The notification sound pierced through my sleep at 2:47 AM.

I should have ignored it. I should have rolled over, buried my face in my pillow, and let whatever spam message or random group chat meme wait until morning. But insomnia had been my unwelcome companion for weeks now, and my hand reached for my phone almost instinctively.

The screen's harsh light made me squint. One new message from an unknown number.

My thumb hovered over the notification. Something in my gut twisted-a premonition, maybe, or just the anxiety that had become my default state lately. I opened it anyway.

The photo loaded first.

It was me. Walking out of the Central Library yesterday afternoon, my tote bag slung over my shoulder, earbuds in, completely unaware that someone was watching. The angle suggested they'd been across the street, maybe hiding behind one of the parked cars. Close enough to capture the tiny coffee stain on my white shirt. Close enough to see I'd been crying-my eyes were still red and puffy in the photo.

Then I saw the caption beneath it.

"You can't hide from your past, Anaya. I see everything."

My hands started trembling so violently I nearly dropped my phone. I sat up in bed, heart hammering against my ribcage like it was trying to escape. The darkness of my room suddenly felt suffocating, filled with shadows that seemed to move when I wasn't looking directly at them.

I checked the number again.

Unknown. Not blocked. Not from any contact in my phone.

Who took this? When? How long had they been following me?

My mind raced through possibilities. Vihaan? No, it couldn't be him. We'd broken up six months ago, and he'd finally stopped his pathetic "please take me back" campaign three months ago. He'd moved on-I'd seen him with some new girl on Instagram just last week, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders the same way he used to do with me.

The memory made my stomach turn.

I screenshot the message with shaking fingers and immediately opened my chat with my best friend Zara.

"Z, wake up. Someone's stalking me."

I attached the screenshot and waited, staring at the screen. The little checkmark showed she was online-probably scrolling through reels at 3 AM like she always did when she couldn't sleep. Thank god.

Three dots appeared immediately.

Zara: WHAT THE ACTUAL F??? Have you called the police???

Me: No... I don't know if this is serious enough? What if they think I'm overreacting?

Zara: Anaya. Someone photographed you without permission and sent you a threatening message. CALL. THE. POLICE.

Zara: I'm coming over. Lock your doors. I'm serious.

Me: It's 3 AM. Your parents will freak.

Zara: I don't care. I'm getting dressed. DON'T go anywhere alone.

I set my phone down and wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly freezing despite the warm May night. Through my window, the streetlights cast an orange glow on the quiet suburban road. Everything looked normal. Peaceful, even.

But someone out there knew where I lived. Knew my routine. Had been watching me.

"You can't hide from your past."

What past? What did they mean?

My life wasn't exactly thriller-movie material. I was eighteen, had just finished my final high school exams, and was planning to leave for Toronto in three months to study Meteorology and Atmospheric Science. My days consisted of sleeping in binge-watching shows, hanging out with Zara, and occasionally helping my mom at her startup's office.

The most dramatic thing about me was probably my taste in books-I devoured psychological thrillers like they were air. But that was fiction. My real life was decidedly boring.

Or at least, it used to be.

Before Vihaan. Before everything that happened last year.

I pushed that thought away forcefully. I'd spent six months in therapy learning not to let him occupy space in my head rent-free. Dr. Mehta would be disappointed in me for letting one creepy message drag me back into that darkness.

My phone buzzed again.

Another unknown number.

Different from the first.

My finger trembled as I opened it.

This time, it was a video.

The thumbnail showed the exterior of my house. My actual house, with my dad's car parked in the driveway and my mom's potted tulips by the front door.

I couldn't breathe.

I pressed play.

The video was short-maybe fifteen seconds. Someone had filmed my house from across the street, panning slowly from the gate to my bedroom window on the second floor. My light had been on. I could see my silhouette moving behind the curtains.

This was from tonight. This was from an hour ago, maybe less.

The video ended with the camera zooming in on my window before cutting to black.

No message this time. The video spoke for itself.

They were here. Right now. Outside my house.

I lurched out of bed and ran to my window, yanking the curtains closed so hard one of the hooks snapped. My breath came in short, panicked gasps. I pressed my back against the wall beside the window, afraid to look out, afraid to see someone staring back at me.

"Anaya?" My mom's sleepy voice came from the hallway. "Are you okay? I heard something break."

I couldn't answer. Couldn't form words. I just stood there, frozen, as my bedroom door opened and my mother appeared in her nightgown, squinting in the darkness.

"Sweetheart?" She flipped on the light switch, and her expression immediately changed when she saw my face. "What's wrong? You're white as a sheet."

"Someone's outside," I whispered. "Someone's been watching me."

She was across the room in seconds, pulling me into her arms. Safe. Solid. Real.

"What do you mean? What happened?"

I showed her the messages with trembling hands. Watched her face transform from confusion to concern to barely-contained rage.

"Get your father. Now." Her voice had shifted into what I called her Boss Mode-calm, authoritative, the voice she used in crisis meetings at her startup. "Lock this door behind me. Don't open it for anyone except us."

She was gone before I could protest, her footsteps quick and purposeful down the hallway.

I locked the door and sat on my bed, hugging my knees to my chest. This couldn't be happening. This was the stuff of Wattpad thrillers and Netflix documentaries, not real life. Not my life.

My phone buzzed. Zara.

Zara: ETA 10 minutes. My brother's driving me. Are you okay?

Me: My parents know. My mom's getting my dad.

Zara: Good. We're calling the police as soon as I get there.

I heard my father's heavy footsteps on the stairs, then low, urgent voices. A door opening and closing. My parents moving through the house, checking locks, tur and ing on outdoor lights.

Then my dad's voice, sharp and clear: "Hello, yes, I need to report a stalker. Someone's been photographing my daughter and threatening her-yes, they're outside our house right now."

Reality hit me like cold water.

This was real. This was happening.

Someone wanted to scare me. Someone wanted me to know they could reach me whenever they wanted.

But why?

I unlocked my phone and scrolled back through my recent messages, calls, Instagram DMs. Nothing unusual. A few texts from Myra, my friend from tenth grade who, now went to a different college. Some memes from Zara. A "good luck with exam results" message from my aunt in Mumbai.

Nothing threatening. Nothing strange.

Until three days ago.

I stopped scrolling.

There-a message request on Instagram that I'd ignored. From an account with no profile picture and a random string of numbers as a username.

"Long time, Anaya. Miss me?"

My blood went cold.

I'd assumed it was spam. Some bot or fake account. I hadn't even opened it.

But now, with shaking fingers, I clicked on the message thread.

Three messages, sent over three consecutive days:

"Long time, Anaya. Miss me?"

"Saw you at the library today. You look tired. Not sleeping well?"

"We need to talk about what you did. About what you owe me."

What I did? What I owed?

I'd never seen this account before. Never interacted with them. The account had zero posts, zero followers, zero following.

A ghost account.

Someone had created this specifically to contact me. To watch me. To...

A knock on my bedroom door made me jump so hard I bit my tongue.

"Anaya, it's us. Open up."

Dad's voice. I scrambled to unlock the door.

Both my parents stood there, and behind them, I could see Zara rushing up the stairs, still in her pajamas with a jacket thrown over them, her older brother Kabir hovering protectively at the landing.

"The police are on their way," Dad said, his jaw tight. "They want you to not delete anything. Keep all the messages as evidence."

"There's more," I said, my voice barely audible. I showed them the Instagram messages.

Mom's grip on my shoulder tightened. "What does that mean? 'What you did'? 'What you owe'?"

"I don't know," I whispered. "I swear, I don't know."

But even as I said it, a sick feeling of dread was spreading through my chest.

Because maybe I did know.

Maybe this had nothing to do with random stalkers or stranger danger.

Maybe this was about him.

About Vihaan.

About everything that happened last year-everything I'd tried so hard to forget, to move past, to leave behind.

"You can't hide from your past."

The message echoed in my head as red and blue lights began to flash through my window, painting my walls in alternating colors of alarm.

The police were here.

But I had a terrible feeling they couldn't protect me from what was coming.

Because to understand who was hunting me now, I'd have to go back to where it all started.

Back to the girl I used to be-quiet, invisible, careful.

Back to day 1 made the biggest mistake of my life.

Back to the day, 1 met Vihaan.

End of Chapter 1

The police left at dawn, taking copies of the messages and videos with them. They told my parents to keep the doors locked, install security cameras, and call immediately if anything else happened. They said they'd increase patrols in our neighbourhood.

They said a lot of things that sounded reassuring but felt hollow.

Because how do you protect yourself from someone you can't see? Someone who knows where you live, where you go, what you do?

Someone who knows your past.

Zara stayed until morning, curled up next to me in bed. We didn't sleep. We just lay there in the dark, listening to every creak of the house, every rustle outside the window.

"You should tell me everything," she whispered around 5 AM. "About Vihaan. About what happened. You never really told me the whole story."

I stared at the ceiling, my throat tight. "I know."

"Was it that bad?"

"Worse."

She squeezed my hand. "Then maybe it's time. The police need to know everything. And I need to understand what we're dealing with."

