The rest of the night, Meera couldn't shake his words.
"I don't forget. And I don't forgive."
They clung to her skin like a bruise, replaying every time she closed her eyes. But she wasn't the type to be scared easily. Aarav Malhotra was dramatic, sure, but what was he going to do? Hunt her down over a noodle photo? Please.
Or so she told herself.
By morning, she had almost convinced her nerves to settle. Coffee in hand, she strolled into the campus quad, sunlight warming her face. Students waved and grinned at her, a few even giving thumbs-up for the magazine issue. She smiled, brushing it off like it was nothing.
Then she saw him.
Aarav was leaning against a black car parked near the gate, dressed in his usual crisp white shirt and dark blazer. His hair gleamed under the sun, his posture relaxed—but his eyes, those sharp, hawk-like eyes, locked on her instantly.
Meera's steps faltered. "Nope. Not happening," she muttered under her breath, turning toward another path.
"Meera," his voice cut through the air. Low. Commanding.
Every instinct told her to ignore him. But something in his tone froze her feet in place. She turned, forcing a smile. "Morning, Malhotra. What, staking out the campus gate now? Should I be flattered?"
He didn't smile. Instead, he pushed off the car and closed the distance between them in long, unhurried strides. "We need to talk."
Meera held up her coffee like a shield. "We already did, remember? You threatened me, I ignored you. Classic library drama. End of story."
But Aarav wasn't amused. His hand shot out, wrapping around her wrist—not tight enough to hurt, but firm enough to make her gasp. His touch was cold, steady, and far too intimate for the middle of campus.
"You think this is a joke?" His voice was low, meant only for her. "You don't understand, Meera. People laughing at me is one thing. But you—" He broke off, jaw tightening. "You don't get to humiliate me."
Her breath caught. For a second, she swore there was more in his tone than anger. Something raw. Personal.
"Let go," she hissed, yanking her hand. Students were starting to glance their way. "You're making a scene."
His eyes flickered toward the crowd, then back to her. Slowly, he released her wrist. But the intensity didn't fade.
"Fine," he said. "We'll keep it private. But you're not walking away from me."
Before she could retort, he stepped back, his lips curling into the faintest smirk. "See you in class, Joshi."
And just like that, he turned and walked away, leaving her heart hammering and her coffee suddenly tasteless.
The day dragged on, but Aarav's shadow seemed to follow her everywhere. In economics lecture, he sat behind her, his gaze burning into the back of her neck. In the cafeteria, when she reached for a chair, he pulled out the one next to her and dropped into it without asking. Even in the photography lab, where she thought she was safe, he strolled in with the excuse of "researching copyright laws."
Everywhere she went, Aarav Malhotra was there. Watching. Silent. Too close.
"Girl, he's totally stalking you," Priya whispered as they left class. "And not in the cute rom-com way. More like Netflix true-crime documentary."
Meera laughed, but it came out shaky. "He's just… intense. He'll get over it."
But when she looked back, Aarav was leaning against the wall, arms folded, eyes fixed only on her.
And the way he stared—like she was already his—made her wonder if this was just the beginning.