles.

"Yes," she said, her voice impossibly confident. "I am. Queen of my own kingdom... which wants to make its king. Would you?"

That was it. My remaining patience snapped like a dry twig.

I spun her around violently. The moment she realized the shift in momentum, she started struggling in my grip—wriggling her shoulders, kicking her sneakers into the dirt, and trying to drive her elbow into my ribs again. But I wasn't playing her little corporate negotiation game anymore.

Before she could land a single hit, I hooked my free arm under her thighs, lifted her completely off the ground, and slammed her back hard against the trunk of the massive oak tree.

Before her feet could touch the earth, I brought both of her wrists together in a iron grip using just one of my hands, shoving them up high above her head and pinning them flat against the rough bark. My broad frame pressed in close, trapping her lower body entirely between the tree and my chest, cutting off every single escape route she had.

Her breath hitched sharply in her throat.

The smug, teasing smirk vanished from her face in an instant. Her chest heaved against my tactical vest, her throat working in a hard, visible swallow as her wide, dark eyes locked onto mine. Real, unadulterated fear finally flickered in her gaze.

I liked it. I fucking loved it. Finally, she was going to know her place.

This was the exact reason I hated civilians. They walk around free, arrogant, and loud, genuinely believing they own the damn land beneath their feet. They have no idea that the only reason they get to sleep peacefully in their air-conditioned homes and argue over street jewelry is because men like me are taking bullets on cold, bloody borders to keep the darkness away from their doorsteps.

"W-What are you doing?" she asked, her voice finally losing its cocky edge, trembling just enough to betray the panic racing through her pulse beneath my fingers.

"Phone!" I rumbled, my voice dark, rough, and vibrating against her collarbone as I leaned in until our faces were inches apart.

She looked at my eyes, looked at my jaw, and despite the fear visibly written across her face, her stubborn, infuriating chin tilted up just a fraction of an inch.

"No!" she said.

I closed the remaining distance, my chest pressing against her for a fraction of a second before my free hand reached behind her back and snatched the phone from her fingers in one swift, effortless motion. The moment the device was in my grip, I loosened my hold on her wrists, gently lowered her until her white sneakers touched the damp earth, and took two steps back, creating a comfortable gap between us.

"Hey!" she yelled, instantly lunging forward to retrieve her property.

It turned out to be the absolute funniest attempt at an operational retrieval I had ever witnessed. Because of the sheer height difference, she started jumping up and down like an overly ambitious kid trying to reach the top shelf. I casually raised my right arm straight into the air, holding the phone far out of her reach. Even on her tiptoes, she barely reached the middle of my chest.

As she leaped forward one last time, reaching desperately over my shoulder, I suddenly leaned my face down right into hers.

I was genuinely enjoying her state now. She had been playing with fire the entire night, and now she was practically burning in a mixture of sheer frustration and sudden, heavy fluster. Up close, her dark eyes widened into massive saucers, her breath hitching audibly as my jaw came within an inch of her cheek.

She gasped, stumbling backward on the damp leaves as her brain completely short-circuited.

I let out a low, dark smirk and straightened up to my full height, sliding her phone safely into my tactical vest pocket.

"Go straight to your house," I said, my voice dropping into a calm, authoritative rumble. "This is not the right time to roam around in a jungle like a lost kitten."

I turned on my heel and began walking away toward the extraction point, fully expecting the civilian to cut her losses and sprint back toward the main road.

"HEY!" she shouted, her voice trembling with pure, unadulterated fury.

Before I could even take three steps, I heard the frantic, furious thud of her white sneakers charging through the mud straight behind me. The next moment, a small, stubborn hand grabbed my tactical vest, jerking my shoulder back with a surprising amount of force.

She grabbed the collar of my black shirt, rose onto her absolute tiptoes in her sneakers, and yanked me down toward her with everything she had.

Before my combat reflexes could even register the physical breach, her lips were slammed directly onto mine.

My brain went completely, dead silent.

For a man whose entire existence is governed by split-second combat reflexes, target acquisition, and tactical awareness, my system completely froze. I stood there, rooted to the damp forest floor like a concrete pillar, entirely paralyzed by the sudden, warm pressure of her lips against mine.

And the moment ... enough to tell the future is not going to as well as I think.

I don't want her ,!

SCENE 3

3 YEARS LATER

ये कैसी फ़ितरत है जानेया
मुझे तो हैरान हूँ जानेया
तू मेरे मेरी हसरत न जानेया
तू अब मेरी नफ़रत है जानेया
Araadhna sprinted blindly down the corridor, her heavy pastel-green lehenga rustling loudly, the torn velvet shoe clutched tightly against her chest like a ticking time bomb.

She rounded the corner at full speed—only to collide violently with a tall, immovable wall of pure muscle.

The impact sent a sharp shockwave through her frame. She stumbled back, her hand flying to her chest as a soft gasp escaped her lips. But before she could lose her balance completely, a strong, iron grip clamped around her upper arm, steadying her effortlessly on her feet.

Araadhna looked up, her breath catching instantly in her throat.

Standing right over her was Captain Ayaan Mallik.

