(Author's POV)
Aarav – His Cabin | 2:15 PM
The blinds are drawn. He leans back in his chair, legs spread, a cigarette burning between his fingers, ash gathering in the crystal tray like forgotten snow. A glass of whiskey rests on the table half empty.
The silence is thick, heavy with everything he doesn't say. Smoke curls around him, slow and lazy, as if mocking the storm in his head. She shouldn't have smiled like that.
Not at him.
Not while he was watching.
His jaw clenched as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. Inhale. Hold. Exhale.
That scent is still in his lungs. Still on his fingers.
Her.
Damn her.
He swore he wouldn't let anyone get under his skin again. But she's different not because she's beautiful, plenty of women are but because she doesn't try. She doesn't chase, she doesn't flirt, she simply exists... and that's enough to make his chest burn.
He downs the whiskey in one go, the amber heat doing nothing to numb the ache inside him. "What the hell is happening to me?"
He lost control once today, lashed out, humiliated someone just because they said her name.
It's not about the file. It never was.
He presses his palms to his eyes, grinding the heels of his hands in as if he can crush the feeling out of his skull. This is getting dangerous and yet...He wants more.
Another drag, another drink and finding another reason to see her.
Aarav doesn't fall. But this?
This feels like the start of a spiral.
6:07 PM — Outside Infinitum Tech Solutions Pvt. Ltd., Bangalore
The office glass doors slide open with a faint swoosh. Priya steps out, her bag slung across her body, her eyes scanning the street ahead not out of fear, but with a heavy, distracted tension.
Today has felt like a strange dream she can't quite shake.
That moment in the corridor... the way he said her name.
"Priya."
The echo of it still lingers in her mind, and with it, a tangle of emotions she can't name.
She walks briskly, crossing the pavement toward the main gate. Her hands curl into the strap of her bag. She doesn't notice the black car parked just across the road.
But from inside that car, Aarav is noticing everything.
A cigarette burns slowly between his fingers, the glow catching the edge of his jawline in the fading light
A cigarette burns slowly between his fingers, the glow catching the edge of his jawline in the fading light. The smoke coils upward lazily as his eyes follow every movement she makes. She looks tense. Not scared but just lost in thought.
He leans slightly forward.
Still thinking about this morning...? The thought makes his mouth twitch into the faintest shadow of a smile.
She shouldn't have looked so perfect when she was nervous.
That helpless confusion in her eyes had stayed with him all day, creeping into every task, every meeting, every damn minute.
Now here she is walking away from the building, head down, shoulders tight. Watching her wave down an auto-rickshaw. The driver nods, and she slips in, adjusting her bag on her lap as she gives directions.
Aarav takes one last drag of the cigarette, then flicks it to the road. His hands rest easily on the wheel.
He follows from a distance.
Two cars behind, sometimes three
Two cars behind, sometimes three. Never too close, never too far.
Her auto jerks forward and weaves through the chaotic Bangalore traffic. From his seat, he sees her profile through the open side—still, quiet. Eyes not watching the road but the air around her.
He wonders what she's thinking.
Is she embarrassed? Curious? Confused? Or is she beginning to feel what he's felt for days now?
The idea plays on loop in his mind. He tells himself it's curiosity, interest. But that's not the whole truth.
This is something darker and deeper. Something that tightens his chest and makes his gaze linger too long on the back of her neck.
The auto slows. Aarav does too, keeping far enough to avoid being seen.
She pays the driver and steps out, glancing once to the side—not because she suspects anything, just out of habit. Then she walks inside the building.
He notes the building number, the layout, the time
He notes the building number, the layout, the time. His fingers drum slowly against the steering wheel.
He watches as she climbs the stairs and disappears inside.
And still, he doesn't move. He just sits there, eyes fixed on the door she entered, the curve of the balcony above it, the light turning on behind one window.
A slow smile pulls at his lips. "We're just getting started, Priya."
The moment she disappears, he exhales slowly, letting the silence settle. Then, without hesitation, Aarav pulls out his phone and dials.
One ring. Two.
A clipped voice answers. "Yes, sir?"
Aarav doesn't waste time. "I have a job for you."
"Same type?" the man asks, suddenly more alert.
"Yes. A residential building in Electronic City. I'll send the location." His voice is low, steady. "I want eyes around a specific second-floor flat. Main entrance, corridor, stairwell. Nothing visible. I want it to be clean. No traces."
The man is silent for a second, then "What about inside?"
