“Who are you?” Aryan’s voice booms.
The man stumbles, fear replacing arrogance instantly. “The girl was giving signals—” he stammers. “When we were in bus—”
Bus.He followed me from the bus. The realization lands heavy. I was giving signals? All I did was listen to a podcast. What signals?
Aryan’s fist connects with his face before I process it. The sound is sharp. The man yelps, staggering back. I flinch.
“Stop!” I shout instinctively. Aryan hits him again. “Stop!” I scream louder.
He freezes mid-motion and turns toward me. The man uses that moment to bolt. He runs out the door without looking back. Silence fills the room.
Aryan’s chest rises and falls quickly. His jaw clenched. His hands still slightly curled.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
Something in me snaps. “You don’t get to do that!” I yell.
He blinks, stunned.
“I am more than capable of protecting myself!” My voice shakes—not from fear but from something deeper. “I don’t need anyone! I have been able to do that since I was fifteen. I can surely do it now!” The words come out louder than I intended. Rawer. Sharper.
He takes a step back and doesn’t argue as if he’s trying to give me space, or is he just taken aback by a girl saying he doesn’t need his help? He doesn’t interrupt. He just looks at me like he’s trying to understand. That makes me angrier. Because I don’t want understanding. I don’t want concern. I don’t want to feel like I needed saving. I step past him and slam the door shut behind me and I lock it. I lean my back against the metal gate and slide down slowly until I’m sitting on the floor.
My hands tremble now. Not because of the man. Because of the relief. For one second—just one—I felt safe when the door opened. And that terrifies me. Because safety tied to someone else is fragile. I press my palms against my eyes. I hate that this happened. I hate that he followed me. I hate that I didn’t knowwho touched me earlier. I hate that my body feels invaded. I hate that Aryan saw me like that.
Strong, independent Ishika. The one who doesn’t need anyone. The one who built everything herself.
And yet, when that door slammed open—I wasn’t alone.
Tears sting my eyes, but I blink them back fiercely. I don’t cry. I don’t break. I breathe in. Then out.
You’re fine. You’ve always been fine.
Outside the door, I can hear faint footsteps. Maybe his. Maybe someone else’s. I don’t open it. I can’t right now. Because right now, I need to sit here. Against this cold metal. In this quiet room. And remind myself that I survived before him. I will survive after him. But God…For one terrifying, fragile second—I didn’t want to do it alone. I was glad he was here.
CHAPTER 16
ARYAN
I don’t remember walking back to my office.
I remember the sound of the door slamming shut in my face. I remember the metal click of the lock. I remember the look in her eyes before she pushed me out. But the walk? Blank.
I can still hear the faint construction noises from the other building, My hands still sting faintly. My knuckles ache where they connected with his face.
I haven’t hit anyone in years. Not like that. Not with that kind of anger.
I step into my cabin and shut the door quietly. I stand there for a moment and then walk towards my desk taking a seat, my palms press flat against my desk, head lowered. My breathing is still uneven. Not from the fight. From her.
There are only two things playing in my head. One sentence that refuses to let me think of anything else.
“I have been able to protect myself since I was fifteen.”
And the way she said it. She wasn’t proud or dramatic, she sounded tired. Worn out. I don’t know what happened when shewas fifteen. I don’t know who forced her to grow up that early. But I know the tone. I know the weight of it. That wasn’t a line thrown in anger. That was history.
And I felt it. God, I felt it.
There was anger in her voice, yes. Sharp and defensive. But underneath that, there was something else. Something cracked. Something that didn’t want to be seen. And yet I saw it. I know she didn’t like it, but I saw it.