She was right. I'd spent six months burying it all, pretending I could just move on. But the past doesn't stay buried. It claws its way back up, demanding to be seen.

So I took a breath and went back.

Back to the beginning.

Back to the girl I used to be.

"Two Years Earlier"

I was fifteen when I perfected the art of invisibility.

I kept my head down. Hair covering half my face. Sat in the back of classrooms. Never raised my hand. Ate lunch quickly, spent breaks in the library. I made myself small, quiet, and forgettable.

Safe.

My parents didn't understand. Mom, with her vibrant startup meetings, constantly tried to pull me out of my shell. "You're so smart, Anaya. Why don't you speak up more?"

Dad would just smile. "She's an observer. Some people need to watch the world before they step into it."

But the truth was simpler: I was terrified. Terrified of being seen, judged, rejected. High school felt like a minefield, and I'd decided the safest path was to not walk it at all.

I had exactly one friend back then: Myra.

We'd met in eighth grade, bonding over mystery novels and late-night texts about everything and nothing. Myra wasn't just a friend—she was my person. The one who understood me without explanations.

We were inseparable through ninth and tenth grade. Study sessions that turned into sleepovers. Inside jokes that made us laugh until we cried. Plans for the future—same universities, maybe even roommates.

She was the sister I never had.

Then she got a boyfriend—Advait. Sweet guy, treated her well. I was genuinely happy for her.

And here's the thing: Myra never abandoned me for him. She balanced everything perfectly. Still showed up for movie nights, still texted me at 2 AM, still saved me a seat at lunch.

That's what made what came next so much harder.

---

After tenth grade, my parents decided I needed a "fresh start." They'd heard about another high school across town with a better science program. More opportunities. A chance to "reinvent myself."

I didn't want to go. I begged them to let me stay where I had Myra, where things were familiar and safe.

But they insisted. And I transferred.

Myra and I promised we'd stay close. Daily texts, weekend hangouts, nothing would change.

But distance does something to friendships, even the strongest ones. Our texts became less frequent. Weekend plans kept getting postponed. She made new friends at her school. I was trying to survive at mine.

We didn't drift apart because of drama or fights. We just... existed in different worlds now.

The last time we hung out, we both knew something had shifted. We sat in her room like we used to, but the comfortable silence felt strained. The inside jokes didn't land the same way. We were growing into different people, and neither of us knew how to bridge the gap.

When I left that day, we hugged and promised to text soon.

We both knew we wouldn't.

And I was alone again.

---

Eleventh grade at the new school was brutal at first. I went back to being invisible. New faces, same old fear.

But something was different this time.

I was tired of being invisible.

Maybe it was losing Myra that made me realize I couldn't keep hiding. Maybe I was just tired of being afraid.

So I started changing. Small things at first.

I styled my hair instead of hiding behind it. Wore clothes that made me feel confident. Looked up when I walked down hallways. Joined study groups instead of working alone.

And slowly, people started noticing me.

Zara was the first. She sat next to me in chemistry and made a joke about our teacher's terrible puns. I laughed, and she grinned. "Finally, someone with a sense of humour in this class."

We became friends after that. Something genuine. Something that felt safe.

Then there was Mina, who complimented my notebook doodles. And Saanvi, who shared her snacks without making a big deal about it.

I wasn't popular. But I had people. And for the first time in a long time, I didn't feel completely alone.

---

Then there was Riya.

Riya had been at the school since I transferred, just in a different section. Quiet, kept to herself. The kind of person who blended into the background like I used to.

During an English project in eleventh grade, we needed to form groups of four. I had Zara and Mina. We needed one more person.

That's when I saw Riya standing alone near the back, looking uncomfortable as groups formed around her. No one was asking her to join.

I remembered what that felt like.

So I walked up to her. "Hey, want to join our group?"

Her face lit up with relief. "Really? Yeah, that would be great."

That's how our friendship started. Over a group project and shared awkwardness.

Riya was like me in a lot of ways—soft-spoken, observant, uncomfortable in crowds. We clicked. She got my sense of humour. We'd text late into the night.

I thought I'd found someone who understood.

I didn't realize she was studying me.

Riya had one trait I didn't notice at first: she couldn't stand seeing me close to anyone else.

If I was talking to Zara, Riya would insert herself into the conversation. If I mentioned hanging out with Mina or Saanvi, Riya would make plans with me for the same day.

At first, I thought she was just enthusiastic. Maybe a little clingy, but nothing malicious.

Then Zara's brother Kabir started driving us home sometimes.

Kabir was like the brother I never had. Protective, goofy, terrible dad jokes. Zara and I would sit in the backseat, making fun of his music choices while he pretended to be offended.

One day, Riya asked if she could ride with us. "I live nearby anyway."

I didn't think anything of it.

But then she started sitting in the front seat. Laughing too loud at Kabir's jokes. Texting him about random things.

And Kabir, being Kabir, was friendly back. Because that's who he was—nice to everyone.

Within three weeks, something shifted. Kabir stopped being talkative—not just with me, but with Zara too. His own sister. He'd give one-word answers. Stopped offering rides. Started making excuses to avoid family dinners.

Zara was furious. "What the hell is wrong with him? He's acting like Riya's the only person who exists."

When I asked what was going on, Zara looked both furious and hurt. "Riya's been texting him constantly. Every single day, all day. And apparently she broke up with her boyfriend from her old school because he told her she was spending too much time with other guys. Specifically, Kabir."

My stomach dropped. "What?"

"Yeah. She told her ex he was being too controlling. Then, literally the next day, she asked Kabir to hang out."

I should have confronted Riya. Should have drawn a line.

But I didn't. Part of me still believed she was just lonely, just trying to make friends.

---

A month later, Riya and Kabir were dating.

I found out through Zara, who looked furious and heartbroken.

"I'm sorry," Zara said. "Kabir's completely under her spell."

But that wasn't even the worst part.

The worst part was watching Kabir distance himself from both of us—me and his own sister. The easy, brotherly dynamic we'd had? Gone. Replaced by awkward silences and him choosing Riya over his own family.

Zara tried talking to him. Tried telling him that Riya was manipulating him, isolating him.

He didn't listen. He accused Zara of being jealous of not wanting him to be happy.

It broke something between them.

Two weeks later, I saw Riya flirting with Kabir's best friend, Ronav, at a school event. Right in front of Kabir.

When I mentioned it to her—because I still stupidly thought we were friends—she got defensive.

"You're always watching me, Anaya. It's creepy. Maybe if you focused on your own life instead of mine, you'd be happier."

That was the moment I realized: Riya had never been my friend.

Three weeks after that, she broke up with Kabir and started dating Ronav.

---

Kabir was devastated. And that's when he finally saw it—how Riya had isolated him, how she'd played him.

He apologized to Zara first. I wasn't there for that conversation, but Zara told me later it took weeks. Multiple attempts. He'd show up at their house trying to explain, and she'd shut him down. Eventually, she let him speak. Heard him out. Saw how broken he was.

It took time, but they rebuilt their relationship. Slowly. Carefully.

Then he came for me.

He caught me after class one day, looking uncomfortable and ashamed. For a moment, neither of us spoke.

"Anaya," he finally said, his voice rough. "I need to say I'm sorry. For everything."

I waited.

"For letting Riya come between us. For being a terrible friend. For choosing someone I barely knew over people who actually cared about me." He looked down. "For not listening when you and Zara tried to warn me."

His voice cracked on the last part. When he looked back up, his eyes were red-rimmed.

"She made me feel like I was special, you know? Like I was the only person who mattered to her. And I was so caught up in that feeling that I didn't see what she was doing. How she was cutting me off from everyone." He swallowed hard. "By the time I realized, I'd already lost so much. Lost you. Almost lost Zara."

I saw it then—the genuine regret. The hurt. He'd been manipulated too, and he was still dealing with the fallout. Still learning to trust his own judgment again.

"It's fine," I said, and I meant it. "She fooled all of us."

"No, it's not fine." He shook his head. "I made choices. Bad ones. And I hurt people I cared about. That's on me, not just her."

The honesty in his voice caught me off guard. This wasn't just an apology. It was accountability.

"I forgive you," I said quietly.

Relief washed over his face. "Thank you. Really. Thank you."

He smiled then, small and sad. "I know we probably won't go back to how things were. And that's okay. I just needed you to know that I'm sorry. And that I see now what she did. What I let her do."

"I know you do."

We stood there for a moment, both understanding that something had fundamentally shifted between us.

After that, we were polite. He still drove Zara home sometimes, and I'd be there too. We'd exchange pleasantries—"hey," "thanks for the ride," "see you"—but nothing more.

The easy, sibling-like relationship we'd had? That was gone.

But there was no bitterness in it. Just acceptance. Some friendships don't survive certain betrayals, even when the betrayal wasn't fully intentional. And that was okay.

Some bridges don't need to be rebuilt. Sometimes it's enough to just stand on opposite shores and wave.

I stopped talking to Riya entirely. Blocked her number. Avoided her in the hallways.

She didn't seem to care. She had Ronav now, and probably a line of other guys waiting after him.