Aarav's jaw flexes. "No. Not yet. Just around the flat. I want to know when she leaves, when she returns, who comes near her door. You'll install it tomorrow."
"I'll need access to the building." The man said.
"That's your job to figure out," Aarav replies coldly, flicking ash out the window. "You're being paid for results, not excuses."
The man chuckles softly, a little nervously.
"Understood. What's the cover?"
"Say you're from the broadband company. Just don't be sloppy." Aarav's gaze returns to the building across the road.
"Got it."
"And I want live feed access. Directly to my private server. You'll use the same encryption protocol as last time."
The voice on the other end lowers. "Who is she, boss?"
Aarav doesn't answer right away. He watches the second-floor balcony where a single dim bulb flickers to life.
"None of your business."
Click. The call ends.
Aarav tosses the phone onto the passenger seat and leans back. His cigarette is nearly burned down to the filter, but he takes one last drag anyway. The smoke coils in the car like a secret. He looks at the building one last time before starting the engine.
"You have no idea what you've started, Priya," he mutters under his breath.
"But I'll be watching."
[Priya's Balcony, 10:00 PM]
The night in Bangalore feels heavy tonight. Cool air brushes against Priya's skin as she sits curled up on the narrow balcony of her rented flat, her arms wrapped tightly around her knees. The streetlights cast a yellowish glow over the quiet lanes below, but her gaze is fixed somewhere far beyond the buildings, somewhere her heart still lingers.
Her mind keeps circling back to the way Aarav looked at her today, like she had committed some crime just by existing in his department. The way he looked right through her when their eyes met—as if she were a stranger he hated.
And she doesn't understand. She's tired of trying to.
"What did I do? Why is he always angry with me? I've never even said anything wrong to him. Never disrespected him."
"Then why does it feel like I'm constantly being punished for something I don't even remember doing?"
Her throat tightens, the weight of everything pressing down at once—work pressure, loneliness, confusion, fear, homesickness. She blinks rapidly, but the tears have already formed.
In the dim light of her phone screen, the time reads 10:02 PM. She presses the call button before she can overthink it.
She presses the call button before she can overthink it
The ring feels eternal. Then, a soft, groggy voice answers.
"Priya?" Her mother, half-asleep.
That's all it takes.
Priya bursts into tears, her sobs silent at first, then quickly turning into the kind that shakes her whole body. The kind that makes her feel like she's five again, crying after falling down in the mud outside her house.
"Maa..." she chokes, voice broken, "I miss you. I miss Papa. I miss home so much."
On the other end, her mother sits up instantly. Careful not to disturb her husband, she slips out of the bedroom and moves to the courtyard, clutching the phone to her ear.
"What happened, beta ? Why are you crying like this? Did someone say something?"
Priya struggles to find words. All she can manage between sobs is—
"I don't know... I just... I feel so alone here."
Her mother doesn't scold her. Doesn't rush her. She just listens.
Then softly says, "You're not alone, Priya. We're always with you—even if it's through this phone. You're our strong girl, remember? You left everything behind to follow your dreams. It's okay to feel scared sometimes."
Priya sniffles, trying to control the shaking in her voice. "I don't want to give up, Maa... but some days it feels like I can't breathe here."
There's silence for a moment. The kind only a mother can fill with warmth.
"Cry as much as you want tonight, beta. But tomorrow morning, I want you to get up, wash your face, and remember who you are. You're my daughter. You can handle anything. Even Bangalore."
A tearful smile breaks through Priya's sobs. "Okay."
They talk for a few more minutes, mostly her mother's gentle words calming her down like a lullaby, and when they hang up, Priya sits there in the balcony for a while longer—tired, but lighter.
Still confused, still aching. But held together by a thin thread of home.
Unaware that "home" had been listening all along. Back in the village, the house is silent. A warm, quiet silence. Only the soft hum of the pedestal fan from the bedroom, and a faint rustling of dry leaves outside.
But in the courtyard, hidden in the shadows behind one of the old brick pillars, Priya's father stands still, his back pressed to the cool wall, arms crossed tightly across his chest.
He hadn't meant to eavesdrop—not at first. He had stepped out for a glass of water and heard muffled sobs coming from the corner room where his wife was talking on the phone. He froze, curious then suspicious.
He doesn't move.
Just listen. "Priya...?" "Aree, why are you crying, my child?" "No, no, don't cry like that. It hurts me,beta." "...I know, I know. We miss you too."
