The wind was quieter tonight.
As I walked up the hostel stairs, the gravel crunching softly beneath my sandals, I caught a glimpse of a figure moving away from the building — tall, broad-shouldered, retreating like a shadow fading at dusk.
Veer.
I stopped.
His back was to me. He didn't look up. Just kept walking, hands in his pockets, posture heavy — like he was carrying something far bigger than whatever had just happened between us.
He'd come.
To apologise.
I knew it the moment the warden called my name, eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and concern. "There's someone here to meet you," she'd said. I don't know why my heart had raced. Maybe I already knew.
And now, watching him disappear into the evening mist, I still didn't know how I felt.
There's a part of me — small but persistent — that wants to believe him. That the version of Veer who stood before me just minutes ago, head lowered, voice trembling with words of regret, was the real one. Not the storm that slammed into my life uninvited and unrelenting. Not the boy who claimed me in front of a whole classroom like I was his property.
That other version — the one who hurt me — I keep telling myself that can't be him.
But I also can't ignore that it was.
There's this pull between us, like gravity, like fate, like something I can't name but feel in my bones. It's irrational. Inexplicable. But every time he's near, it tightens — coiling in my chest, behind my ribs, in the space just above my stomach.
And still, I can't forget the way his eyes looked when I said those words.
"I can't believe I almost fell for you."
He flinched like I'd slapped him.
But he didn't argue. He didn't deny. He didn't beg.
He just... listened.
That's what broke me. Not the apology. Not the words. But the silence.
The way he wore his guilt. The way he stood there like a man defeated by something even he didn't fully understand.
I don't know what's happening to him.
But I know this much: I will not let anyone treat me like I'm less. Not even him.
And yet...
I closed my eyes for a second, trying to breathe the confusion out of my system. My fingers curled around the stair railing, knuckles tight, jaw clenched.
Why do I keep thinking about that day at the palace?
Why do I remember the boy who pulled me into safety like it was instinct?
Why do I keep seeing the Veer who didn't yell when a waiter spilled a drink all over his suit, but just smiled softly and walked away?
Why do I feel like those two people — the one I met that day, and the one who yelled "She's mine" in a lab full of students — are not the same person?
Something doesn't make sense.
Something is broken.
In him. In me. In us.
I know I shouldn't care. I know I should forget this, forget him, and walk away.
But when he looked at me with those hollow, tired eyes tonight...
It felt like I was watching someone drown.
And I hated how badly I wanted to jump in and pull him out.
I don't know what I'll do next.
I don't know if I can forgive him, or trust him, or even look at him without remembering what he's done.
But I do know this:
Whatever is between us... isn't done yet.
And it won't end with a slap or a sorry.
Because it doesn't feel like something that ever ends.
It feels like something waiting to begin.
The morning breeze was sharp, but not enough to numb the heat rising inside my chest. I was halfway to class, the textbook clutched to my chest like armor, when I heard it—his voice.
Veer.
It was low, rough around the edges. Like regret wrapped in velvet. My feet stopped on instinct, refusing to move. There was something about the way he said even the simplest of words that made my entire body react. I shouldn't have waited. I should've walked away. But something anchored me there—behind the white pillar near the admin block.
He wasn't alone. Aakarsh was with him.
Their voices floated through the corridor, weaving between the spaces like secrets waiting to be caught.
"Mujhe follow-up ke liye jana hai," Veer's voice sounded more tired than usual. "Woh keh rahe the ki kuch... something's off. Mere behavior mein ek pattern hai jo normal nahi hai. Aur mujhe samajh nahi aata main aisa kyun behave karta hoon jab main khud janta hoon ki galat hoon..."
My grip on the book tightened. He was talking about his behavior?
"Tu toh jaanta hai, Aakarsh," he continued, "main kabhi soch bhi nahi sakta tha ki main Aaradhya ke saath... aise behave karunga. Us din jo maine kaha, ki woh meri hai... main khud ko nahi maaf kar paa raha hoon. Woh meri zindagi thi... jab mera parivaar dard tha, toh woh sukoon thi."
I blinked rapidly. My heart gave an unsteady jolt. Zindagi. Sukoon.
Aakarsh let out a low chuckle, lightening the tension between them.
"Aur main?" he teased, "Ladki aayi aur dosti gayi? Samajh gaya bhai, tu toh gaya."
Veer chuckled, too—but it was hollow, filled with an ache.
"Tu nahi hota na, toh main yaha tak nahi aata. You know what it's like at home. Sab sirf naam ke rishte hain. Kisi ko kisi se matlab nahi. Bas ek taaj ke liye jee rahe hain sab. Main... main nahi jee paa raha hoon aise."
The rest of their voices blurred—maybe because I was standing too far now. Or maybe because my ears were buzzing with thoughts. I was hearing a side of Veer I didn't know existed. A side that bled, not bared teeth.
I backed away before they could see me. My class was long forgotten.
That evening, I saw them again. Veer and Aakarsh, walking toward the gates.
I gathered every ounce of courage I had and walked up to them, willing myself to stop him. Ask him. Say something.
But the moment his eyes found mine, he paused—then abruptly changed his path. No words. No glance back.
My chest tightened.
Why does this still sting?
The next morning, I reached college early. Earlier than I've ever reached anything.
I waited near the parking lot, watching students rush past me with sleepy faces and coffee in hand. When Aakarsh finally showed up, I caught him before he could disappear into the building.
"Hey," I said, walking up to him, "Can I talk to you?"
He looked at me, surprised. Then nodded and stepped to the side. "Yeah?"
"I... I heard you and Veer talking yesterday," I admitted, avoiding his gaze. "Not everything, just bits and pieces. Something about... a follow-up, his behavior, and... me. I need to understand, Aakarsh. Is he okay? What's going on?"
He studied me for a long second. His usual mischievous expression was gone, replaced by something far more serious.
"I'm not going to lie to you," he said slowly, "but it's also not my place to explain."
I frowned. "Why not?"
"Because it's Veer's truth to tell," he said, gentle but firm. "You heard a part of it, enough to know that he's... struggling. If you really want to know more, ask him. He won't refuse you, Aaradhya. But just... make sure you ask when he's in a good state. You know what I mean, right?"
I nodded silently. I did. There were two sides to Veer Singh Rathore. And I didn't know which one I'd face if I went looking.
"But you do know what's happening?" I asked one last time.
Aakarsh exhaled. "I do. And I'll tell you this—he's trying, Aaradhya. Whatever monster you saw in him, he's trying to cage it. He didn't choose this war. But he's fighting it."
His words stayed with me long after he walked away.
Because somewhere inside me, I had always known...
The boy who had looked down when I yelled at him outside my hostel...
The boy whose voice cracked when he apologized...
He wasn't the monster everyone thought he was.
But how long could someone fight their own shadow before it swallowed them whole?