The week stretched thin, every day an echo of silence.
Riyan hadn't spoken to her since that night. Not a word. Not a glance that lingered long enough to mean something. And yet… she felt him everywhere.
In the library, when she bent over her notes, she could sense his gaze flicker across from two tables away. In the corridor, when she laughed too loud at Aarav's joke, she caught the faintest tightening of his jaw as he passed.
They were orbiting each other like twin stars—never touching, but dragging tides in their wake. And it was driving her mad.
Because the silence was worse than the shouting. Worse than the heat. It was a void, pulling her deeper into questions she was terrified to answer.
Did she miss him? Or did she miss the way he made her feel—alive, furious, unstoppable?
And why did she keep searching for him in every crowded room?
Avoiding her was torture. But watching her drift closer to Aarav was worse.
He told himself it didn't matter. That she wasn't his to claim. That the heat between them was a mistake, something reckless that had to be buried before it burned them both alive.
But then he'd see her smile—soft, distracted, like she wasn't even aware of how it shattered him—and the fury would come crawling back.
He wasn't made for silence. He wasn't made to watch from the sidelines while someone else stood too close, touched what he wanted, breathed her in.
And so when he saw her alone in the stairwell, clutching her books to her chest, looking like the world had drained her dry—he snapped.
She froze when his hand slammed against the wall beside her head.
Riyan. Close. Too close. His chest rising and falling, his breath sharp, his eyes—dark storms she couldn't look away from.
"Done hiding?" His voice was low, dangerous.
Her throat tightened. "I wasn't—"
"Don't lie to me." His other hand caught her wrist, not cruel, but unyielding. "You've been running. Avoiding me. Smiling at him like—" He broke off, jaw clenching. "Like I'm not the one keeping you awake at night."
Heat shot through her, fierce and undeniable. She should've shoved him away. She should've told him he was wrong.
But she couldn't. Because he wasn't.
"Riyan…" Her whisper cracked like glass.
His grip softened, just a fraction, but his gaze only burned hotter. "Tell me, Ananya. Do you want me to stop?"
The air between them vibrated, heavy, electric, as if the world itself held its breath.
She didn't answer. And that silence was louder than anything she could've said.