I learned my lesson: some people collect relationships like trophies. And I refused to be anyone's prize.

---

By the time twelfth grade started, I'd learned to trust carefully. Guard my heart. Not everyone who seems like a friend actually is one.

I focused on Zara, on the few genuine people I'd found. Quality over quantity.

And I was fine.

Until he walked into my classroom.

---

It was the second week of twelfth grade when he showed up.

Vihaan.

I'd heard whispers about him even before I saw him. Someone said a guy was transferring in from Riverside Academy—one of those private schools with better sports facilities and students who acted like they owned the world.

When he walked into our classroom that Monday morning, I barely looked up.

New transfer student. So what?

The teacher introduced him—something about Riverside Academy—and he took a seat somewhere in the middle rows. I didn't pay attention to where.

Class ended. I was packing up my books when I heard someone behind me.

"Hey."

I turned. It was him—the new guy. Vihaan.

Up close, I could see why people had been whispering. Tall, confident posture, that easy smile people like him always seemed to have.

"Hi," I said flatly, already turning back to my bag.

"I'm Vihaan. Just transferred here. You're... Anaya, right? I heard the teacher say your name."

"Yeah." I slung my bag over my shoulder.

"Cool. So, uh, I'm still figuring out where everything is here. Maybe you could—"

"I'm busy. Sorry."

I didn't wait for his response. Just walked out.

I wasn't trying to be rude. I just didn't have energy for small talk with some popular transfer student who probably had ten other people willing to show him around.

And honestly? I'd learned my lesson about charming people who seemed too friendly too fast.

---

I went back to my routine. Classes, lunch with Zara and the others, badminton practice.

Badminton was my thing. The one place where I wasn't invisible or overthinking everything. On the court, I knew exactly who I was. I'd been playing since ninth grade, and by twelfth, I was one of the stronger players—good at both front and back court, quick reflexes, solid smashes.

I wasn't trying to show off. I just loved the game.

So when our PE teacher announced we'd be doing a badminton tournament and needed to form doubles teams, I figured it would be straightforward.

Until I saw who was in my assigned group.

Me, Zara, Vihaan, a girl named Aisha from another section, and two of Vihaan's friends—Aarush and Abeer.

We gathered during PE period to discuss pairings. Everyone stood around awkwardly.

I was standing next to Zara when I felt someone step closer behind me.

Too close.

Then Vihaan's voice, low and quiet, right next to my ear: "I want to pair with you."

I went completely still.

"Wait, what?" I managed, taking a step away and turning to face him.

He just smiled. "For the tournament. I want us to be partners."

"Okay, hold on," I said, still processing the fact that he'd just whispered in my ear like that was normal.

The rest of the group started discussing pairings. Abeer was clearly angling to pair with Aisha—kept asking her about her playing style, what position she preferred. It was obvious he liked her.

After everyone talked for a bit about who was good at front court versus back court, I pulled Vihaan aside.

"Why do you want to pair with me?" I asked directly.

He raised an eyebrow, amused. "Straight to the point. I like that."

"I'm serious."

"Okay, honest answer?" He crossed his arms. "Abeer likes Aisha. He asked me to help make sure they could pair together. And I've seen you play during practice sessions. You're good—really good. You can handle both front and back court, and I'm weak at the net. I'm better at defense and back court play. We'd balance each other out."

That... actually made sense.

"So it's strategic."

"Yeah. Problem?"

"No. Just wanted to know."

"Cool. So we're partners then?"

I glanced at the others. Abeer and Aisha were already talking like a team. Zara and Aarush seemed fine pairing up—Zara was strong at back court, and Aarush apparently had decent front court skills.

"Fine," I said. "We're partners."

"Great." Vihaan grinned. "This is gonna be fun."

I wasn't sure about that. But I'd committed now.

---

I created a group chat for coordination—all six of us. Match schedules, practice times, strategy discussions.

The group chat came alive quickly. Vihaan was talkative—sending memes, strategy questions, jokes about our PE teacher.

But he also texted me separately sometimes. Just small things. "That shot you made today was clean" or "Think we should practice serves tomorrow?"

I kept my responses minimal. "Thanks." "Sure." "Okay."

I wasn't trying to be cold. I just didn't see the point in long text conversations with someone I barely knew.

Zara noticed.

"Vihaan texts you a lot," she said one day, glancing at my phone.

"Sometimes," I said, showing her my screen. I always showed Zara my messages—no secrets between us.

She scrolled through. "You barely respond."

"I respond when it's necessary."

"I can see that." She handed my phone back. "Just be careful, okay? Guys like him—"

"I know, Z. I'm being careful. I promise."

She studied my face, then nodded. "Okay. I trust you. Just don't forget what happened with Riya."

"I won't."

And I meant it.

---

The tournament practices continued over the next week. We were getting better as a team—Vihaan and I had developed a rhythm on the court.

One day during practice, we were taking a water break. I was catching my breath, wiping sweat from my forehead, when I felt someone step close behind me.

Too close.

The air shifted. I could feel his presence before he even spoke—that awareness you get when someone's invaded your personal space.

Then his voice, low and quiet, right next to my ear: "You have a lot of attitude, you know that?"

My breath caught. Every nerve ending suddenly alert. I spun around fast enough to make myself dizzy.

"What?" The word came out sharper than I intended.

He was smiling, that annoying confident smile, standing just close enough that I had to tilt my head back slightly to meet his eyes. "Attitude. I like it."

My heart was doing something erratic against my ribcage. "Can you not sneak up on me like that?"

"Where's the fun in that?" He stepped back finally, giving me space to breathe again. Still grinning. "Besides, I wasn't sneaking. You just weren't paying attention."

"I was paying attention to not dying from exhaustion," I shot back, trying to ignore the way my pulse was still racing.

"Fair point." He grabbed his water bottle, completely unbothered by the fact that he'd just made my entire nervous system malfunction. "But seriously. The attitude thing. It's working for you."

I didn't know what to say to that. Couldn't trust my voice not to betray how off-balance I felt.

So I just turned back to the court, hyperaware of the spot on my neck where his breath had been, like it was burned into my skin.

It happened more than once after that. During practices, he'd lean in to whisper something—sometimes about the game, sometimes just random observations—instead of just talking normally like everyone else.

Each time, the same thing: my breath catching, my heart stuttering, goosebumps rising on my arms.

It was unsettling. Confusing. Strategic, maybe—like he knew exactly what he was doing and enjoyed watching me scramble to regain my composure.

I didn't know what to make of it.

Or him.

Or the fact that I was starting to look forward to those moments, even as they terrified me.

Then came the practice session that changed things.

We were in the middle of a practice match—me and Vihaan against Zara and Aarush. The rally was intense, both teams fighting for every point.

I lunged forward for a drop shot near the net, got it back over, but landed wrong.

My ankle twisted.

Pain shot up my leg, sharp and immediate. I gasped, stumbling.

"Anaya!" Zara's voice, alarmed.

I hit the ground, wincing. My ankle was already throbbing.

Suddenly everyone was surrounding me. Zara dropped her racket and ran over. Vihaan was beside me in seconds, his face worried.

"Don't move," Vihaan said. "Where does it hurt?"

"My ankle," I managed through gritted teeth.

"Let me see—"

But before Vihaan could do anything, someone else pushed through.

Vedant.

Vedant was from a different section—a friend of mine and Zara's, though not super close. Just a friendly bond. He was also friends with Kabir.

He'd been practising on the adjacent court when he saw me fall.

"What happened?" Vedant asked, already kneeling beside me.

"Twisted ankle," Zara said.

"Okay, we need to get you to the nurse's office." Vedant didn't hesitate. "Can you stand?"

"I think—ow!" I tried to put weight on my ankle and immediately regretted it.

"Yeah, you're not walking on that." Before I could protest, Vedant scooped me up, carrying me like it was nothing.

"Wait, I can—"

"No, you can't," he said firmly but kindly. "Just let me help, okay?"

Zara grabbed my bag. "I'm coming with you."

Vihaan, Aarush, Abeer, and Aisha followed too. Our entire group, plus Vedant, all heading to the nurse's office.

I felt ridiculous being carried, but my ankle hurt too much to argue.

Vedant kept asking if I was okay, if it hurt too much. He seemed genuinely worried.

The nurse checked my ankle—sprained, not broken, thank god. She wrapped it, gave me an ice pack, and told me to stay off it for a few days.

Everyone crowded into the small office. Zara sat next to me, holding my hand. Vihaan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching everything with an unreadable expression.

"You should be more careful," Vedant said, concern still on his face. "That was a bad fall."

"I know. Thanks for carrying me."

"Anytime." He smiled. "Seriously, if you need help getting around school for the next few days, just let me know."

"She has us," Vihaan said suddenly, his voice sharper than I'd heard before.

Vedant looked at him, surprised. "Yeah, of course. I'm just saying—"

"We got it covered," Vihaan said, his jaw tight.

An awkward silence fell.

The bell rang, signalling the next period.

"Oh, crap," Vedant checked his phone. "I have class. Can't miss it."

"Go," I said quickly. "You've already done so much. Thank you."

"You sure?"

