It was past 10 p.m. when Meera finally packed up her camera gear. The cultural fest rehearsals had gone on forever, and now the campus was deserted except for a few guards and the occasional dog rummaging near the canteen.
"Great," she muttered, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Walking home alone. Exactly how horror movies start."
Her phone buzzed. Priya: Stay safe. Call me if Aarav pops out of the bushes.Meera rolled her eyes but smiled. "Ha-ha. Very funny."
She tucked the phone away and quickened her pace through the narrow side street that led to her hostel.
That's when she heard it — footsteps.
At first, she thought it was just her imagination. But no. The sound was steady, deliberate, echoing behind her.
Her pulse spiked. She glanced over her shoulder. A man she didn't recognize, hood pulled low, was trailing her at a distance.
Meera swallowed hard. Okay, don't panic. Just walk faster.
The footsteps quickened too.
She gripped her bag tighter, debating whether to call someone, when suddenly a tall figure stepped out from the shadows of a streetlamp ahead.
Aarav.
Relief washed through her before irritation quickly followed. "What the hell, Malhotra? Are you actually following me everywhere now?"
He didn't answer. His eyes weren't on her—they were locked on the man behind her.
The hooded stranger slowed, then turned abruptly and disappeared down another lane.
Only then did Aarav move, striding toward her with his usual infuriating calm. "You're welcome."
Meera blinked. "Excuse me?"
"You were being followed."
She crossed her arms. "You don't know that."
His jaw tightened. "I know."
Meera hated the way her stomach flipped. She hated even more that she believed him.
"Fine," she muttered. "But that doesn't mean you get to play watchdog."
His lips curved into that faint, dangerous smirk. "Too late. I already am."
They walked the rest of the way in silence, his long strides matching hers with ease. She kept her gaze ahead, refusing to look at him, but she could feel his presence beside her — steady, protective, suffocating.
When they reached the hostel gate, she finally turned. "You can go now. I'm safe."
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. "You're never safe without me."
Her heart skipped. She hated that it skipped.
"You're insane," she whispered.
His smirk deepened. "Probably. But you'll thank me one day."
Before she could respond, he slipped something into her hand — a tiny silver keychain shaped like a camera.
Meera blinked down at it. "What is this?"
"Tracker," he said casually. "So I'll know where you are."
She gaped at him. "You WHAT?!"
"Relax," he said, turning away. "It's for your safety."
And then, just like that, he walked off into the night, leaving her clutching the keychain, torn between throwing it at his head and keeping it close.
Because deep down, a small voice whispered what she refused to admit aloud:
It felt… nice to know someone would always find her.