Ch.1

His breathing grew shallow, rapid — each inhale a silent scream.

He was running as fast as he could. But from what?

A shadow.

A presence.

Something that shouldn’t have been there.

[Few hours back]

The evening had settled over the city like a velvet curtain.

A loud roar echoed across the concert arena.

"Ansh! Ansh! Ansh!"

His name, like a prayer, a chant, a desperate cry.

And then—

Silence.

A soft, melancholic voice rose in its place — his voice.

The audience fell under his spell.

Even in his silence, he was music.

His eyes were hollow, distant... but beautiful.

A strange sadness clung to him, bleeding through his voice.

Sometimes sweet, sometimes sharp, sometimes aching.

Flashlights lit up the crowd like a thousand stars.

Hands swayed in rhythm, hearts beat in unison.

But Ansh...

Ansh smiled only faintly after his last song, whispering thanks into the mic before disappearing backstage.

He was only twenty-two.

So young, yet so weary.

His curly brown hair stuck lightly to his pale forehead under the stage lights.

His lashes — long and brown — curled over sea-blue eyes that never truly looked at anyone.

His lips, plump and pink, pressed tightly together when no one was watching.

He was fragile — in frame, in soul.

Short in height, soft in speech, silent in pain.

An orphan, raised by the world, owned by no one.

Except maybe... his past.

The mask of the idol slipped behind the curtains.

Makeup artists rushed to him, peeling away layers of glamour.

He changed out of his stage clothes in silence, his face unreadable, his movements methodical.

Then, mask on — the real one now — he thanked everyone and quietly stepped outside into the night.

The stars were scattered across the sky, indifferent to the darkness in his heart.

He stood there for a moment, eyes fixed on the heavens, then walked toward his car.

The driver started the engine as Ansh slumped into the backseat, head leaning on the window. He was thinking—

No, spiraling.

Five minutes away from his house, he suddenly spoke.

"Stop the car. I’ll walk from here."

The driver hesitated. "But, sir—"

"I said I’ll walk."

That same quiet stubbornness.

The car pulled over. Ansh stepped out, smiled vaguely at the driver, and waved him off.

The night was calm. Too calm.

He walked alone under the streetlights, his thoughts louder than the world around him.

But then…

A chill ran down his spine.

Footsteps.

Faint, but matching his pace.

He stopped.

The sound stopped too.

His breath caught in his throat. He turned around slowly.

No one.

Only shadows.

He shook his head. "Maybe I’m just tired," he whispered to himself and began walking again.

Then —

Thud.

His blood ran cold.

He didn’t look back this time. He started walking faster.

The steps behind him picked up too.

Panic. Real, raw panic.

He broke into a run.

His lungs burned, breath ragged and fast — until—

"Ansh?"

His manager, Divesh, was standing outside the house, blinking in confusion.

Ansh almost collapsed from relief, his chest heaving.

Divesh frowned. “What the hell? Is a dog chasing you or what?”

Ansh turned to look behind him again.

Nothing.

No one.

Just empty streets and quiet shadows.

He didn’t answer Divesh. He walked past him and into the house, his heart still pounding.

Divesh followed, rambling about schedules for tomorrow, but Ansh wasn’t listening.

“I’m tired. We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said flatly.

Divesh paused, then nodded and headed downstairs to his room.

Ansh locked his door, undressed, and took a long, cold shower.

Still, the feeling didn’t leave.

The sense of being watched.

Eventually, he lay in bed, eyes open, thoughts circling like vultures.

Who was following me?

Sleep came only after hours of tossing, only to be broken–

Ding-dong. Ding-dong. Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang again and again, slicing through the early morning quiet like a blade.

Ansh groaned. Divesh would answer it.

But no—

It kept ringing.

Frustrated, he got out of bed, stumbled downstairs, and opened the door—

No one.

He stepped out, looked left and right. Empty street.

His brows furrowed. “A prank?”

He shut the door and turned back—

Ding-dong.

His frustration exploded. He stormed to the door and yanked it open.

“What do you wa—”

He froze.

A bouquet of blood-red roses sat on the doorstep.

And beside it, an envelope.

His breath hitched.

A gentle tap on his shoulder made him jump violently.

“Dude, relax! It’s just me,” Divesh yawned, eyes puffy.

Ansh clutched his chest. “Damn it, can’t you speak first? You scared the hell out of me!”

Divesh raised a brow. “You’re acting like you saw a ghost. Another bouquet from a fan?”

He bent down, picked up the roses and the letter, and handed them to Ansh.

“Your fans are nuts, man.”

But Ansh wasn’t smiling.

He walked up to his room, heart pounding, letter still in hand.

He placed it on the table, went to freshen up, dressed himself carefully — white pants, pink shirt, white blazer — trying to look normal.

Trying to feel normal.

His curls were neatly styled, his blue eyes still distant in the mirror.

The boy everyone loved.

But no one really knew.

As he reached for his watch, his eyes drifted back to the envelope.

Something felt... wrong.

He sat on the edge of his bed.

And opened it.

Inside was a single line.

“I will always love you. You are mine.”

Written in deep, red ink.

No—

Blood.

His hands began to tremble. He felt sick. The room seemed to spin.

“Ansh!” Divesh’s voice called from downstairs.

Ansh shoved the letter back into its envelope, threw it in the drawer, and rushed to wash his hands, as if he could scrub off the fear.

When he came downstairs, sweat was dripping from his temples.

“You okay? You look like you ran a marathon,” Divesh said, concerned.

“I’m fine,” Ansh muttered. “Let’s just go.”

“But breakfast—”

“I’m not hungry!”

Divesh backed off. Something was off, but he didn’t press further.

They got into the car. Ansh stared out the window the entire ride, lost in thoughts that only grew darker.

Blood.

Letters.

Footsteps in the dark.

The company office was full of people and noise — warm smiles, polite greetings, Ansh's fans and business talk.

But Ansh heard none of it.

All he could hear was a voice in his head.

“You are mine.”

And a single, invisible thorn pressing into his heart from the first bleeding petal.

Hello readersss... This is my first story... I hope my readers will love it... #yourcheesyauthor 😉

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