"Yes. Go."

He left, jogging down the hallway.

As soon as he was gone, Vihaan moved closer. Too close. And then he leaned down, his mouth right next to my ear.

"I think Vedant likes you," he whispered.

I froze. "What?"

"Do you like him?" His voice was low, almost urgent.

"No," I said immediately. "He's just a friend. That's it."

Vihaan pulled back, studying my face. Then he nodded, some tension leaving his shoulders.

"Good."

I didn't know what to make of that.

The bell rang again—lunch period.

"Okay, everyone should go eat," I said. "The serving will be done soon. I'm fine here."

"We can stay," Aisha offered.

"No, really. Go. I'll just rest here."

They hesitated, but eventually Aarush, Abeer, and Aisha left.

Zara stayed, sitting next to me on the nurse's bench.

"Z, seriously, go get your lunch. I'm fine."

"Are you sure? I can stay—"

"Yes! Go before all the good stuff is gone. You know how fast the cafeteria runs out."

She looked torn. "Okay, but I'll be back real quick. Like, ten minutes max."

"Take your time. I'm not going anywhere." I gestured at my wrapped ankle.

"Text me if you need anything."

"I will. Now go!"

She left, and I was alone in the nurse's office.

I leaned back, closing my eyes. My ankle throbbed. My thoughts raced. Vedant carrying me. Vihaan's jealous reaction. The whisper.

What was happening?

I'd barely had five minutes to myself when the door opened again.

Vihaan walked in, holding a full lunch tray.

"What are you doing back already?" I asked, surprised. "Lunch just started."

"Ate fast." He set the tray down on the small table next to me. "You need to eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"Don't care. You need food." He pushed the tray toward me.

"Why do you always whisper, by the way?" I asked, changing the subject. "You can talk normally, you know."

He leaned against the table, arms crossed, that annoying smirk on his face. "Why do you have so much attitude?"

"Excuse me?"

"Attitude. You've got tons of it." He tilted his head. "I say something nice, you push back. I try to help, you resist. What's that about?"

"I don't have attitude. I just don't see why you need to whisper everything like we're sharing state secrets."

"I already told you. I like talking like that with people I'm close to."

"We're not close."

"Yet." That stupid confident smile. "We're not close yet."

"What makes you think we're going to be?"

"Because you're still talking to me. If you really didn't want me around, you would've told me to leave the second I walked in."

He had a point. Damn it.

"Maybe I'm just being polite."

"Nah. You're not the 'polite for no reason' type. If you wanted me gone, I'd be gone." He studied me. "Actually, you know what's funny?"

"What?"

"You act all tough and distant, but I bet it's because someone hurt you before. Betrayed your trust or something. So now you keep everyone at arm's length." He shrugged. "Smart move, honestly. But also kinda lonely, right?"

My chest tightened. "How did you—"

"I pay attention. That's all." His voice was softer now. "And for what it's worth? I get it. People suck sometimes."

There was something in the way he said it—like he understood from experience.

"Yeah," I said quietly. "They do."

"But not everyone." He pushed the food tray closer. "Some people are actually decent. You just gotta figure out which ones."

"And you think you're one of the decent ones?"

"I think I'm trying to be. With you, at least." He said it so casually, like it wasn't a big deal.

My pulse quickened.

"You're weird," I said.

"Yeah, I get that a lot." He grinned. "But you're smiling, so I'll take it as a compliment."

I hadn't even realized I was smiling.

"I'm not smiling."

"You totally are. Look, you're still doing it."

I tried to stop. Failed. "This is your fault."

"What, making you smile? Yeah, I'll take credit for that." He leaned back, looking way too pleased with himself. "You should smile more, by the way. You look less scary."

"I'm not scary!"

"You're a little scary. In a good way. Like, 'don't mess with me or I'll destroy you' scary."

Despite everything—the pain, the confusion, the weirdness of this entire situation—I laughed.

Actually laughed.

Vihaan's face lit up. "There it is. Actual laughter. I'm on a roll today."

"You're ridiculous."

"Ridiculous but effective." He pulled out his phone. "Okay, real talk though—you're eating that food, right? Because I didn't sprint through the cafeteria and elbow three people out of the way just for you to ignore it."

"You did not elbow three people."

"Okay, fine. Two people. But still. Effort was made."

I picked up the fork, taking a bite just to appease him. "Happy?"

"Extremely." He watched me with this satisfied expression. "Can't have you passing out from low blood sugar before our matches." He paused. "And also because I actually give a shit about whether you're okay. Crazy concept, I know."

The way he said it—so straightforward, no pretense—made my chest feel tight.

Before I could respond, the door burst open.

Zara stood there, holding a container of food, her eyes going wide when she saw Vihaan.

"Oh. You're... here."

"Hey, Zara," Vihaan said casually, completely unbothered. "Nice timing. What'd you bring?"

Zara held up the container, still looking between us with confusion. "Pasta. Her favorite. I literally had to fight someone for the last serving."

"Oooh, pasta." Vihaan's eyes lit up. "Let me taste it."

He reached for the container.

Zara yanked it back. "Excuse me? This is for Anaya."

"I know. I just want to make sure it's good enough for the boss here."

"It's from her favorite place. Of course it's good."

"Still want to verify. Quality control."

"That's not a thing, Vihaan."

"It's totally a thing. What if they messed it up today? What if it's cold? What if—"

"What if you get your own food and stop trying to steal hers?"

"I have my own food!" He gestured at the tray he'd brought. "I'm just being a responsible teammate."

"By stealing her pasta?"

"By taste-testing it. There's a difference."

"There's literally no difference!"

"There's a huge difference. One is stealing, one is caring."

Zara turned to me, exasperated. "Anaya, tell him he can't have your pasta."

I was trying so hard not to laugh. "You two are like children."

"She started it," Vihaan said, pointing at Zara.

"I started it?!" Zara looked offended. "You tried to steal her food!"

"Taste-test. Not steal. How many times do I have to—"

"Oh my god, fine! Here!" Zara shoved a tiny bit of pasta onto a spare fork and practically threw it at him. "One bite. That's it."

Vihaan took the bite, chewed thoughtfully like he was a food critic. "Hmm. Not bad. Little light on the salt. But acceptable."

"Light on the—it's perfect!"

"I mean, if you think so..."

"I know so! I eat this literally twice a week!"

"Maybe your taste buds are broken, monkey."

"My taste buds are FINE, and stop calling me monkey!"

"Can't. It fits too well."

They were glaring at each other, but both of them were fighting back smiles.

I couldn't help it. I burst out laughing—full, genuine laughter that made my ribs hurt and my ankle throb, but I didn't care.

Both of them looked at me.

"What?" Zara asked, but she was smiling now too.

"You two," I managed between laughs. "This is the dumbest fight I've ever witnessed."

Vihaan grinned triumphantly. "See? She's laughing. That means I win."

"That's not how winning works!" Zara protested, but she was laughing too now.

"Sure it is. The goal was to make the boss feel better. She's laughing. I win."

"You're impossible."

"And you're short."

"I'm average height!"

"For a monkey, maybe."

Zara threw a napkin at him.

Vihaan's phone rang. He checked it, frowned. "Ugh, I gotta take this." He headed for the door, phone to his ear, then turned back. "Bye, monkey. Make sure she actually eats, okay?"

"That's literally what I was doing before you showed up!"

"Yeah, but now you'll do it better because you've been inspired by my dedication."

"GET OUT!"

He laughed, waving at me. "Bye, boss. Have your lunch. No matter what."

"Get lost," I called after him.

He turned, walking backwards, that infuriating grin still on his face. "Okay, boss."

Then he was gone.

The second the door closed, Zara whirled on me.

"Okay. WHAT was that?"

"What was what?"

"Don't play dumb! Boss? Him bringing you lunch? The whole..." She gestured wildly. "Everything!"

My cheeks heated. "I don't know. He's just... like that, I guess?"

"Anaya." Zara sat down next to me, eyes sparkling with mischief now. "He ate lunch in like two minutes just to come back here with food for you. That's not 'just like that.' That's interested."

"You're reading too much into it."

"Am I? Because he also looked ready to fight Vedant earlier. Did you see his face when Vedant offered to help you around school?"

I grabbed her fork, stealing some pasta to avoid responding.

"I knew it!" Zara said triumphantly. "You're flustered!"

"I am not flustered."

"You're totally flustered. Oh my god, you're blushing!"

"I'm not—" I touched my cheeks. They were warm. Damn it.

Zara was grinning now. "This is wild. Anaya actually likes someone!"

"I don't have a crush! I barely know him!"

"But you're curious about him." She wasn't teasing anymore. Her voice was softer, more genuine. "Look, I've heard rumours about him. About how he goes through girls fast, plays games, all that. But..." She shrugged. "I don't know if that's actually true or just school gossip. You know how people exaggerate."

"So you think they're fake?"

"I think they might be blown out of proportion. Or maybe he's different now. People change." She squeezed my hand. "Just be careful, okay? Don't rush into anything. Guard your heart a little."

I nodded.

Because she was right.

Something was happening here. Something that felt different from anything I'd experienced before.