He doesn't hear Priya's words, only the stifled sobs on the other end. But they pierce deeper than anything else.
His hands curl into fists. "She cries there... while I sit here like a villain in my own home." He said this to himself.
Then her mother's voice lowers. Almost pleading.
"Don't say that, Priya. He's just... scared. He doesn't know how to show it. But he misses you too... I see it."
His breath catches. For a moment, he wants to talk to Priya. Say something, anything.
But the weight of his pride keeps him chained.
The night air was thick with silence now—no more crying, no more comforting whispers—just the faint hum of the ceiling fan and the creak of an old wooden window shifting slightly with the breeze.
With a stiff back and a colder heart, he turned and walked quietly back into the house.
The living room was dark, lit only by the dim night-bulb near the deity's shelf. His bare feet made no sound as he crossed the cool floor and entered the bedroom.
He lay down slowly on the thin cotton mattress, pulling the rough blanket up to his chest, eyes shut—but his mind wide awake.
Pretending to sleep.
His breath was calm and steady. But under the blanket, his fists were clenched.
Her voice echoed, trembling, small. It tugged at something deep inside him—something he'd buried under years of authority, pride, and control. But he crushed that feeling before it could rise.
"she left. She disobeyed. And now she's crying?"
He felt... angry, guilty, protective. All at once but he didn't move. He lay there like a stone. A few minutes later, the bedroom door opened with the gentlest creak.
His wife entered, barefoot, careful not to disturb him.
She paused near the bed, her eyes lingering on his still figure, as if debating whether he was asleep. Then she walked around quietly and lay down on her own side of the bed, her back turned to him.
No words were spoken.
Just the soft rustle of her saree, the sigh of an exhausted woman holding too much in her heart. The room filled with silence once more.
But he was still awake. Staring into the darkness. His mind is calculating, brewing. A new resolve forming behind closed eyes.
"She thinks I don't care? She thinks I'm the villain? Then fine. Let her believe that. But she's still my daughter. And I will not let the city swallow her. I will call that man tomorrow morning and ask him what happened. She ran away from this house... but she will never run far from me.And that night, he didn't sleep at all."
Meanwhile, in Bangalore, after the call ends, the silence envelops Priya like a blanket that has suddenly turned too cold.
She sits still on the balcony chair, arms wrapped tightly around her knees, chin tucked in like a child trying to disappear. The night is quiet, too quiet.
For a moment, she thinks she hears something, a faint rustling sound near the stairwell or maybe someone shifting in the corridor.
She turns her head sharply. Nothing.
Just the quiet hum of a ceiling fan. A baby crying somewhere far. Footsteps of someone going upstairs. Or... were they stopping outside her door?
Her eyes linger on the balcony railing. She pulls her shawl tighter, suddenly feeling exposed. Vulnerable.
It's nothing, she tells herself. Just nerves. Maybe too many thoughts. Maybe because of him.
She stands up, her legs slightly shaky, and slips inside. Lock the balcony door. Then check the main door again.
Click.
Safe. But her heart won't stop racing.
(Late Night, His Bedroom)
Meanwhile – Aarav
The lights are low in his room. A dim table lamp burns amber beside his whiskey glass, its golden glow flickering across the sharp lines of his jaw.
A dim table lamp burns amber beside his whiskey glass, its golden glow flickering across the sharp lines of his jaw
The cigarette between his fingers burns slowly, untouched.
He's not even drinking anymore just staring at his phone screen
He's not even drinking anymore, just staring at his phone screen. At the picture he got from her CV. His head spins slowly, thoughts crawling like insects.
"She laughs with Rohit. With Sudeep. Hell, she even smiled at that idiot Rajat today. But when she sees me—me—she freezes like I'm a monster."
"Like I hurt her. Like I don't belong in her world.Why does she look at me like that?"
"Why can't she just look at me the way she looks at them?"
Aarav runs a hand through his hair, wild, frustrated.
And then—he chuckles softly. A low, dangerous sound.
"No. It's okay. She doesn't understand it yet. But she will."
The surveillance will begin tomorrow. From tomorrow onwards, he will know everything about her. Who she talks to. Where she goes. Who makes her smile.
He'll learn her habits. Her weaknesses. Her secrets. Because if she won't come closer to him, then he'll simply take away everything else she leans on. One thread at a time. The glass clinks gently as he picks it up.
And somewhere in the distance, the night wind carries the faint sound of a woman locking her doors... and a man unlocking his madness.
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To be continued........
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