Ansh woke with a start, heart pounding, breath ragged.
The room was dark—silent, save for the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. He sat up, wiping the sweat from his brow, his body still trembling from the dream that had gripped him. It had felt too real, too intense.
In it, Riya was there. Her eyes were darker, deeper than he had ever seen them, as if they held every secret she had buried. She was standing in front of him, close—so close. The soft scent of her perfume was so vivid, he could almost taste it on his lips.
She reached out, brushing her fingers against his cheek, and everything inside him snapped. He kissed her—slow, deep, desperate. Her lips were warm, soft, and when she moaned into the kiss, it sent a shiver down his spine.
And then—nothing.
Just the image of her pulling away, tears in her eyes.
"You don't understand, Ansh," she whispered in the dream. "I can't. I can't be this for you."
The words had stayed with him, haunted him. He had woken up in a cold sweat, the sensation of her touch still burning on his skin.
He ran his hands through his hair, trying to shake the image from his mind.
It wasn't real.
But it felt real.
The clock showed it was early morning—just before dawn. Ansh glanced at the window, the world still dark outside, the heavy weight of the night pressing in on him. He could hear the distant murmur of voices from downstairs. Yash, probably talking to someone.
He tried to get up, but his body felt heavy—stuck in the haze of the dream, like it had been tangled with reality. His chest ached with the desperate need to do something, to resolve this tension that had been building for days.
He needed to know. He needed to see her.
---
Later that morning, in the villa's kitchen:
Ansh sat at the table, trying to focus on his coffee, but his thoughts kept wandering back to Riya. Had it all been a mistake? Her visit last night—had it meant anything? She had left so quickly, so quietly. Like nothing had happened. Like nothing was ever going to happen.
Yash came in, laughing, his easy confidence filling the space. "Morning, bro. You sleep well?"
Ansh nodded, barely hearing the question. He mumbled something in response, his gaze drifting to the door that led to the backyard, where he knew Riya would be. She always went out there early—sometimes just to sit and breathe, sometimes to think.
He wasn't sure which it would be today.
But he couldn't sit here, couldn't ignore the pull. The dream had only made it worse.
"I think I'm going to take a walk," Ansh said, getting up abruptly.
"Sure," Yash said with a grin. "Enjoy the quiet. I'm meeting up with a friend later, but you do your thing."
Ansh gave a distracted smile, then walked out the door.
---
In the backyard:
The air was thick with morning mist, and the sky was just beginning to lighten. He could hear the soft rustle of the trees in the distance, the faint trickle of a nearby stream.
And there she was.
Riya stood by the edge of the small garden, her hands in the pockets of her sweater, her head down. She was alone—away from everyone. As usual.
But there was something different today. Something in the way she stood, like she was waiting for something—or someone.
She didn't see him at first.
Ansh took a hesitant step toward her, his breath catching when she finally turned.
Her eyes flicked up to meet his, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence hung between them—heavy, filled with everything unsaid.
"Riya," Ansh said, voice low.
She didn't answer immediately. She just looked at him, as though trying to decide whether or not to say something. Her lips parted, but she closed them again, a tiny shake of her head betraying the emotion she was holding back.
"I didn't expect you to come," she said, her voice quieter than usual, like it carried a secret.
"I couldn't stay away," he said before he could stop himself. His heart thudded in his chest as he realized the truth of his own words.
She stiffened but didn't pull away. Instead, she tilted her head slightly, studying him with an unreadable expression.
"You should," she whispered, her voice barely above the sound of the wind. "You should stay away from me, Ansh."
He wanted to argue. To tell her it was too late. That the dream, the longing, the pull between them—it was all too strong.
But instead, he stepped closer.
And then—she stepped closer too.
She reached out, hesitating just an inch from his chest. He could feel her warmth. Her presence. Her breath.
"I don't know what to do," she murmured.
The confession hit him like a tidal wave, drowning all his resolve.
He reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair behind her ear.
Her breath caught. She closed her eyes.
And then—nothing.