I'd built walls for a reason. After Riya, I'd learned to be cautious. To keep people at a distance.

But Vihaan was patient. Persistent. And somehow, bit by bit, he was finding cracks in those walls.

The scary part?

I wasn't sure I wanted to stop him anymore.

The first few days after the injury were strange in a way I couldn't quite put into words.

I couldn't practice. Had to sit on the bench calling out corrections while everyone else got to play. My ankle was wrapped tight, throbbing whenever I moved wrong, and the nurse had been very clear: stay off it for at least a week, or risk making it worse.

But the strangest part wasn't the forced rest. It was the attention.

Zara was there constantly. She'd show up between every single class to walk me to the next one, insisting on carrying my bag even when I protested. She'd bring snacks from the cafeteria—juice boxes, chips, chocolate bars I liked. "You're not allowed to move unnecessarily," she'd declare, shoving food at me. "I'm your designated servant until that ankle is fully functional again."

"Z, you really don't have to do all this—"

"Shut up and drink your juice. Doctor's orders."

"You're not a doctor."

"I'm your doctor. Now drink."

That was Zara. Bossy, protective, and caring in equal measure. She'd spend entire lunch periods sitting with me, even when I'd tell her to go hang out with other people.

"I want to be here," she'd say simply. "Stop trying to get rid of me."

The whole team pitched in too. Aarush would always save me a seat on the bench during practice. Aisha brought extra ice packs wrapped in towels. Abeer kept up a steady stream of terrible jokes specifically designed to make me groan and laugh.

"What do you call a badminton player who just broke up with their girlfriend?" he asked one day.

"I don't know, Abeer."

"Single and ready to mingle... with shuttlecocks!"

"That was awful."

"Made you smile though."

He wasn't wrong.

And Vihaan... Vihaan tried to help too. At least at first.

The day after the injury, he showed up at the bench with a water bottle and a granola bar in hand, looking almost shy in a way that didn't quite fit his usual confident demeanor.

"Thought you might be hungry," he said, offering them to me. "You've been sitting here for like an hour without eating anything."

Something warm spread through my chest. He'd been paying attention.

"Thanks, I—"

"Anaya!" Vedant's voice called out from across the gym. He was jogging toward us, carrying what looked like an entire convenience store's worth of snacks in a plastic bag. "I brought provisions! I know you can't walk to the cafeteria easily, so I got—" He stopped when he saw Vihaan standing there. "Oh. Hey, Vihaan."

"Vedant." Vihaan's voice was carefully neutral.

"I got chips, chocolate, those weird juice boxes you mentioned liking once, and—" Vedant was already pulling items out of the bag, piling them onto the bench beside me. "Wait, do you have water? I should have brought water—"

"I brought water," Vihaan said quietly, still holding the bottle.

"Oh! Perfect. Great teamwork." Vedant grinned, completely oblivious to the tension radiating off Vihaan. "Anaya's well taken care of then."

"Yeah," Vihaan said. His jaw was tight. "She is."

I took the water bottle from Vihaan. "Thank you. Really. This is perfect."

He nodded, said nothing else, and walked back toward the others.

And that's when I started to notice the pattern. Started to see how every time Vihaan tried to help, Vedant would appear—ten seconds faster, twenty seconds more prepared, always just slightly ahead.

And every time it happened, Vihaan pulled back a little more.

---

The breaking point came during lunch period in the library.

Zara and I were studying—or pretending to study while actually just talking about nothing important—when Vedant showed up with his signature grin and a worn deck of cards.

"Thought you both might be bored," he said, already pulling out a chair. "Want to play?"

We ended up playing for the entire lunch period. The three of us crowded around the small library table, cards spread out between textbooks and notebooks we'd completely abandoned.

"That's not how this works!" Zara protested when Vedant suddenly declared that all red cards were now worth double points.

"It is now," Vedant said with completely unearned confidence. "New rule. I just invented it."

"You can't just invent rules!"

"I can and I did. Democracy has spoken."

"There are three of us! That's not democracy, that's a dictatorship!"

"A *benevolent* dictatorship. Very different."

I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt, nearly knocking over my carefully organized hand of cards.

"Anaya, tell him he can't just—" Zara was laughing too now, even as she protested.

"I mean, he kind of already did," I managed between laughs.

"Thank you! See, Anaya gets it."

"Anaya is enabling your chaos!"

"It's a gift."

At some point during the debate about whether kings could beat aces if you were holding them upside down (Vedant's logic made no sense but he defended it passionately), my hair fell forward into my face, completely blocking my view of my cards.

I was about to push it back when Vedant reached across the table and gently tucked it behind my ear, his fingers barely grazing my cheek.

"There," he said simply, already turning his attention back to his cards. "Couldn't see properly."

It was such a casual gesture. Thoughtless, almost. The kind of thing you'd do for any friend without thinking twice about it.

But when I glanced toward the library entrance—some instinct making me look up—I saw Vihaan standing there.

He'd clearly just arrived. His backpack was still on both shoulders. In his hands was a water bottle—the expensive kind from the vending machine that I'd mentioned liking once in passing conversation.

He was staring at us. At Vedant's hand, still hovering near my face. At the three of us crowded together, laughing, comfortable.

His jaw was locked tight. His eyes had gone cold in a way I'd never seen before.

Our eyes met across the library.

For just a second, I saw something flash across his face. Hurt, maybe. Or betrayal. Something raw and quickly buried.

Then his expression went completely blank.

He turned around and walked away without saying a single word.

The water bottle was still in his hand.

---

After that day, everything changed.

Vihaan didn't ignore me completely—that would have been too obvious. But he became distant. Cold. Profoundly professional in a way that felt deliberate.

During practices, he'd talk to everyone else. Joke with Aarush about his terrible serves. Compliment Aisha on her improved footwork. Give Abeer detailed advice on his defensive positioning.

But with me? Nothing.

Just clipped, impersonal instructions when absolutely necessary.

"Your stance is off. Adjust your back foot."

"Noted."

"Net play is sloppy. You're reaching too far."

"I'll work on it."

"Do."

No banter. No whispered observations. No lingering looks. It was like playing badminton with a stranger.

His text messages became equally sparse and cold.

Vihaan: Practice is at 4 tomorrow. Don't be late.

Me: I can't practice yet. Ankle still healing.

Vihaan: Right

That was the entire exchange. No "how's it feeling?" No "let me know when you're cleared." Just... right. Acknowledged and dismissed.

I told myself I didn't care. That if he wanted to be weird and moody about Vedant hanging around, that was his problem to deal with, not mine.

But it bothered me. More than I wanted to admit.

"He's barely speaking to me," I mentioned to Zara one afternoon. We were sitting in the bleachers watching practice, my ankle propped up on her lap with an ice pack.

She followed my gaze to where Vihaan was demonstrating proper form to the others, his movements sharp and controlled and almost aggressive.

"He's jealous," she said matter-of-factly.

"Jealous of what?"

"Vedant, obviously." She adjusted the ice pack on my ankle. "Have you seen how much time you two spend together? Vedant's here constantly. Always bringing you things, making you laugh—"

"He's just being a good friend—"

"I know that. You know that. But does Vihaan know that?" She gave me a pointed look.

During one practice session a few days later, I overheard Vihaan talking to Aarush near the equipment bench. I wasn't trying to eavesdrop—my water bottle was on that bench, and I'd been about to grab it—but I froze when I heard my name.

"How's Anaya's ankle doing?" Vihaan asked, his voice carefully casual. "Still pretty bad?"

He wasn't asking me. He was asking about me like I wasn't sitting twenty feet away.

"Why don't you just ask her yourself?" Aarush suggested, sounding genuinely confused. "She's right over there."

"I just need to know if she'll be ready for the tournament," Vihaan said, his tone flat. "She's my partner. We need to practice together before the finals."

My chest tightened.

Partner. Just a teammate. Just someone he needed to be functional enough to win with.

Nothing more than that.

---

One afternoon during free period, I was sitting outside under the large tree near the south entrance with Zara when someone dropped down onto the grass beside us with way too much enthusiasm.

Ayaan. A guy from the year below me who'd somehow become practically my little brother over the past year.

"Anaya! Zara!" He grinned at us. "How's the ankle treating you?"

"Better," I said. "Should be fully cleared for practice by next week."

"That's great! Really great." He had this weird expression on his face, like he was working up to something.

Zara noticed too. She gave me a look and made a show of stretching and standing up. "You know what, I just remembered I need to grab something from my locker. Be right back."

Once she was gone, Ayaan shifted awkwardly.

"So, uh, random question. What do you look for in people? Like, what qualities?"

Oh no.

"Ayaan. What's this really about?"

He crumbled immediately. "Okay, fine. Vedant's friends asked me to talk to you. He talks about you a lot. Uses this code name—'Sunshine.'"

Sunshine. That was actually sweet.

And inconvenient.

I thought about how easy it would be. How safe. How uncomplicated.

How I'd never lose sleep wondering what Vedant was thinking. Never feel my stomach twist when he texted. Never worry about red flags or warnings or patterns.

