2 October, Thursday, 2025
8:45 a.m.

Anvaya's POV

"So, what are you planning to do now?" Mimi asked, sliding my coffee mug toward me across the dining table.

My fingers curled around the mug, its warmth felt against my palms while I just stared at the coffee swirling in it.

"I don't know." I muttered, uncertain about anything related to my future now. "Who'll accept a murderer?"

The words felt bitter on my tongue. But it didn't slice through my heart like it'd have done a few days ago. That word has been constantly echoing in my mind that I'd got so familiar to it. It felt disturbing. But it was true.

My eyes stared somewhere. Zoning out.

She sighed. "Why are you accepting the lies, Anu? Why're you letting the world judge you?"

My eyes drifted to her slowly, "I'm not, Mimi. But the world will see me as a murderer."

Her eyes flickered, as she looked away.

The silence between us was like a strained thread, almost on the verge of breaking. My bestfriends had been trying a lot to lift up my mood from the past ten days, but nothing happened to change. I'd stay locked in my room, except for eating with them. I talked less.

I sometimes even wished I stopped breathing because it felt shameful. I hated myself for even being alive even though I wasn't at fault for the death.

Everything about me had changed after the whole thing. None of my colleagues even believed in me.

How will they, when the HOD herself didn't believe me?

It hurt me that I was denying my bestfriends' efforts to help me but I was in no situation to smile. I'd lost one of the most precious things of my life and it wasn't easy to cope up with.

I'd worked day and night for that particular title—Dr.

And now everything had been snatched away.

I should've been furious at Kaaryaksh because he'd started the mess. He was the one to drag me into his life after realising the dream girl was me.

How I wished things were different between us. Only if he wasn't married. Only if we met at the right time. That single change would've made it so much better to live with him and be that girl from his dreams.

I'd been connected to him for years and maybe, if he'd been free and happy, we might've been even married.

We both were caged.

His past had caged him.

I'd broken free from my past but the present had locked me in a larger cage now. And I wasn't sure about breaking free.

"What about… Kaaryaksh?" She asked, making me look at her. Her tone lurked around uncertainty and hesitation.

"Huh?"

"I mean, what are you planning to do now? You love him, yes, you miss him too. But, we can't let you go back there. His… wife will hurt you more," her eyes held displeasure while talking about Viola.

"And not to forget, he started all the mess," Nitya muttered through the call, for her being at the hospital, but her disdain was loud and clear.

Anyone would. They cared for me and knew how Viola was. I'd have felt bad for her because had I been in her place, I'd have been both furious and shattered seeing my husband running after some other girl.

But she wasn't someone who deserved understanding. Maybe.

But Kaaryaksh was controlled by her. She used his scars just to have him leashed.

And that was enough for my disdain toward that vile creature.

"I know." I muttered. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"It's okay. Just read the novels I bought yesterday. Give yourself time for now, before we find a solution," she said, now standing by me and patted my shoulders from the back.

"I don't think there'll be any solution," I murmured, tracing the rim of the mug with my finger.

"Anvaya, please. Don't be so hopeless," she pleaded. "No matter how much I dislike Kaaryaksh, I know he'll find a solution."

I remained silent.

I knew he would.

But how will the world see it?

They'll question how I got another job after being accused of murder. They'll drag me down and ruin the remaining pieces of mine. And I feared that a lot.

Moreover, there was no guarantee that Viola wouldn't do anything anymore. I was at threat to her and she'd do anything to get me out of her way.

That's why I was keeping a distance from him. I'd been ignoring his calls, texts and everything. No matter how much I loved him, he was still married. That simple fact now echoed louder than it has already been since the very start of our first meet.

I should fight for him, for us, but I was very powerless at present. I was already bearing too much that I had no strength for him. And I hated to admit that.

It felt as if something had been pulled out of me. I wanted to run behind it, get it back, but I didn't know what has been taken away. But I felt the emptiness it left behind.

"Okay, now you just rest and do whatever makes you feel good. I've got to go to work. See you in the evening," she said before kissing the crown of my head and left.

I exhaled an exhausted breath.

•

11:30 a.m.

The low hum of a song from my Spotify shuffle filled the silence, the notes vibrating softly through the empty apartment, as though trying to patch the gaping holes inside me. It helped—barely. Like a frail bandage on a wound that wouldn’t stop bleeding.

This place had once been my cocoon, my refuge. But now it felt haunted—haunted not by ghosts, but by memories. It has been more than a month since I moved into his house, but the truth was, a piece of me had stayed behind there, stitched into its walls, clinging to its shadows. And now I was left with this emptiness, missing it… missing him.

I was still broken. Still scattered into too many fragments to gather. But the strangest thing was—I wasn’t entirely alone. His presence lingered.

Kaaryaksh.

The man I once despised for barging into my life, for dragging me into his storm, had become the one I could no longer hate.

It wasn’t because of his story. I didn’t pity him. He was too strong, too proud to ever beg for pity. And I didn’t erase my own scars just because I’d seen his. No—he opened himself to me because he chose to, and I comforted him because I wanted to. Because some part of me couldn’t help but gravitate toward him.

I loved him—not for his pain, not for his tragedies. I loved him simply because he was. Because he existed. Because the world felt sharper, more alive, more unbearably—hauntingly—beautiful with him in it.

It wasn’t rational. Love never is.

And maybe the world would spit on me, call me a homebreaker, call me worse. Viola’s shadow still stalked me, her venom lingering at the edges of my downfall. I had no proof, but my instincts screamed she wasn’t innocent. Still, I didn’t care what names they hurled at me.

