There were moments—fleeting, slipping through the cracks of his control—when Veer knew. Knew something was wrong.
Not wrong with the world. Not with Aaradhya. Not even with the twisted path their story seemed to be spiraling down.
Wrong with him.
One second, he was storming through corridors, words slipping from his tongue like venom—possessive, cruel, controlling. The next, he'd stare at his reflection in some mirrored glass and wonder: Who is this?
This wasn't how he wanted to be. Not with her. Especially not with her.
There were moments when he'd scream inwardly at himself to stop. Don't touch her like that. Don't say that. Don't hurt her. Please, don't be this.
But it felt like he was a passenger in his own body—trapped, watching someone else take control of the steering wheel of his soul.
And now... now he had gone too far.
That slap still echoed in his mind—not the sting, but the look on Aaradhya's face when she did it. The disgust. The betrayal.
He wasn't angry at her. He was angry at himself.
For letting this happen. For becoming the very thing he swore he never would.
That's why he stood now, under the fading sun, outside her hostel, hands curled into nervous fists. The warden raised an eyebrow but agreed to call Aaradhya down.
He stood still, heart thundering, eyes scanning the entrance like a man awaiting judgment.
And then—she stepped out.
For a moment, everything stilled.
The chaos. The guilt. The spiraling confusion.
She looked... so beautiful—not in the way everyone whispered behind her back, but in that grounded, real way. The way that reminded him of how small and lost he truly felt around her.
But then her eyes met his.
And he saw it.
What he had done to her.
The way she stopped in her tracks. The stiffness in her shoulders. The wall she threw up immediately.
He barely opened his mouth.
"Aaradhya, I—"
But she raised a hand, stepping forward, her eyes sharp. "Don't."
And then the words came from her like a storm she'd been holding in for too long.
"You think you can just show up after treating me like I'm your property? Who even gave you the right to speak about me like that in front of the whole class? You embarrassed me, Veer. You humiliated me."
He didn't try to interrupt.
Not this time.
"I don't know what sick power trip you're on, or what drama you've built up in that head of yours, but I am not yours. I was never yours."
He swallowed, looking down, ashamed.
"And to think..." she faltered, her voice cracking just enough for him to look up.
"I can't believe I almost fell for you."
The words sliced through him like ice.
His breath caught. The earth seemed to tilt beneath his feet.
She almost fell for me...?
It wasn't the anger in her tone that hurt. It was the truth behind it.
He'd had a chance. Somewhere, beneath all his unhinged spirals and desperate yearning, she had felt something. Something real.
And now?
It was gone. Torn. Trampled. Because of what he'd become.
"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, voice hoarse. "You don't have to believe me. But I am. For all of it."
She didn't say anything. Just stood there, crossing her arms, her silence louder than any slap.
Veer turned to leave, but every step away from her felt like it was peeling skin from bone.
Something inside him shouted—not like before, not the part of him that seemed to control him.
The real him.
The version of him that had smiled in that sunlit palace, handed her fallen books, let her go without a name, just a memory.
The one who had watched her walk away in that restaurant and hoped she'd look back.
That boy was screaming now.
But all Veer could do was walk away.
For now.
Because until he understood what was happening to him—why he was losing control, why he couldn't protect her even from himself—he didn't deserve her.
Even if she had almost fallen for him once.
The coffee in front of Veer had gone cold.
He stirred it absently, eyes fixed on the dark swirl, as if trying to make sense of the chaos inside him. Aakarsh sat across from him, concern lining his usually relaxed face.
"You're not okay," Aakarsh finally said, breaking the silence. "It's written all over you."
Veer didn't look up. "You know what's the worst part?"
"What?"
"I know I'm not okay." He finally met Aakarsh's eyes. "There are moments where I watch myself do things I would never allow myself to do. Words coming out of my mouth I don't even agree with. Touching her like that... claiming her... scaring her—" His voice cracked.
Aakarsh leaned forward. "I've seen it, Veer. Once... back in the palace."
Veer blinked, confused.