"Tell them I'm not interested. Vedant's great, but he's just a friend."

"Not even a little?"

"Not even a little," I said.

Because easy wasn't what I wanted.

After he left, Zara reappeared with absolutely perfect timing.

"So?" She sat down next to me. "What was that about?"

"Vedant likes me. Apparently uses a code name for me when talking to his friends. 'Sunshine.'"

"Oh, I already knew that," Zara said breezily. "It's incredibly obvious."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"Because you're adorably oblivious about these things." She bumped her shoulder against mine. "But seriously, how do you feel about it?"

"I feel bad. He's such a genuinely good person. But there's just... nothing there for me. No spark."

"I know exactly what you mean." She studied my face carefully. "But there is that spark with someone else, isn't there?"

I didn't answer. Didn't trust my voice not to give away too much.

She knew anyway. Of course she knew. Zara always knew.

---

By the following week, my ankle was finally, officially cleared for light practice.

I started with basic drills. Nothing intense. Just footwork exercises, light volleys, getting my body used to the movements again.

The team was incredibly supportive. They cheered when I made good shots, even the easy ones. They offered encouragement when I missed, when my timing was off.

During my recovery period, Vihaan had essentially taken over leading the practices. And he was good at it—better than I'd ever been at the organizational aspects.

He'd demonstrate techniques with perfect form. He'd correct people's positioning with specific, actionable advice. He'd push everyone to improve without being cruel about it.

When he got to me during drills, his tone didn't change at all. Didn't soften or warm.

"Your footwork is still sloppy. You're favoring the injured ankle too much. You need to distribute your weight more evenly or you're just going to hurt yourself again."

"I'm trying—"

"Try harder. We have finals in less than a week and I need you functional."

Then he moved on to the next person without waiting for a response.

Zara caught the expression on my face and squeezed my hand supportively. "Ignore him. He's being an ass."

"He's not wrong, though. My footwork is off."

"Doesn't mean he has to be a jerk about it."

---

Tournament day arrived with perfect weather and overwhelming energy.

The gym was packed—courts set up, bleachers full, the noise level incredible. Excited chatter, nervous laughter, the constant sound of shuttlecocks being hit during warm-ups.

When Vedant's team played their semifinal match, Zara and I cheered obnoxiously loud from the stands.

"Come on, Vedant! You've got this!" Zara yelled.

"That serve was perfect!" I added.

Vedant looked up at us between points, his face breaking into a huge grin. He gave us an enthusiastic double thumbs up.

They won their match relatively easily. After their match ended, he jogged over to where we were sitting.

"Thanks for the moral support up there," he said, still catching his breath.

"You were genuinely amazing," I told him honestly.

"Thanks. That means a lot. Good luck in your match—you guys are going to absolutely destroy the competition."

Our semifinal match was scheduled next.

Vihaan and I stood at the edge of our designated court, rackets in hand, not looking at each other but somehow still intensely aware of each other's presence.

"Play smart," he said quietly, finally breaking the silence between us. Still not looking at me, but at least speaking directly to me for the first time in days. "Trust your training. Trust your instincts. We've got this."

It was the most he'd said directly to me in over a week.

"Right," I said, trying to match his professional tone. "Let's win this."

The match started.

Our opponents were genuinely, seriously good. They knew our strategies, had studied our playing styles, understood our usual patterns.

But Vihaan and I... despite everything that had happened between us off the court, on the court we just worked.

We moved together like we'd been partners for years. I'd shift forward to take the net, and he'd automatically cover the back. He'd set up a shot, and I'd be exactly where I needed to be to finish it.

The second game was significantly harder. The score stayed painfully close.

19-19.

We were tied. Championship point.

My heart was pounding so violently I thought everyone could hear it. My ankle was starting to ache but I pushed through.

The rally that followed was absolutely brutal.

Back and forth. Neither team willing to give even a centimeter. Every muscle in my body was screaming. My lungs were burning. But I kept moving, kept fighting.

Their front player sent a vicious smash toward the back. Vihaan was there—perfectly positioned. He sent it back over the net.

They managed to return it, but barely. Sent it toward the front court.

My turn.

I dove for it. Racket stretched out as far as my arm would physically reach.

My racket connected with the shuttlecock with the barest, lightest touch.

It floated over the net, dropped on their side, hit the ground just barely inside the boundary line.

Point. Game. Match.

The whistle blew.

We won.

The gym absolutely erupted into chaos.

I stood there for a long moment, trying to process what had just happened.

We actually won. We were going to finals.

Before my brain could fully catch up to reality, someone grabbed me from behind and lifted me completely off my feet.

Vedant. He'd apparently jumped down from wherever he'd been watching and was now spinning me around in circles, laughing with pure joy.

"You did it! That final point was absolutely insane!"

I was laughing breathlessly, maybe crying a little. "We won. Oh my god, we actually won."

When Vedant finally set me back down, he immediately turned and grabbed Vihaan next, lifting him up too.

For just the briefest moment—maybe a second, maybe less—Vihaan actually laughed. A real, genuine laugh.

But the instant Vedant set him back down, Vihaan's expression shuttered closed again. The warmth drained from his eyes. He took a deliberate step backward.

Then Zara tackled me with a hug. "That was absolutely insane!"

The whole team surrounded us. Everyone talking at once, celebrating together.

I looked around through the crowd for Vihaan.

He was standing off to the side, slightly apart from the celebration. Watching.

Our eyes met for just a second.

Then he turned and walked toward the locker rooms without a word to anyone.

---

I found him outside the locker rooms, leaning against the wall with his head tilted back, eyes closed.

"Vihaan."

He didn't open his eyes. "You should be celebrating with everyone else."

"You should be too. We won. Together."

"Yeah. We did." His voice was flat. "Great teamwork out there. Very professional."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Finally, he opened his eyes and looked at me. Really looked at me. And I saw it all there—hurt, anger, jealousy, frustration.

"Nothing. Forget it." He pushed off the wall, reaching for his racket. "I'm going home."

"No. You're not just leaving. Not like this." I stepped in front of him, blocking his path. "What's going on with you? Why are you being like this?"

"Like what?"

"Cold. Distant. What am I supposed to be to you? Because I honestly can't tell anymore."

"You want me to talk to you?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Fine. Let's talk. Let's talk about how every time I try to help you, Vedant appears out of nowhere. Let's talk about how you spend every lunch period with him. Let's talk about how he touches your hair and carries your bag and brings you notes and snacks and apparently lifts you up and spins you around while I'm standing right there—"

"He was celebrating! We all were!"

"He lifted me for one second then immediately went back to you." Vihaan's jaw was so tight I thought it might crack. "And you know what the worst part is? You have no idea. You're completely oblivious to how he looks at you."

"So what if he likes me? I can't control that!"

"I know you didn't." His voice dropped lower, quieter, somehow more intense. "But do you like him back?"

The question hung between us in the empty hallway.

"No," I said honestly. "I don't. He's a friend. That's all he is to me. That's all he'll ever be."

Something shifted in Vihaan's expression. The anger didn't disappear completely, but it softened.

"Then why do you let him—" He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair in frustration. "Never mind. It's not my business. You can be friends with whoever you want."

"But it bothers you."

"Yeah. It bothers me." He met my eyes again. "Is that what you wanted to hear? That watching you with him makes me want to punch something?"

"Why does it bother you?" My voice came out quieter than I intended. "Why do you care so much?"

He stared at me for a long moment. I could see him fighting with himself, deciding something.

Then he took a step closer. Close enough that I had to tilt my head back to maintain eye contact.

"You really don't know?" His voice had dropped to almost a whisper. "You seriously have no idea?"

My breath caught. "Vihaan—"

"THERE YOU GUYS ARE!"

We both jumped apart like we'd been electrocuted.

Abeer was jogging down the hallway toward us, completely oblivious to what he'd just interrupted. "Everyone's looking for you! The principal wants to take a photo with all the finalists. Come on, hurry up!"

Vihaan stepped back, putting distance between us. The moment—whatever it had been—was gone. Shattered.

"Yeah. We're coming." His voice was back to that carefully controlled tone. Professional. Distant.

He grabbed his racket and walked past me without another word, following Abeer back toward the gym.

I stood there alone in the hallway, my heart still racing, my mind spinning, trying to process what had just almost happened.

What had he been about to say?

---

The rest of the day passed in a blur of photos and congratulations and planning for finals.

Vihaan was polite. Professional. Smiled for the cameras. Discussed strategy with the team. Acted like everything was completely normal.

But he didn't look at me. Not once. Not really.

By the time I got home that evening, my head was pounding.

My phone buzzed. A text from Vedant.

Vedant: Congratulations again! That final point was legendary. You're going to kill it in finals. 💪

I stared at the message. Sweet. Supportive. Everything you'd want from a good friend.

But it didn't make my heart race.

Another text. This time from Vihaan.

Vihaan: Practice tomorrow at 4. We need to work on endurance drills before finals. Don't be late.

Short. Professional. Impersonal.

But my heart was pounding just from seeing his name on my screen.

---

Two days later, the entire tournament group was buzzing with excitement about the celebration trip.

