Aira wiped her face, but it didn't erase the humiliation burning beneath her skin. She didn't look at Akil once—she didn't need to. She could feel him watching her, that silent judgment, that silent… concern?
She hated both.
She turned sharply into a narrow street. "Stop following me."
"I'm not following you," Akil said, stuffing his hands deeper into his pockets. "This is just… the same road I'm taking."
"That's a lie," she snapped.
He exhaled, annoyed. "Fine. I was making sure you didn't do anything stupid."
Aira froze, rage flooding her features. "Stupid? So me not wanting strangers in my room is stupid? Me wanting justice is stupid?"
"That's not what I said," he muttered, jaw tightening.
"Really? Because that's what it sounded like."
Akil bit back a retort. She was like needles—sharp, defensive, unpredictable. And yet… something about her anger made him pause instead of walk away.
"Look," he said finally, "I'm just—"
"No," she cut in. "You don't get to pretend you care. Yesterday you were laughing with your friends while they dumped me in a room like—like a product."
"I wasn't laughing." His voice dropped. "I didn't know. They tricked me too."
She scoffed. "Rich boy prank? Boo-hoo."
Her words hit something he didn't show people. Something tender and resented inside him. He clenched his jaw, shutting down.
"Fine," he said. "Believe what you want."
He turned his back to leave—finally deciding she wasn't worth the trouble—
But then she swayed.
The adrenaline that had kept her functioning since last night suddenly drained out of her. Her knees buckled, the world blurred—
Akil reacted faster than he could think.
He grabbed her arm, steadying her. "Aira?"
"Let go," she whispered, but her voice was thin, weak. "I don't need your—"
"You're shaking," he said, frowning. "When did you last eat?"
She yanked her hand back like his touch burned. "I… I don't have time for food."
Her stomach growled loudly, betraying her.
Akil raised a brow.
Aira flushed and turned away. "Don't say anything."
He didn't. Instead, he nodded toward a small café ahead.
"Five minutes," he said. "You eat. Then I leave you alone and go on my way."
She hesitated. Pride screamed no—but her body reminded her she was not some invincible warrior. With a stiff nod, she walked into the café. Akil followed, keeping his distance like she was a feral cat that might bolt.
Inside the Café
They sat opposite each other, silence filling the air thicker than steam from the chai kettle.
Aira kept her arms crossed, glaring at the table. Akil watched her briefly, then looked away. He wasn't used to looking at someone and wondering why they got under his skin.
The waiter brought two plates of paratha and chai.
"I didn't order for you," Aira muttered.
"You were too busy glaring at me," Akil replied.
She stabbed a piece of paratha aggressively. "You think you're funny."
"No," he said honestly. "I think you're hungry."
The comeback that formed in her mind died when she took her first bite. Warmth spread through her, easing the cold fear that had been sitting in her bones since last night.
For a moment, she almost felt human again.
Akil watched her eat, and something like relief flickered in his chest before he quickly shoved it down. He took a sip of chai to mask his thoughts.
"You said you wanted justice," he began cautiously. "What's your plan exactly?"
Aira paused mid-bite.
"I'm going to expose LeGaled," she said firmly. "I don't care how big they are."
"That's not a plan," he said. "That's a war declaration."
"So what?" she shot back. "Someone has to do it."
Akil leaned forward. "You think they'll just let you? You think legal monsters lose because someone shouts the truth?"
"I'm not scared of them."
"You should be."
Aira lowered her gaze. And for a second—just a second—he saw fear beneath her fire.
She set the paratha down slowly.
"They messed with the wrong girl," she whispered.
Akil stared at her. He didn't believe her. He didn't trust her. But he admired her—not that he'd ever admit it.
He cleared his throat and pushed back his chair.
"I've held my promise. You've eaten. I'm leaving."
She didn't react.
He stood and walked toward the door—telling himself he was relieved. That she was no longer his problem. That everything would go back to normal.
But when he reached the exit, he glanced back.
Aira was staring at her cracked phone screen, a single tear slipping down her cheek before she angrily wiped it away and straightened her spine again.
And suddenly, Akil realized something unsettling:
He didn't want to walk away.
Not anymore.