The college courtyard buzzed with its usual energy, but Kiara was lost in a world of her own. Seated with Anya, who was chattering excitedly about the upcoming Lalwani Gala—the dresses, the celebrities, the music—Kiara could only offer absent-minded nods. Her thoughts were entirely occupied by a single, infuriatingly handsome face. Her eyes kept darting toward the main gate, her heart giving a little jump with every car that wasn't his.
Then, it arrived. The sleek, black car pulled up with an air of ownership, and Yuvaan stepped out. As usual, a swarm of eager students, mostly girls, immediately surrounded him, creating a bubble of adoration that made Kiara's plan feel impossible. How could she possibly thank him, let alone ask him that, with such an audience?
Frustrated but determined, she pulled out her phone, her fingers flying over the screen.
Meet me in the library.
She saw him glance at his phone amidst the crowd, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his lips before he looked directly at her across the courtyard. He gave an almost imperceptible nod.
A few minutes later, her heart thumping a nervous rhythm, Kiara pushed open the heavy doors of the library. It was quiet, filled with the scent of old books and silence. She walked down a familiar aisle, looking around for him.
He was already there.
An arm shot out from a shadowy nook between two towering bookshelves, pulling her gently but firmly into the hidden space. She stumbled into him, her hand flying out to steady herself and accidentally brushing against the warm skin of his neck.
They were close. Too close. The air between them crackled with tension. Her eyes, wide and startled, locked with his dark, amused ones. She could feel the frantic flutter of her own heart against her ribs.
Before she could speak, he leaned in, his lips brushing against her ear as he whispered, "You wanted to say something?"
His proximity, his voice, the scent of him—it was overwhelming. She stammered, her mind going blank.
He gently placed a finger on her lips. "Sshh," he murmured, his gaze intense. "Steady your heart first. Then speak."
Taking a shaky breath, Kiara found her voice. "I... I just wanted to thank you. Genuinely. For last night. For everything."
A genuine smile, softer than his usual smirks, touched his eyes. "You're welcome, Kiru."
Emboldened, and before she could lose her nerve, she pressed on. "There's... there's the Lalwani Gala this weekend. I was wondering... do you have a dance partner yet?"
His eyes sparkled with amusement. "No, I don't."
"Would you... would you like to be mine?" she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
His smile widened. "I thought you'd never ask." He leaned back slightly, his voice a low, promising hum. "And yes, I'm sure they'll have music. And who knows... we might even find some mistletoe."
Kiara's blush deepened, but a smile of her own finally broke through. In the quiet secrecy of the library, a new, thrilling chapter of their story had just begun.
The air in the cozy cafe was a world away from the tension of the Pratap Singh mansion. Soft jazz played in the background as Varun and Riddhi sat across from each other, steaming mugs between them. The initial awkwardness had melted away, replaced by the easy rhythm of old friends rediscovering each other.
They spoke of their college days, of shared memories and silly jokes, their laughter a gentle sound in the warm space. At one point, Riddhi reached for her mug at the same time as Varun, and their hands brushed. Instead of pulling away, their fingers lingered, then intertwined, a silent acknowledgment of the old spark rekindling.
It was then, in the soft cafe light, that Varun noticed it—a faint, worried crease between Riddhi's brows that hadn't been there three years ago.
"You seem troubled, Riddhi," he said softly, his thumb gently stroking the back of her hand. "What's wrong?"
The question seemed to open a floodgate. Riddhi's smile faded, her shoulders slumping slightly. "It's... it's home. The atmosphere is just so toxic right now." She let out a weary sigh. "It's my cousin, Yuvaan. He's become completely unrestrained. The way he speaks to my parents... it's so disrespectful. He has no regard for anyone."
Varun kept his expression carefully neutral, the hunter in him taking over. "Any idea why he acts like that? There must be a reason."
Riddhi leaned forward, her voice dropping to a confidential whisper. "It's because he was never brought up properly, Varun. He has no discipline, no sense of family." She paused, her eyes shadowed with a mix of pity and frustration. "He carries this... this weight. We believes he's cursed."
Varun's pulse quickened. This was it. The opening he needed. "Cursed? What do you mean?"
"His father—my uncle—died the very day Yuvaan was born," Riddhi revealed, her voice hushed. "It was a sudden, tragic accident. And then... his mother, Bhoomi Aunty... she just... broke. She lost her mental balance right after giving birth to him. She's never been the same. So you see," she said, squeezing his hand as if seeking understanding, "he grew up with this dark cloud over him,we believed his very birth brought destruction. With no parents to guide him, is it any wonder he turned out like this?"
Varun listened, his face a mask of sympathetic concern. Inside, his mind was racing, piecing together the timeline. Twenty-five years ago. The night of the Great Eclipse. The death of a father, the madness of a mother. It wasn't just a family tragedy; it was a potential trigger. He gave Riddhi's hand a comforting squeeze, the perfect picture of a caring confidant, all while the Reeva hunter within him filed away every crucial detail.
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