The teachers had organized an overnight beach trip as a reward for all the participants—not just the finalists, but everyone who'd competed. A chance to relax before finals consumed everyone's attention.

"Beach trip! Overnight!" Zara was practically singing as we packed our bags Friday evening. "I brought three different swimsuits because I couldn't decide which one looked better."

"It's just swimming, Z."

"Presentation matters!"

---

Saturday morning arrived bright and sunny.

We loaded onto buses—two large coaches. The moment we were on the road, the energy became chaotic. Music blasting, people singing, selfies everywhere.

I ended up sitting with Zara and Mina. Vedant was a few rows behind us. Vihaan had claimed a seat near the front, headphones firmly in place.

Halfway through the drive, Ayaan appeared in the aisle. "Anaya, hey! Want to switch seats with me?"

Ayaan, I'm already settled—"

"Please? Just for like, half the trip? I'll switch back later, I promise!"

I sighed, recognizing that look. He wasn't going to give up. "Fine. Where's your seat?"

His seat was next to Vedant.

I gathered my things and made my way back to where Vedant was sitting.

We talked easily for the rest of the drive. Conversation flowing naturally. He made me laugh. Multiple times.

I didn't notice Vihaan glancing back periodically through the gap between seats, his expression darkening each time he saw us laughing together.

---

The beach house was absolutely massive—sprawling building with huge windows facing the ocean, multiple bedrooms, a deck leading down to the sand.

Teachers quickly established ground rules. "No going in the water without a buddy system. Lights out is at 11 PM. And absolutely no boys in the girls' wing or vice versa. Understood?"

We divided into rooms and dumped our bags before immediately heading straight for the beach.

The water was absolutely perfect. Warm, clear, gentle waves. Most people ran straight in.

I stayed at the edge, letting the water lap at my feet.

"Not going in?" Vedant appeared beside me.

"I can't swim," I admitted.

"Really? Want me to teach you sometime?"

"Maybe later. I'm good just standing here for now."

Then Zara called out from where she was waist-deep in the water, "Anaya! Come on! At least wade in a little bit!"

"I'm perfectly fine here!"

"Don't be boring!"

Against my better judgment—and ignoring every self-preservation instinct I possessed—I waded in slowly. Just knee-deep at first, then a little deeper.

I was standing there, laughing at something Mina had just said, when a larger wave came seemingly out of nowhere.

It hit me hard. I immediately lost my footing.

And then the water was over my head.

Panic flooded my entire system instantly. I couldn't tell which way was up. My lungs started burning almost immediately. I thrashed desperately, trying to find the surface, find air, find anything solid.

My clothes were heavy, dragging me down. Everything was confusion and terror and the absolute certainty that I was drowning.

Then arms wrapped around me from behind. Strong. Sure. Pulling me up with complete confidence.

We broke the surface and I gasped, coughing, desperately gulping air.

"I got you. I got you." Vihaan's voice in my ear, steady and certain. "You're okay. I've got you."

He held me above the waves with one arm around my waist, already pulling me toward shore with powerful, efficient strokes. He didn't let go until we were completely out of the water and on the sand.

I collapsed immediately, still coughing violently, trying to clear my lungs and catch my breath.

"Are you okay?" His voice was urgent, genuinely worried. Not cold. Not distant. Actually, deeply concerned. His hand was on my back, steadying me. "Why would you go in that deep if you can't swim?"

I nodded weakly, still unable to form words, just trying to breathe normally again.

"That was incredibly stupid, Anaya. You could've drowned." His voice cracked. "When I saw you go under—"

His hands were shaking.

I'd never seen Vihaan's hands shake before.

He didn't finish the sentence. Just kept his hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles, his fingers trembling slightly against my skin.

"Didn't... mean to," I finally managed to gasp out between coughs. "Wave... hit me."

"I know. I saw." He was quiet for a moment. "Don't do that again. Please."

"Wasn't... planning on it."

People were gathering around us now. Zara looked absolutely terrified. Mina was apologizing profusely. Teachers were appearing, asking if they needed to call for medical attention.

"I'm fine," I kept insisting to everyone. "Just swallowed some water. I'm okay, really."

Through the crowd, I saw Vedant running toward us from the direction of the beach house. His face went completely pale when he saw me soaking wet and coughing, Vihaan's arm still protectively around my shoulders.

"What happened?" Vedant's voice was tight with concern. "Are you hurt?"

"She went under," Zara explained, her own voice still shaky. "Vihaan pulled her out."

Vedant's expression shifted into something pained—guilt and regret mixing with worry. "I should have been here. I'm so sorry, I was just inside for a minute—"

"It's fine, Vedant. Really." I tried to give him a reassuring smile. "I'm okay. It was my own fault."

But Vedant still looked stricken.

The teachers finally cleared everyone away. Vihaan helped me stand, his hand on my elbow steadying me.

"Come on," he said quietly. "Let's get you back to the house. You need to change."

He walked with me back toward the beach house, not letting go of my elbow even when I was steady on my feet.

At the entrance to the girls' wing, he finally stopped. Reluctantly let go.

"You sure you're okay?" he asked one more time.

"Yeah. Thanks to you." I met his eyes. "You saved my life."

"Of course I did." He said it simply, like there had never been any other option. "I told you. I'll always come for you, Anaya. Even when I'm being an idiot. Even when we're not talking. Always."

Then he turned and walked away, leaving me standing there dripping and confused and feeling things I definitely shouldn't be feeling.

---

That evening, after everyone had showered and changed, the teachers organized a bonfire on the beach.

We all sat in a large circle around the flames as the sun set over the ocean. Someone had brought a guitar and was playing soft music. People were talking, laughing, roasting marshmallows.

Vihaan sat directly across the fire from me. The flames cast moving shadows across his face. But when our eyes met over the fire, he didn't look away this time.

He held my gaze for a long moment, something unspoken passing between us.

After a while, he stood up and walked around the circle to where I was sitting.

"Can we talk?" he asked quietly. "Alone?"

I nodded, my heart suddenly beating faster.

We walked down the beach together, away from the bonfire and the noise of the group. The sound of waves filled the silence between us. The moon was bright enough to see by, reflecting off the water.

Finally, he stopped walking and turned to face me.

"I'm sorry," he said, the words coming out firm and clear. "For being a complete jerk this past week. You didn't deserve that."

"You were kind of a jerk," I agreed, not letting him off easy.

"I know. I really, truly know." He ran a hand through his hair. "I kept trying to do things for you. Bring you things. But he was always there first. Even that stupid water bottle—" He stopped, looked at the water. "Never mind."

My chest tightened. He'd remembered. He'd been carrying it.

"Seeing you with Vedant all the time. The way he looks at you. The way you laugh with him. It got in my head and I handled it in literally the worst possible way."

"We're just friends. I told you that."

"I know that now. Ayaan told me what you said—that you're not interested in Vedant romantically." He looked at me, his expression vulnerable. "Is that actually true?"

"Yes. Completely true."

"Why not? He's obviously a good guy. He clearly cares about you."

"Because I don't feel that way about him," I said simply. "He's a great friend, but there's no spark there."

"And with me?" His voice was carefully controlled, but I could hear the hope underneath. "Is there a spark?"

My breath caught in my throat. The question hung between us, heavy and important.

"Vihaan—"

"You don't have to answer right now if you're not ready," he interrupted quickly. "I just... I need you to know something first." He stepped closer, close enough that I had to tilt my head back slightly to maintain eye contact. "I like you, Anaya. I know I should have been more obvious about it, but I thought my actions were speaking loudly enough. Apparently they weren't. So I'm saying it now, out loud, clearly: I like you. A lot. More than I've liked anyone in a very long time."

The moonlight made his eyes look almost silver. The ocean crashed behind us. My heart was doing something chaotic and unsteady in my chest.

"I want to take you to that café I mentioned," he continued. "I want to spend time with you that isn't about badminton or school or tournaments. I want to actually get to know you beyond the court. And I want you to get to know me too—the real me, not the version I show everyone else." He paused, vulnerability clear on his face. "I want a real chance here. That's all I'm asking for."

I wanted to say yes. Every fiber of my being was screaming at me to just say yes, to let myself fall, to take the risk.

But Zara's voice echoed in my head. Her warnings about what she'd heard. About his past. About patterns.

"I need time," I finally said, my voice barely above a whisper. "To think about this. About everything."

He nodded slowly, and though I could see the disappointment flash across his face, he didn't push. "Okay. That's fair. Take all the time you need."

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For saving me today. From drowning."

"Of course." His expression softened. "I meant what I said earlier. I'll always come for you, Anaya. You need to know that. Even when I'm being an idiot and giving you the cold shoulder, I'll still always show up when you need me. That's not going to change."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tight.

We walked back to the bonfire in silence, but it was a different kind of silence than before. Less heavy. More thoughtful. Filled with possibility and uncertainty in equal measure.

When we reached the group, he gestured for me to sit down first. And then, instead of going back to his spot across the fire, he sat down right next to me.

Not touching. Just... there. Close.

When his hand brushed against mine in the sand, he didn't pull away.

And neither did I.