"That day... a servant walked into your path. You lashed out at him, shouted like you were someone else entirely. But the moment he left, you looked shaken—like you didn't know what just happened."
"I didn't." Veer whispered. "It's like something takes over. Like I'm watching myself from outside."
Aakarsh reached out, gripping his friend's arm. "Let's go talk to someone. A professional. You need help, Veer. This isn't just stress or pressure. It's something deeper."
Later that Day — Psychologist's Office
The room smelled of sandalwood and old books. The walls were lined with framed degrees and abstract art meant to be soothing.
Veer sat on the couch, hands clenched in his lap, while Aakarsh sat nearby for support. Across from them was Dr. Karan Malhotra, a seasoned psychologist with a kind but analytical gaze.
"So, Veer," Dr. Malhotra began, flipping open a notepad. "Tell me why you're here."
"I feel like..." Veer hesitated. "Like I'm not alone in my head."
Dr. Malhotra looked up. "Go on."
"There are... episodes. Moments where I feel I lose control. It's still me, technically. My voice, my body. But my thoughts feel... hijacked. My actions too."
"You mean you do things you wouldn't normally do?"
"Yes. Especially around this one girl. Aaradhya."
The doctor nodded, jotting notes. "How long has this been happening?"
Veer glanced at Aakarsh, then back. "Maybe a few months. But it's getting worse. There are days I feel like a puppet."
Dr. Malhotra tapped the end of his pen thoughtfully. "Do you remember what happens during these episodes?"
"Most of the time, yes. But it feels distant. Like watching a memory that's not mine."
"Do you hear anything? Voices? Commands?"
"No. But it feels like I'm being... pushed. Like someone's writing my story, and I can't fight the script."
Aakarsh flinched at that. "That's exactly how you sound, man."
Dr. Malhotra leaned back. "You said it feels like someone's writing your story?"
Veer shrugged. "Just a metaphor."
The doctor nodded slowly, scribbling a few more notes. "Veer, what you're describing—these episodes, memory gaps, personality shifts—it's very close to something we call Dissociative Identity Disorder. It used to be called 'split personality disorder.'"
Veer's mouth went dry. "You think I have that?"
"Well," Dr. Malhotra said carefully, "Your symptoms align in many ways. But I want to be clear—this isn't a diagnosis. You're coherent, aware of your episodes, and your core identity seems intact, which complicates things."
"What does that mean?"
"It means your form doesn't entirely fit the textbook case. You're aware of the split. Most patients aren't. And in your case, the other personality—if there is one—doesn't communicate directly or appear as a completely separate person."
Veer stared at the floor. "So I'm not crazy... but I'm not okay either."
"Exactly," Dr. Malhotra said kindly. "I want to help you. But I'd like to observe you more closely. I also want to consult my mentor—Dr. Renu Sinha, she specializes in rare dissociative disorders and psychological anomalies."
Veer nodded.
"One thing I want to ask—when these episodes happen, do you feel angry? Violent?"
"Sometimes. Especially when I see her... with someone else."
"Do you think this 'other side' of you knows you're seeking help?"
Veer's eyes darkened. "I... I don't know."
"If he does, does he react? Do you feel resistance? Maybe aggression toward the idea?"
Veer hesitated. "I feel... tired. And there's this voice in the back of my head—no words, just... disapproval. Like I'm breaking some rule."
Dr. Malhotra closed his notebook. "That's what concerns me. If there is a dissociated identity, it may become agitated by therapy. We have to proceed carefully. I'll start with a few techniques to see if we can access that part of you. Not forcibly. Just enough to understand it."
"And if it fights back?"
"Then we'll know it exists. And we'll be prepared."
Aakarsh finally spoke. "He just wants to get better."
Dr. Malhotra nodded. "Then we'll do our best. Veer, next time, I'd like to do a guided session with memory tracing. We'll see if something surfaces when you're in a calm, semi-focused state."
Veer stood. "Alright. Let's do it."
But in the back of his mind, something stirred.
A flicker of discomfort.