Because pity was not love. And what I felt for him was the furthest thing from pity.

Exhaustion pressed against my bones, heavy and cold. I wanted to hide, to vanish into this apartment and become nothing more than air. A coward, yes—but a coward who had nothing left to give.

The wooden spatula stilled in my trembling hand as the doorbell rang.

My chest tightened. Who could it be?

I turned off the stove, covered the half-cooked vegetables, and wiped my damp palms on the apron. With a shaky breath, I tucked the loose strands behind my ears and moved toward the door. The door opened. Knob still cold under my palm.

And I froze.

It was him.

After ten days.

Kaaryaksh stood there, tall and composed, wrapped in a light blue shirt that softened the sharpness of his aura, beige jeans that made him seem almost ordinary—almost. His rimless glasses perched perfectly on his nose, his dark hair combed and slick, gleaming with the faintest sheen of gel. For the first time, he didn’t look like a man hiding behind shadows. He looked… human. Real.

And in his hands—my breath hitched.

A bouquet.

Not just flowers, but a cascade of blood-red lilies, their blooms wrapped in maroon paper and bound with a ribbon as dark as spilled wine. Tiny Baby’s Breaths peeked from between the petals like stars scattered across a night of crimson moonlight.

I gasped softly, struck by their raw, untamed beauty.

When I looked up, his eyes were waiting for me.

For a moment, I stood and told myself that it was all my hallucinations. That he wasn't here. That everything would end in the next second.

But nothing such happened. He still stood there, staring at me. There was no smile, no softness on his face. But there something. A slight flicker.

As if waiting.

"It's not a dream, sweetheart." He said. His voice rang in a way that made something in me crack. Something I'd been trying to hold onto.

The sting of tears welled in my throat as I took the bouquet, fingers brushing his hand. My heart cracked open, and before I could stop myself, I pulled him inside, dropped the bouquet on the sofa, and buried myself against his chest in a desperate embrace.

Life. That’s what it felt like. To breathe again. To feel again.

“It’s so beautiful,” I whispered, the words breaking, fragile and full. “Thank you… for giving me something I didn’t even know I needed.”

His arms wrapped around me, solid and certain. His voice was low, almost rough against my ear. “I dressed for you.”

I pulled back slightly, stunned, my lips parting. “You… did?”

His eyes were surprisingly soft, fleeting, the kind that pierced deeper than any declaration. “For you.”

My heart swelled painfully, so full I thought it might shatter. The emptiness I had drowned in for days dissolved into nothing, replaced by a warmth that burned brighter than anything else. He wasn’t just a missing piece—he was the piece that made me whole.

The bouquet lay forgotten behind me, but its beauty didn’t matter anymore. I had something rarer, infinitely more precious, standing right here.

My man.

I rose on my toes, closed the gap, and pressed my lips to his.

The kiss was not desperate, not rushed. It was a quiet claiming, a slow-burning ache. His head bent, lowering to meet me, his arms pulling me up as if I were weightless, as if I belonged nowhere else but here.

“I missed you,” I murmured when I broke away, my forehead resting against his.

He didn’t answer, but his eyes did. They burned with something unspoken—calmness, maybe even salvation. He no longer looked like the man trapped in shadows. He looked alive.

We both carried our scars, our demons. We weren’t born from rainbows and sunshine. We came from darkness, and yet—we weren’t lost in it. We ruled it. Together.

But guilt whispered in the back of my mind, sharp and cold. There was still something I hadn’t told him.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, his voice cutting through my silence.

I shook my head quickly, forcing a smile. “Nothing that matters more than you. We’ll talk later.”

He searched my eyes for a moment, then nodded.

I smoothed my dress, wiping the lingering trace of his kiss from my lips, and forced cheer into my tone. “I’m cooking lunch. We’ll eat together, okay?”

“Okay,” he replied.

“Good. Give me a few minutes—I’ll take a quick bath and serve the food.”

“Here.”

He lifted a paper bag and placed it into my hands.

I frowned. “What’s this?”

He didn’t answer. Just let the bag fall into my grip, his silence heavier than words.

Hesitant, but smiling faintly, I nodded and retreated into my room, the bag clutched against my chest.

My heart was racing, hammering so loudly I thought he could hear it from the other side of the door. Happiness—genuine happiness—spilled through me, fierce and trembling. Amidst the chaos, amidst the wreckage of my life, his presence was peace. A fragile, priceless peace.

Yes, he had broken me once. Broken me so mercilessly I no longer recognized myself. But maybe I needed to break. Maybe only in shattering could I finally see who I truly was—what I had buried beneath all my sacrifices for everyone else.

My throat ached.

This kind of peace was strange. Something I couldn't explain. It didn't fit with the definition people wrote about in books. It didn't feel like water on a dry land.

It felt like ice. So cold. So painful. Yet soothing enough. It was strange.

I smiled to myself, just a small curve of my lips after days, and pulled the contents from the bag.

And froze.

A shirt.

His shirt.

White. Crisp. Simple.

But to me, it wasn’t just fabric. It was a piece of him. His skin. His scent. His claim.

My hands trembled as I held it, my breath stuttering, my chest aching with a storm of emotions.

Wearing this… would be like wearing him.

And in that moment, I realized—he hadn’t just given me flowers. He had given me himself.

His obsession had grown beneath what I could see. What I could measure. I tried to understand him but his nature felt something beyond understanding. He wasn't someone I'd always wished for.

He was exactly the opposite. Yet I wanted him.