And for a moment—just a moment—I let myself believe this could work.

That the cold shoulder had been a misunderstanding. That the jealousy was just insecurity. That the intensity was just passion.

For a moment, I let myself forget Zara's concerns.

That moment didn't last long.

---

Later that night, after lights out was called and everyone had reluctantly headed to their respective wings of the beach house, Zara climbed into my bed.

"Okay," she whispered in the darkness. "Spill everything. What did you two talk about on the beach?"

I told her. Everything. His apology. His confession. His request for a chance.

"And what did you say?" Zara asked when I finished.

"I said I need time to think."

"Good." She was quiet for a moment. "You know what I saw today? When he pulled you out of the water?"

"What?"

"Terror. Pure, genuine terror on his face. Like he thought he might lose you." Her voice was soft but serious. "That wasn't fake, Anaya. Whatever else is true about him, that fear was completely real."

"I know," I whispered back.

"But." Her tone shifted, becoming more cautious. "That doesn't cancel out everything else. Caring about someone doesn't mean you're good for them. Sometimes the people who hurt us the most are the ones who claim to care the deepest."

"What do you mean?"

She took a breath. "Remember how I mentioned my cousin goes to Riverside Academy? Vihaan's old school?"

My stomach tightened. "Yeah."

"I asked her more about him. Specifically." Zara shifted to face me in the dark. "She knows three girls who dated him. Three separate girls, Anaya. And they all tell the same story."

I didn't want to hear this. But I needed to.

"At first, he was amazing with all of them. Charming, attentive, made them feel like they were the only person in the world who mattered. Exactly like how he's been with you—the intense focus, making them feel special and seen."

My chest felt tight.

"But then things would shift. Gradually at first, then faster. He'd get possessive. Wouldn't want them hanging out with other guys—even just friends. He'd check their phones without asking. Demand to know where they were constantly. Get angry if they didn't respond to his messages immediately." She paused. "One girl said he showed up at her house uninvited at midnight because she didn't answer his call for two hours. She'd just been sleeping. Another said he'd get furious if she even talked to male classmates during group projects."

"Maybe she's exaggerating—"

"Three girls, Anaya. Three completely separate people who don't even know each other well, all telling the exact same story with the exact same details. That's not exaggeration. That's not coincidence. That's a pattern."

I stared at the ceiling, processing this. Remembering how he'd gotten cold when Vedant was around. How he'd been tracking every interaction, building resentment.

Warning signs. Red flags I'd been choosing not to see.

"What should I do?" I asked quietly.

"I can't tell you what to do. This is your choice, and I'll support you no matter what." Zara squeezed my hand in the darkness. "But please, please be careful. Don't ignore the warning signs just because you like him. Don't make excuses for behavior that scares you. And don't ever think you can change him or that you'll be the exception to the pattern. That's what all three of those girls thought too."

"But what if he has changed? What if that was who he used to be, but he's different now?"

"Then he'll prove it through his actions over time, not through pretty words and romantic gestures during the chase." Her voice was firm but loving. "Real change is sustained and consistent. It's not just being perfect while he's trying to win you over. It's how he acts six months from now when you're comfortable and he's not worried about losing you anymore. That's when you see who someone really is."

I didn't sleep much that night. Just lay there thinking about everything.

About how Vihaan made me feel—seen, wanted, special in a way I'd never experienced before.

About how he'd saved me today without hesitation, his face full of genuine terror at the thought of losing me.

But also about the coldness when he was jealous. The possessive undertones in his words. The way he'd shut me out completely for a week over something as simple as Vedant being a good friend.

The pattern Zara had described that sounded disturbingly familiar to warning signs I'd already witnessed in small doses.

My phone buzzed on the nightstand.

Vihaan: You awake?

I stared at the message for a long moment before responding.

Me: Yeah. Can't sleep.

Vihaan: Me neither. Keep thinking about today.

Me: The tournament or the beach?

Vihaan: The beach. Seeing you go under. That was the scariest moment of my life.

Me: I'm okay now. Thanks to you.

Vihaan: I meant what I said earlier. All of it. This isn't a game for me.

Me: I know.

Vihaan: Still thinking? About what we talked about?

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. I could feel Zara's presence next to me in the dark, even though she'd fallen asleep.

Me: Yeah. Still thinking.

Vihaan: Take all the time you need. But I need you to know—I'm serious about this. About you. I'm not going anywhere.

That last line twisted in my stomach.

A promise.

Or a warning.

Me: Good night, Vihaan.

Vihaan: Night. Sleep well.

I put my phone down and stared at the ceiling some more.

Because that was the problem, wasn't it?

I wanted to believe him. Wanted to trust that this time would be different, that he would be different.

But wanting something doesn't make it true.

And ignoring red flags because you like someone doesn't make them disappear.

It just means you'll be less prepared when they become impossible to ignore.

---

The next morning arrived too early, sunlight streaming through the windows of our room with aggressive brightness.

I'd maybe slept two hours total. Zara looked equally exhausted, her hair a mess, dark circles under her eyes.

"Morning," she mumbled, stretching. "Ready to face the awkwardness?"

"What awkwardness?"

She gave me a look. "You and Vihaan had a whole romantic beach confession last night. You're telling me it's not going to be weird seeing him at breakfast?"

She had a point.

We got dressed and headed down to the common area where the teachers had set up a breakfast buffet. The room was already packed with tournament participants, everyone grabbing food and claiming spots at the various tables scattered around.

I spotted Vihaan immediately. He was near the coffee station, talking to Aarush about something, looking frustratingly well-rested and put-together despite everything.

Our eyes met across the room.

For a second, neither of us moved. Just stood there, the entire previous night hanging heavy between us.

Then he smiled. Small, tentative, but genuine.

I managed a small smile back before quickly looking away, my face heating up.

"Oh, this is going to be painful to watch," Zara muttered beside me. "Come on, let's get food before I die of secondhand awkwardness."

We loaded up our plates and found seats at a table with Mina, Aisha, and a few other girls from our section. Safe. Neutral territory.

But of course, that didn't last long.

"Mind if we join you?" Vedant appeared with his tray, Ayaan right behind him.

"Sure!" Mina said cheerfully, gesturing to the empty chairs.

Vedant sat down directly across from me, immediately launching into an animated retelling of something funny that had happened in their room last night. He was his usual cheerful, oblivious self. Making jokes, telling stories, including everyone in the conversation.

I tried to focus on my food, tried to participate in the conversation, tried to act normal.

But I could feel eyes on me.

I glanced up. Vihaan was still near the coffee station, but he wasn't talking to Aarush anymore. He was watching our table. Watching Vedant laugh. Watching me sit directly across from him.

His expression was carefully neutral, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. The way he was gripping his coffee cup just a little too tight.

Then Abeer called out to him, "Vihaan! You coming to sit or what?"

Vihaan blinked, breaking whatever trance he'd been in. "Yeah. Coming."

He grabbed his tray and headed toward a different table entirely. Sat with his back to us.

Zara caught my eye across the table, raising her eyebrows meaningfully. "See? Awkward."

I mouthed back, "Shut up."

She grinned and went back to her breakfast.

Vedant didn't notice any of it. He was too busy trying to convince Ayaan that pineapple absolutely belonged on pizza, a debate that was getting increasingly heated and ridiculous.

"It's a fruit! Fruit doesn't go on pizza!" Ayaan was saying, looking genuinely offended.

"Tomato is a fruit and it's literally the base of pizza!" Vedant countered.

"That's different!"

"How is that different?!"

Despite everything, I found myself laughing at their absurdity. It was impossible not to.

When I glanced back toward Vihaan's table, he was gone. His spot was empty, his tray already cleared.

His coffee cup still sat on the table. Half-full. Still steaming.

He'd left mid-drink just to get away from watching me with Vedant.

---

We loaded back onto the buses around mid-morning, heading back to school. The energy was more subdued than yesterday—everyone tired from staying up late, sun-drunk and lazy.

I ended up in my original seat with Zara and Mina again. Ayaan didn't try to orchestrate any seat switches this time.

Vihaan sat in the same spot as yesterday, near the front, headphones in.

But this time, when I caught him glancing back through the gap between seats, he didn't look away immediately. Just held my gaze for a long moment before finally turning back toward the window.

"Finals are tomorrow," Zara said quietly, linking her arm through mine. "You guys ready?"

"Ready as we'll ever be," I said, though I wasn't thinking about badminton at all.

Tomorrow was finals. The culmination of everything we'd been working toward.

Tomorrow, Vihaan and I would have to be partners again. Would have to work together, trust each other, move in sync despite everything that was now hanging between us.

Tomorrow, I'd have to pretend my heart wasn't doing complicated, confusing things every time he was near.

Tomorrow.

But for now, I closed my eyes and tried to rest, the motion of the bus lulling me into something close to sleep.

And when I dreamed, it was of drowning and being pulled back to shore by hands that felt both safe and dangerous at the same time.

In the dream, I couldn't tell if he was saving me.

Or making sure I couldn't swim away.

---

END OF CHAPTER 3

Finals are tomorrow—and so is a choice that might change everything.