It happened in a second.
The sound of footsteps outside the corridor — sharp, echoing closer — and Aaradhya moved.
Before he could even register it, she had grabbed his wrist and yanked him inside the washroom.
Into one of the stalls. Door locked. Space suddenly too tight, too close.
He could feel her breath, shaky and quick. Could feel the tension thrumming off her skin like a live wire. His heart was pounding, wild, uneven. Her fingers had only just let go of him — but their warmth stayed.
Neither of them spoke.
His chest rose and fell with the weight of what had just happened — with the weight of everything unsaid.
The sound of the person outside grew louder — someone murmuring, maybe checking their reflection, the rustle of a bag, then the clack of heels walking away.
But none of that mattered.
Because something inside him... cracked.
Aaradhya shifted slightly, trying to keep space between them. Her shoulder brushed against his arm, and she flinched. Flinched.
Veer blinked, the fog of heat and want dissipating like smoke in a gust of wind.
He looked down at her — really looked — and saw it.
Not desire. Not anger.
But discomfort. Unease. Fear?
His throat went dry.
His body went cold.
What the hell was I doing?
The memories rushed in then — like floodgates breaking.
The theatre. Aaradhya laughing with Aaditya. Her fingers brushing popcorn off Anushka's shirt. The way she had smiled — easy, free — until she caught him watching.
And then... this.
Him, dragging all of that ease out of her with just a few words and a touch she didn't want.
Aaradhya wouldn't even meet his eyes now.
Veer stepped back. Just an inch. Then another.
And another.
Until there was a gap between them. A space she could breathe in.
He kept his gaze low.
"I didn't mean..." he started, but the words didn't know where to go. He let them hang.
Outside, the corridor had quieted. Whoever had walked in was gone.
Slowly, carefully, Veer reached behind him and unlatched the lock. The stall door creaked open.
He didn't move to leave just yet.
He turned his head — only a little — and said, softly, "I'm sorry."
Still no reply.
He didn't expect one.
He didn't deserve one.
He stepped out of the stall and walked away — not looking back.
His chest felt hollow. His thoughts scattered, colliding in a mess of guilt and confusion.
He hadn't come here for her.
He had come here to pick up Aakarsh's gift — something stupid and meaningful they'd been planning for weeks.
But none of that mattered now.
Because something in him had changed.
He couldn't name it yet. Couldn't explain the heat in his veins or the way everything — everything — had started feeling like it didn't belong to him anymore.
Not his story.
Not his reactions.
Not even the way he looked at her.
Especially that.
And as he stepped out into the cool theatre hallway, alone, one thought echoed through his mind like thunder:
Why did it feel like I wasn't supposed to be here at all?
Veer reached home
The silence inside his room felt too loud.
The curtains were still drawn, the dusky orange light of late evening slipping in from the edges. Veer tossed his keys on the desk and flopped down onto the bed, his arm thrown over his eyes.
He didn't even realize when Aakarsh entered. He must've come in after letting himself in through the side door — he always did that.
"Bro," Aakarsh said, kicking his shoes off, "did you seriously just ghost me at the mall?"
Veer didn't respond.
"Veer?"
Still silence.
"Okay," Aakarsh said, dragging the chair near the bed and sitting backward on it, chin on its backrest, "don't tell me this is because of her."
That got Veer to lift his arm. He looked at Aakarsh, eyes tired and dark.
"You wouldn't get it."
Aakarsh grinned. "That means it's exactly what I think it is." Then he sat up straighter, lowering his voice to an ominous whisper. "You're falling for that girl more than you could have imagined. And now you're spiraling into madness. Split personality. Classic romantic thriller arc."
Veer snorted, almost laughed. Almost.
Aakarsh didn't let up. "Next thing you know, you're going to start talking about hearing voices and how your life feels scripted."
Veer's smile disappeared.
He sat up slowly. Rested his elbows on his knees.
"I don't know what's wrong with me, Aaku." His voice was quiet now. "Sometimes I feel like... I don't belong. Like none of this is real. Like I'm not me."
Aakarsh blinked, taken aback.
"I don't even remember leaving the theatre properly," Veer said. "I don't remember the drive home. My head's all... off. Like I'm sleepwalking through someone else's life."
Aakarsh gave him a cautious look. "Okay... that sounds less like heartbreak and more like psychosis. Should I be worried?"
Before Veer could answer, the door opened.
And just like that — the air shifted.
His father entered the room with his usual cold authority, dressed in a crisp white kurta, a phone in one hand, a legacy in the other.
"There you are," he said, not even glancing at Aakarsh. "Your mother said you came in late. What were you doing?"
Veer sat straighter. "I went to get Aakarsh's gift from the mall."
Aakarsh stood up politely, murmuring a greeting.
His father ignored it.
"Good," the man said. "But don't forget you're not a teenager anymore. Two years left in medical school, and that's it. No more excuses."
Veer's jaw tightened. He knew what was coming.
"You'll join the business after that," his father said, walking to the shelf, adjusting a photo frame of his grandfather. "No more delays. This isn't a family that builds empires just to hand them off to strangers."
"I never said—" Veer began.
"You don't have to," his father cut in. "There is no one else. No son. No nephew. No one outside this bloodline will touch what your ancestors created. Understand?"
Aakarsh looked down at his shoes awkwardly.
Veer gave a stiff nod. His palms were clenched against his knees.
"I'll be in the study," his father added, already turning to leave. "Dinner at eight."
The door clicked shut.
The silence that followed felt thicker than the one before.
Aakarsh exhaled slowly. "Dude... I don't know how you breathe in this house."
Veer said nothing.
"Anyway," Aakarsh added, forcing a lightness into his voice, "I should head. Mom wants me home for some pooja or something. You gonna be okay?"
Veer nodded again, eyes distant.
Aakarsh paused at the door. "Just... don't overthink it. About Aaradhya. Or this weird glitch-in-the-matrix crap. Maybe you just need sleep."
Then he left.
And Veer was alone.
He sat there for a long time, staring at the floor.
What if this wasn't a glitch?
What if Aakarsh was right in a way neither of them could fully understand?
What if he wasn't meant to end up in this version of life? In this body, in this business, in this role?
And worse —
What if he wasn't meant to love her?
The thought settled deep in his chest. Heavy. Icy.
But the thing about weight was — eventually, you either carry it or break beneath it.
Veer sat back. Let his head rest against the wall.
And in the quiet of his room, he whispered the question that had been haunting him for days:
"What if someone else is writing me wrong?"