Ananya stormed out of the cafeteria, her heart hammering like it wanted out of her chest. The whispers followed, nipping at her heels like shadows. She didn't look back. Couldn't. If she did, she might break.
She found the nearest empty classroom, slammed the door shut, and pressed her back against it. Her breath came in shallow bursts, eyes stinging. How could people be so cruel? How could he—Riyan—make it worse by feeding their assumptions with that… display?
The door creaked open.
"Ananya."
Her head snapped up. Of course it was him. Riyan stood there, framed by the doorway, unreadable as ever. He shut the door behind him, and suddenly the quiet felt too loud.
"You shouldn't have done that," she said, her voice sharp even though it trembled.
"Done what?" he asked, crossing the room with maddening calm.
"Slamming tables. Staring him down like some… like some gangster! Now they'll never stop. You just gave them exactly what they wanted."
Riyan leaned against a desk, arms folded. His smirk was gone; what replaced it was quieter, heavier. "I wasn't about to let him talk about you like that."
Ananya swallowed, heat rising in her chest. "I don't need you fighting my battles."
"Maybe not," he said softly, "but I'm not going to stand there while someone drags your name through the dirt. Not you."
The sincerity in his tone caught her off guard. She hated that it made her chest tighten. She hated that it sounded like he meant it.
"Why?" she whispered, almost to herself.
For the first time, Riyan looked unsettled. He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling slowly. "Because I… can't watch it happen. Because it gets under my skin in a way it shouldn't."
Her breath caught. The air between them thickened, charged, like a storm hovering just above their heads.
"Riyan…"
He stepped closer, too close. Close enough that she could see the way his jaw clenched, the conflict flickering in his eyes. "You think I don't hear what they say about me? I don't care. But you—" His voice broke off, rough. "You're not meant for this mess. And yet here you are, stuck with me."
The words pressed against the silence, aching and dangerous.
Ananya should've stepped back. She should've pushed him away. Instead, she stayed frozen, heart pounding, caught between anger and something else she didn't dare name.
The quiet stretched. Then, with a sharp inhale, she tore her gaze away.
"I can't do this," she whispered, pushing past him toward the door. "I won't be another rumor."
And she left him there in the empty classroom—alone, fists clenched, jaw tight—realizing that for the first time, he didn't know how to fight this.