Ananya thought she'd made it.Library stairwell, deserted, her one sanctuary when the noise outside grew unbearable. She pressed her back to the cool wall, eyes shut, willing her heartbeat to steady.
But fate—or maybe the devil himself—wasn't about to grant her peace.
"Running away again?"
Her eyes snapped open. Riyan stood at the bottom of the stairwell, leaning casually against the rail like he owned the air she was breathing. His dark gaze locked onto hers, sharp and unrelenting.
"I'm not running," she said quickly, clutching her books tighter. "I just…needed space."
He started climbing, slow, deliberate, the sound of his boots echoing in the narrow stairwell. "Space from what? The whispers? The stares? Or me?"
Her throat tightened. "From everything."
"Funny," he murmured, closing the gap, "because when I saw you out there, it wasn't 'everything' you were looking at. It was me."
Her pulse spiked. "You're imagining things."
"Am I?" His voice dipped low, dangerous. "Then tell me, Ananya—why do you look at me like I'm the problem, when half the time you're the one pulling me closer?"
"I'm not—" She bit down hard, words choking off. Because deep down, she knew he was right.
He took the last step, towering now, so close she could smell the faint mix of smoke and cologne clinging to him. He braced one hand against the wall by her head, boxing her in. Not touching—but close enough her knees trembled.
"You think Aarav can protect you from this?" he asked, voice rawer now. "From them? From me?"
"Don't—" Her whisper cracked. "Don't drag him into this."
Riyan's jaw ticked. For once, the cocky smile wasn't there. His eyes burned with something sharper, something that stripped her bare. "I'm not dragging him in. You are. Every time you let him hover, every time you let him play the hero." He leaned closer, and her breath hitched. "But when it's just us—here—you don't push me away."
Her hand pressed against his chest, weak defense against the pounding heat beneath. "Riyan…"
"Say it," he demanded, voice low but shaking. "Say I don't matter to you, and I'll walk away. Right now."
Her lips parted—but no words came.
Because the truth sat heavy in her chest, clawing for release. He did matter. Too much. And admitting that terrified her more than all the gossip combined.
For a moment, silence filled the stairwell, thick with everything unsaid. His eyes searched hers, fierce and vulnerable all at once.
Then, with a sharp exhale, he stepped back, tearing his hand from the wall. "That's what I thought."
And before she could breathe, he was gone—leaving her pressed against the wall, shaking, shattered, and more consumed by him than ever.