Chapter 2: Before

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.

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