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RUHAAN'S POV
The door slammed behind me like a final verdict.
I didn't bother locking it—it was understood that no one dared enter. The room was dim, the curtains drawn, shadows stretching across the floor like secrets.
I stood in the middle, breath uneven, eyes flicking around the space that had become something more than just mine.
My sanctuary.
My battlefield.
My obsession.
And then it hit me.
That scent.
The air inside was thick. Still. The faint scent of lavender and worn pages still clung to the sheets. Her scent. It felt like defiance and comfort all at once.
I leaned against the door, chest heaving. Rage still burned in my throat, but under it… there was something colder. Something emptier.
I hated how I let Mr. Agnihotri get under my skin. Hated how the pressure to be better, to be the best, was always crushing my ribs.
But most of all—I hated the reason I hadn't let the maids clean this room.
I walked to the bed slowly, sitting on the edge like I was afraid to disturb something sacred.
My hand reached out on instinct, fingers brushing the fabric where I had once sprawled carelessly, explaining theories like the world bent to my mind.
I hated her.
For being like someone I despise.
For being untouchable.
For making this cold place feel a little less unbearable for the first time.
My head dropped into my hands.
Why did you leave so soon, sour candy?
Now the silence screamed louder than the dinner table ever could.
I laid down slowly, letting my head rest where hers had once been. Eyes closed.
I didn't understand what I was feeling—not exactly. But I knew one thing.
I didn't want it to go away.
Not yet.
Suddenly, my gaze paused there—on the desk.
A book.
One that hadn't been there this morning.
Worn leather cover. No dust on it.
That book from the school library.
My fingers moved before my brain caught up, reaching for it. I opened the front cover—
A note slipped out.
My heart stuttered.
That handwriting—messy, fast, annoyingly confident.
"you forget this to take from me
while planning for my downfall.
and sorry for using your perfume without your consent.
your preety nemesis."
– S"
My jaw clenched. I sat down slowly, gripping the note like it was about to disappear.
And just like that, I remembered.
FLASHBACK — ONE MONTH AGO
Library. After Hours.
"You're ridiculous," she snapped, tugging the book toward her with both hands.
I didn't let go.
"And you're delusional if you think I'm letting you take this one. It's not even your subject."
"Says the guy who gatekeeps a library like he owns it."
I smirked. "I practically do."
She rolled her eyes, stepping closer, still holding on. "God, you're exhausting. What's it like walking around with your ego blocking sunlight for everyone else?"
"Warm. And efficient," I drawled.
We were too close. The kind of close that made my heartbeat thud in my ears and hers pause ever so slightly, like she noticed too. But she didn't back down. Of course not.
"Let go, Ruhaan."
I raised a brow. "Make me."
She tugged harder, and in that one second, I let go.
She stumbled back, nearly falling. The book clutched tightly to her chest like a prize.
She blinked at me, confused. "You—"
"You win," I said with a shrug, turning away so she wouldn't see the way I bit back a smile.
But then her voice stopped me.
"I'll give it back… after I finish it."
I glanced over my shoulder.
She looked serious. But there was a tiny twitch at the corner of her mouth—like she knew she'd just bested me in my own game.
It was infuriating. And kind of hot.
"You better," I muttered.
And she had walked away with that book and her stupid lavender perfume lingering in the air.
PRESENT
I exhaled slowly, staring at the note again.
"Pretty nemesis."
She knew exactly what she was doing. Leaving this book. Using my perfume. Writing this note. She didn't just want to haunt the room. She wanted to haunt me.
And damn it—she succeeded.
I pressed the note to my forehead, closing my eyes for a second too long.
Because I didn't want to forget the fight.
Or how I let her win.
Or how, somehow, it still felt like I'd lost something when she walked away.
----------------------------
The house was still now, bathed in the kind of silence only midnight understands. In the living room, a single lamp glowed beside the couch, casting golden light over open notebooks and half-marked papers.
She wasn't grading anymore. The red pen lay forgotten as she sat with an old photo album on her lap, thumbing through worn pages that smelled like dust and time.
One photo stopped her.
A much younger version of herself—smiling nervously, hair braided tight, eyes not quite meeting the camera. And beside her, a boy with wild hair, wide dreams, and a stethoscope around his neck for a college play they never got to perform.
Her fingers hovered over the image.
She remembered that day. The day before everything changed.
Before her parents shut the door on her choices
Before she was told who to marry.
Before she ran
And before he chose law instead of medicine because healing people was no longer what hurt the most.
She closed the album slowly.
From the hallway, soft laughter echoed—her daughters, whispering about futures and friendships and who might survive med school without losing their minds.
She smiled faintly, then leaned back against the cushions and whispered to no one in particular, "She's going to do what I couldn't. What we couldn't."
Her hand instinctively reached for her phone. A half-finished text sat on the screen.
You still have that lab coat? She wants to tried it.
She didn't send it
Just let the thought hang in the room with her.
Some dreams don't die—they just wait for someone braver to pick them up again.
And her daughter?
She was brave enough for all of them.
[Flashback – 19 years ago]
The rain hit the pavement like fury outside the guesthouse. Her mehndi was still fresh, the designs deep red and beautiful—but they felt like chains wrapped around her skin.
Inside the mirror, she barely recognized herself.
The girl staring back wore gold jewelry too heavy for her neck, a blouse that didn't belong to her, and eyes filled with silence. She had followed every order—smiled at every relative, bowed her head when asked, and swallowed her questions like bitter pills.
But her heart… it wasn't here.
It was in a dusty college canteen with a boy who used to draw anatomy diagrams on napkins and call her his greatest mystery.
Her hands trembled as she opened the drawer. The envelope was still there—tucked away beneath wedding bangles.
A train ticket. One-way. Mumbai.
She hadn't thrown it out. Not even when the engagement was announced. Not even when her parents called him a phase, a mistake, a rebellion.
The room was silent. Until the knock.
Her older cousin peeked in. "Five minutes," she said softly. "Are you okay?"
She nodded. "I just need a moment."
The door closed.
And that was when she did it.
She took off the necklace. Then the earrings. Then the heavy dupatta. Her breath came faster as she stripped away each thing that didn't feel like hers.
She picked up the envelope with both hands. Her palms were sweating.
This is insane.
No—it's survival.
In five minutes, she was out the back gate, her sandals in one hand, duffel bag slung over her shoulder
Her heart thundered as the rain soaked through her clothes
No one stopped her
No one saw
And when she finally reached the train station, shivering, mascara running down her cheeks,
she found him on the platform—waiting.
He didn't say a word. Just opened his umbrella and held it over her.
She looked up, chest heaving.
"Are you sure?" he asked.
She nodded.
"That life was never mine"
She remembered the scent of the monsoon that day, the way the wind tangled her hair, the sound of laughter she hadn't heard in years. It all played in her head like a half-faded film—bittersweet, fragile, but still achingly alive
That women is none other than MRS.PRATIKA ISHANK MALHOTRA
TO BE CONTINUED....