He told himself to stay away.
Veer had stayed hidden all day — locked in the shadows of the old library's upper floor, buried behind shelves of medical journals, pretending he was too busy, too focused, too immune.
But he wasn't.
The moment he heard Aaradhya's name mentioned in the corridor outside the lab, the grip on his pen snapped.
"She's been paired with Rishabh for the Chem practical," a voice had said, casual, clueless.
Rishabh. That smirking jackass who had once bet on kissing a fresher at a party.
Veer's pulse began to thunder in his ears.
He waited. Told himself not to go. That he had to be stronger than this.
But when he heard laughter—her laughter—coming from the lab down the hall, soft and tinkling and completely unaware of the inferno it was lighting in his chest, something inside him cracked.
He walked.
No—stormed.
The professor had just stepped out. Inside, the students were still gathered around the long tables, putting away test tubes, chatting, unwinding after the lab.
And there she was — standing next to Rishabh, head tilted, explaining something with her soft hands gesturing mid-air. Her dupatta fluttered behind her like a challenge.
The fire in Veer's chest erupted.
He walked straight into the lab. All eyes turned to him. They always did. The way he moved — the weight of his name — carried something both regal and dangerous.
He didn't stop. Didn't hesitate. The words just came, burning through his throat:
"Stay away from her. All of you. She's mine."
The room stilled.
Aaradhya turned, confused. "Veer...?"
But he didn't stop. He looked straight at Rishabh and added, louder this time — "You touch her again, even breathe next to her — and I swear, the side of me you've never seen will burn this place down."
A gasp. A murmur. Someone chuckled awkwardly. But no one dared move.
He looked at everyone now, eyes dark, voice steel:
"She's mine. Aaradhya is the future queen of Jaipur. And I am the crown prince. So treat her with that respect. Or I won't sit quiet."
The silence was deafening.
Then, a sharp sound broke it.
A slap.
Right across his face.
He didn't flinch.
Aaradhya stood in front of him, eyes wide with fury, her breath trembling. "How dare you say something like that in front of everyone?! What the hell is wrong with you?!"
His jaw clenched. His fingers twitched.
And then — slowly, as if pulled by something primal — he took a step forward.
Before she could retreat, his hand gently wrapped around her wrist.
He tugged her close — not violently, but firmly — until she was inches away from him. He could feel her breath on his throat, fast and angry and confused.
His voice dropped, low and rough.
"Because you are mine. Whether you accept it or not, your soul already knows it."
Her eyes widened, pupils darkening just a little.
His fingers brushed the side of her cheek, featherlight, burning both of them.
"You pretend to hate my touch," he whispered, "but every time I'm near you, your body says otherwise."
His hand slid to the back of her waist, pulling her that much closer. Her hands were splayed against his chest, but she wasn't pushing him away.
Not yet.
"I dream about you," he murmured, forehead resting against hers now. "Every damn night. And every morning, I wake up feeling like something's missing unless I see you."
Her breath hitched.
The chaos of the room had faded. It was just the two of them now, cocooned in something neither of them could name.
He leaned closer, lips barely grazing her ear.
"You're only mine, Aaradhya. And no one... no one... gets to touch what's mine."
And then — just like that — he let her go.
He turned around and walked out of the lab, leaving behind stunned silence and a girl whose heart was thudding louder than her thoughts.
He was in the corridor, right outside the lab.
He could still feel the sting on his cheek.
Not the physical pain—that had faded the moment she touched him.
It was the other kind. The kind that cracks something open inside your chest and lets everything pour out: guilt, shame, confusion, something too tangled to name.
Veer stood in the empty corridor, the door of the lab still swinging behind him.
His breath came in heavy, uneven bursts, like his body couldn't keep up with the weight of what he'd just done.
What the hell was that?
He clenched his fists. His nails dug crescents into his palms. You swore you wouldn't be that person with her. You told yourself you'd protect her from everything—even yourself.
Then why had he—
Why had his voice risen like that, threatening everyone in that room?
Why did his hand reach out and pull her close, his grip too firm, his words too sharp?
"She is mine. And she's the future queen of Jaipur—treat her like it."
The memory tasted like ash in his mouth.
He didn't even remember planning to say that. It had just spilled out. Like he was possessed. Like the words were whispered into his head, not born from it.
And then her slap—
God.
He could still feel the heat of it. Not just on his skin, but in his bones.
He remembered the look in her eyes—disgust laced with something else. Fear, maybe. Or hurt.
No, he thought. Not her. Not her.
Not her who once looked at him like she was trying to understand something unspoken.
Not her who once pulled him into a room at the palace and thanked him like he was her knight.
Not her, who deserved every ounce of softness he had to give.
And still—he had been cruel. Again.
Veer leaned his head back against the cold wall, eyes shut. A beat passed. Then two. His heart refused to slow.
"What's wrong with me?"
He whispered it to the ceiling, to the silence, to whatever god had cursed him with a crown he didn't want and a fire he couldn't put out.
By the time he reached home, he was quieter than usual. Distant.
The old haveli echoed like it always did—grand yet hollow. A place where echoes answered more than people did.
Aakarsh was in his room, sprawled on the rug with Veer's laptop open. He looked up as Veer walked in and raised an eyebrow.
"You're back early. And you look like you just wrestled your conscience and lost."
Veer didn't smile.
He sat on the bed and stared at the carpet for a long moment.
"What if..." he began, then trailed off.
Aakarsh stretched. "What if you finally tell me what the hell is going on with you and this Aaradhya girl? Because at this point, I'm considering an exorcist."
Veer didn't answer. Not for a long while.
And then—"I said something to her today. Something... wrong. I didn't mean it. But I said it anyway. Like my mouth wasn't mine."
Aakarsh blinked. "Bro. You sound unwell."
"Maybe I am."
"You sure you're not... I don't know, losing it? Split personality? Mood swings? God complex?"
Veer gave a humorless laugh. "Feels like something's broken. Or maybe something is being broken inside me. Deliberately."
Before Aakarsh could answer, the door opened. Their father walked in, dressed immaculately as always, posture sharp like his words usually were.
The temperature in the room dropped.
"You have two years left of this medical circus," the old man said without preamble. "Once it's done, you come back to Jaipur. You join the business. No more distractions."
Veer looked up slowly. "I never asked for this business."
His father didn't blink. "And I never asked for a son who forgets where he comes from."
"I didn't forget," Veer said, his voice quieter now. "I just... don't want to become someone else."
The man's voice turned colder. "There is no someone else. You're the heir. If I die tomorrow, the empire dies unless you take it. And I will not let someone outside this bloodline touch what generations before me built with their hands."
That was the end of it.
As always.
The door shut behind his father, and Aakarsh stood awkwardly. "I'll leave you alone, man. Call me if you need to rant, cry, break things..."
He left with a sympathetic shrug.
And then there was silence.
Alone now, Veer sat on the edge of the bed, eyes dull, fingers twitching as if they remembered the way Aaradhya's skin felt under them.
He hated himself for it.
Hated that she looked afraid. Hated that he had been the reason.
"This is not who I want to be," he muttered, jaw clenched.
"Not with her. Not ever."
He opened the drawer beside him and pulled out the old, battered notebook he hadn't touched in months.
He flipped to a blank page.
And began to write.
Not letters. Not apologies.
Just... fragments.
I don't know why I said it.
I wanted to be soft.
Something inside me feels hijacked.
Like I'm being rewritten while I'm still breathing.
But I swear—whatever is happening, I will protect her from it. Even if it's me.
The ink blurred.
He hadn't even noticed the tear fall.