मुझको अब होश रहा न
पल पल जैसे मर जाना
और करे ना हम ऐतराज़
करके बरबाद है रखा
फिर भी ना याद है रखा

He was imposing, dressed in a sleek charcoal-black suit that accentuating the terrifying expanse of his broad shoulders and lean, athletic build. In his other hand, held casually between his long, gloved fingers, was the other matching velvet shoe—the one he had clearly just hunted down and reclaimed from Trisha Bhabhi.

Their eyes locked.

His piercing, storm-grey eyes met her deep, obsidian black ones, and in an instant, the bustling sounds of the wedding outside seemed to drop into absolute, dead silence. A heavy, suffocating pause stretched between them.
और रहें ना हम नाराज़ भी
तू ज़ख़्म दे मुझे
चाहके भी बोलूँ मैं नसीब
है क्या पता इतना ग़म देकर
ख़ुश रहने की सलाह दोगे तुम

For a brief, agonizing second, the thick air between them flickered with a ghost of what used to be. Unspoken emotions flared in the dark depths of their gaze—glimmers of forgotten happiness, the faint, burning memory of an old, unbearable love, and the quiet ache of two souls that had once been intertwined.

Then, just as quickly as it had appeared, the warmth vanished.

The faint light in their eyes chilled into raw, unadulterated venom. The unsaid love was instantly coated in thick, suffocating despise.

Araadhna’s eyes burned with a blazing, furious anger, her jaw ticking sharply as her nostrils flared. She glared at him as if his very presence was an insult to her existence.

Ayaan, however, didn't show anger. His expression settled into that familiar, terrifyingly hollow chill. Behind those storm-grey eyes lay the unhinged, eccentric lethality of a man deeply broken, mentally scarred, and dangerously animalistic—a true devil wearing the flawless face of a stoic angel. Captain Ayaan Mallik didn't flinch. He just stared down at her with a quiet, psycho-like intensity that could make a lesser person's blood run cold.

Araadhna couldn't stand his gaze for another second.

With a harsh, violent movement, she shoved her hands against his broad chest, pushing him away from her with every ounce of strength she had.

Ayaan didn't fight her push. He simply allowed himself to step back, breaking the physical contact with agonizing slowness. His grey eyes never left her face, tracking her every breath with a cold, hollow silence that said far more than words ever could.

Standing two feet apart in the quiet corridor, holding two broken halves of the same stolen shoe, they stared at each other—two people bound by a tragic past, burning alive in a hell of their own hatred.

Araadhna didn't utter a single word. She tightened her grip on her lehenga, turned on her heel, and tried to walk away, desperate to put as much distance between them as possible.

She didn't make it two steps.
आँखियाँ न सोए रोये मेरा
टूटा है दिल
ऐसा सहारा के
दोबारा जीना हुआ मुश्किल

A long, iron-hard hand shot out from behind, his calloused fingers clamping around her delicate wrist like a pair of handcuffs. Ayaan didn't even turn his head at first, just holding her anchored in place with frightening ease. Of all the formidable men in this family, Captain Ayaan Mallik was undeniably the most terrifying—not just because of his military lethal background, but because beneath that impossibly handsome, angelic exterior lay a pure, eccentric, unhinged psycho. A dangerous, mentally scarred predator wrapped in a human skin.

Araadhna hissed, her voice dripping with pure venom as she tried to wrench herself free. "Haath chhod mera, Mallik!"

Ayaan slowly turned his head, his storm-grey eyes locked onto her flushed face with a terrifying, unblinking calm.
आँखियाँ न सोए रोये मेरा
टूटा है दिल
ऐसा सहारा के
दोबारा जीना हुआ मुश्किल

"My... my..." he purred softly, his deep voice carrying a dark, haunting cadence. "Ayaan se seedha Mallik... not bad, darling."

Incensed, Araadhna violently jerked her arm away, but the sudden movement only gave him the leverage he wanted. With terrifying speed and ruthless precision, Ayaan yanked her wrist behind her back, twisting it just enough to immobilize her. The force pulled her body flying forward, her chest slamming painfully against the solid, immovable expanse of his chest.

Before she could scream, Ayaan reached into his shirt, pulled out his heavy silver military dog tags with his free hand, and caught the metal plate directly between his white teeth.

He bit down on the metal with a sharp, predatory force, leaning down in the same breath to capture her mouth in a dark, brutal kiss.

ये कैसी फ़ितरत है जानेया
मुझे तो हैरान है जानेया
मेरी हसरत का जानेया
तू अब मेरी नफ़रत है जानेया

Araadhna flinched violently, a stifled gasp escaping her throat as the cold, sharp edges of the metallic dog tag pressed hard between their colliding lips. But the cold metal offered zero protection against his raw, unbridled fury. Ayaan kissed her with a terrifying, hungry desperation—a dangerous, chaotic mix of obsession, pain, and the unhinged passion of a man who belonged entirely to the dark.
Araadhna bit his lip hard, the metallic taste of blood instantly exploding between their clashing mouths. Hot, angry tears slipped silently down her burning cheeks—not out of a forced submission, but from the unbearable, crushing weight of their shattered past rushing back all at once.

Once upon a time, they were everything to each other. Inseparable sweethearts, promises carved in stone, a love so pure it felt untouchable. And now? Now they stood in the shadows of a grand celebration as the deadliest, most ruthless enemies in each other’s universe, destroyed by a past that had completely bled them dry.

When her teeth sank into his lower lip, expecting him to recoil or pull back, Ayaan only let out a low, dark chuckle that vibrated straight into her throat. He didn't flinch. Instead, he bit her back with equal, possessive ferocity, pinning her even tighter against his rock-solid frame.

Driven completely insane by his response, Araadhna kissed him back—not with tenderness, but with pure, unadulterated hatred. She fought him with her mouth, biting his lips and jaw ruthlessly, trying to tear through the stoic, impenetrable facade of the monster holding her, pouring every drop of her grief, her broken heart, and her burning rage into the violent collision.

And the most terrifying part of it all?

Ayaan let her.

He took every brutal bite, every sharp tear of her teeth, and every violent press of her lips without stopping her for a single second. The cold metallic dog tag remained trapped between them, digging painfully into their skin, but Captain Ayaan Mallik simply absorbed her violence like a starving man accepting a blade, his storm-grey eyes closed tight as he surrendered to the chaotic, intoxicating torment of the only woman who held his unhinged soul in her hands.
Araadhna bit his lip hard, tasting the metallic tang of blood mixing with the cold steel of his dog tag. The tears welling in her dark eyes weren't from the pain of his grip or a forceful submission—they were brought on by the sudden, suffocating rush of their past. Once upon a time, they were high school sweethearts, inseparable and soft. Now, a devastating abyss stood between them, turning them into each other's deadliest, most ruthless enemies.

Ayaan didn't recoil from her bite. Instead, a dark, raspy chuckle rumbled deep in his broad chest, and he bit her back with the same desperate, unhinged hunger. Araadhna kissed him with pure venom, using her teeth to take out every ounce of her buried rage, biting him ruthlessly against his mouth.

And the most terrifying part? He let her. He stood there like a willing martyr, absorbing every strike of her hatred as if it were the only nourishment his hollow soul had left.

When he finally released her lip, their breaths mingled in heavy, ragged gasps in the quiet, dim hallway. Her tears spilled over, tracing a hot path down her flushed cheeks as she stared into his storm-grey eyes—eyes that held a terrifying, eccentric devotion beneath the madness.

"The day I see you dead... I'll finally sleep," Araadhna whispered, her voice trembling with intense hatred.

Ayaan's lips curved into a slow, haunting smile, a drop of crimson trickling down his chin from her bite. "Then I'll keep surviving... just so you'll keep thinking about me, darling." He let out a low, breathless chuckle that sent a shiver down her spine.

"If we meet again, I'll kill you," she spat, her hands trembling as she pressed them against his leather-clad chest to keep her distance.

Ayaan leaned in closer, his voice dropping into a deadly, velvety whisper. "I'll lower my gun... like I always do for you."

"You don't deserve my love anymore!" Araadhna choked out, her nostrils flaring as she glared into his unblinking gaze.

"I never deserved it..." Ayaan murmured softly, his thumb reaching up to gently trace her tear-stained cheek with an agonizing tenderness that felt like a blade to her heart. "I only became brutally addicted to it."

"I buried the woman who loved you!" she hissed, trying to pull her face away from his calloused touch.

"Then I'll spend the rest of my life mourning her," he replied without a second of hesitation, his grey eyes void of any regret, carrying only the dark weight of his eternal grief.

"You're my greatest enemy, fucking Mallik," she rasped, her jaw ticking sharply.

Ayaan stared down at her, his expression softening into an eerie, beautiful calmness that made him look like the angel he was never meant to be.

"And you're still the only home I've ever known."

Araadhna closed her eyes tightly, unable to bear the sheer intensity of his gaze any longer. "Leave before I remember how much I loved you."

Ayaan slowly released his grip on her wrist, stepping back into the shadows of the corridor. The broken velvet shoe dangled carelessly from his gloved hand as his dark silhouette towered over her one last time.

"Too fucking late. Darling.." Ayaan whispered into the cold air, his voice lingering like a ghost before he turned away. "I never forgot."

The heavy metal tag clattered sharply against the marble floor with a hollow, echoing ring. Araadhna didn't look back to see where it landed. With a violent shove against his chest, she broke free from his shadow once and for all, wiping her bloody, bruised lips with the back of her trembling hand.

Without uttering another word, she turned her back on Captain Ayaan Mallik and walked silently down the opposite end of the corridor, her pastel-green lehenga rustling in the quiet night air.

Behind her, Ayaan remained standing in the dim shadows like a specter, his storm-grey eyes tracking her retreating figure until she rounded the corner and disappeared. He didn't move to pick up his dog tag. He simply stood there in the silence, wiping the drop of blood from his lip with his thumb, a faint, ghost-like smirk lingering on his face as the dark hallway swallowed her memory whole.

HAPPY READINGS!