(Author's POV) Next Morning
Aarav jolts awake at 7:00 a.m., the sharp chime of a message breaking through the silence of his bedroom. Eyes still half-closed, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand. The screen glows with a single notification from the man he hired yesterday.
>"Cameras installed and linked to your private server. I'm outside her building now."
The fog of sleep vanishes instantly. He sits up straight, heart pacing not from fear, but from something far more dangerous, control, power. He tosses the duvet aside, rises from the bed, and walks swiftly across the room to his study. The door clicks shut behind him.
Aarav drops into the high-backed chair at his desk and opens the laptop. His fingers move with practiced precision as he logs into the server. A custom dashboard loads—a multi-screen display showing live surveillance feeds from different angles of an apartment building.
Her apartment building.
He leans forward, elbows on the desk, eyes scanning the screens. One camera overlooks the main entrance . Another watches the corridor outside her flat. A third shows the stairwell. And the final one—positioned across from a tall building—gives a partial side view of her balcony window.
And the final one—positioned across from a tall building—gives a partial side view of her balcony window
He stares at the screen that shows her locked front door. The clock on his screen reads 7:12 a.m.
And so, he waits.
Outside the world begins to stir, but inside this dimly lit study, time moves slowly and silently. Aarav doesn't move. He just sits, eyes fixed, one leg crossed over the other, fingers tapping lightly on the armrest of his chair.
His phone is silent now. No distractions. Just the soft hum of his laptop fan and the quiet anticipation building inside him.
At precisely 8:00 a.m., the corridor camera flickers with movement.
There she is.
Priya steps out of her flat. Her hand reaches for the lock, fingers quick and familiar. She checks it once, twice, then turns and starts walking toward the stairwell.
Aarav's gaze sharpens. He watches every detail—the way her hair bounces gently with each step, the slight yawn she covers with her palm, the sleepy innocence still clinging to her face.
A small smile curls on his lips. Not of warmth. Not of love. But of satisfaction. She's right where she should be. Right under his watch. And she has no idea.
(Aarav's POV)
The moment her door opens, everything inside me stills. There she is.
"There's something addictive about seeing her face before the rest of the world does, like the day belongs to me before it ever belongs to her."
But now this very second as she steps out of that apartment, locking the door like it's just another morning. Like she isn't being watched.
But she is. By me.
Her pale blue kurti flutters gently as she moves
Her pale blue kurti flutters gently as she moves. Her long braid falls over one shoulder, a few strands falling against her cheek , her braid swaying gently as she walks down the short flight of steps.
And fucking beautiful.
This is what I wanted. To see her mornings, her routine. Her world before it's touched by anyone else. Before anyone talks to her. Before the city pulls her into its noise and crowd. She's mine like this—silent, alone, unguarded.
I lean back in my chair, unable to stop the small smile curving at the edge of my lips.
I pick up my phone and type: > She's leaving the building. Get ready.
A few seconds later, the reply buzzes in.
> Yes sir.
I set the phone down, eyes still glued to the screen as she disappeared into the stairwell.
It begins today. The first day of watching her. The first day of keeping her safe... and close.
(Author's POV)
The street outside Priya's apartment building stretches quiet and calm in the golden stillness of early morning. A soft breeze rustles the trees that line the pavement. A milk van rumbles past, leaving behind the faint clinking of glass bottles. Two schoolchildren hurry along the sidewalk, dragging their bags, giggling sleepily. Life moves on with the same practiced rhythm.
Priya steps out.
She checks the door lock once more from a distance, then turns toward the road, already slipping into her daily routine. But what she doesn't know is that the moment her foot touches the street, someone else begins to move too.
Across the narrow road, a man leans against a parked bike, blending into the quiet shadows cast by a row of closed shops. He is wearing black outfit , the cap beneath pulled low over his face. Dark sunglasses hide his eyes, but they are trained on her.
He doesn't move right away.
He watches.
Watch the way she glances once at the street and crosses with a natural ease and mutters something under her breath perhaps a to-do list in her mind.
His footsteps are soundless. He walks to his bike, starts it with a quiet turn of the key, and eases it into gear—no revving, no rush. He keeps his distance. Not too far, not too close. Just enough to ensure she remains in sight.
As Priya walks toward the auto-rikshaw at the end of the lane, she pauses briefly, checking her phone. The man on the bike slows down, careful not to pass her. His eyes never leave her form, every movement calculated, every pause observed.
She tucks the phone back in her bag and gets inside the auto-rikshaw. And behind her, the silent tail follows and slowly, the day begins—with her in the light, and the guy in the shadow.
A soft chime breaks the stillness of Aarav's study. He doesn't need to guess who it's from.
Still seated in his chair, eyes half-lidded from the steady hours of watching, Aarav picks up his phone. A single message glows on the screen. > "She took an auto-rickshaw. Heading out of the area."
His thumb hovers for a moment, then he types: < "Ok. Stay with her."
He places the phone back on the desk, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly—calm and satisfied, like everything is going according to plan.
"Time to get ready."
Then, with a rush, he rises from his chair. The screen still shows her building, now quiet and empty. Her presence is gone from the frame, but not from his thoughts.
He walks out of the study and locks the door, leaving the surveillance monitors humming behind him.
The house is silent—serene, almost temple-like in its grandeur. Every corner speaks of money and legacy, but nothing is loud. Everything is chosen. Everything is perfect.
He enters his bedroom. He walks over to the dresser, sets his phone down beside a vintage watch, and begins unbuttoning his shirt, the smile still playing on his lips.
He doesn't smile like this for most things. But this? Watching her. Knowing where she is. That she's safe—within reach, yet completely unaware.
This makes him smile.
He selects a crisp shirt, a pair of dark trousers, and sets them neatly on the bed. His fingers move with care, almost ritualistic, as he prepares for another day at the office.
Except now, everything feels different. Because now, he doesn't have to wonder where she is. He already knows.
By the time he finishes showering and getting dressed, the calm returns to his face, normal. But deep down, the feeling of satisfaction lingers. Because somewhere out there, in the chaos of Bangalore's streets, Priya is moving exactly as he wants her to and she has no idea.
(After 30 minutes)
Polished shoes echo against the marble as Aarav descends the sweeping staircase, adjusting the cuffs of his shirt as he moves. The house is still, dignified, wrapped in quiet wealth. Everything looks perfect on the surface. Just like his life.
He's heading toward the entrance, phone in one hand, car keys in the other, when his mother's voice calls from behind.
"Aarav, aren't you going to have breakfast?"
He stops, just for a second, then turns halfway to glance at her. She's standing near the dining room arch, dressed neatly in a soft saree, eyes expectant.
"No, Maa. I have something important at the company. I'll eat there."
He turns back, but she doesn't let him go.
"And don't forget you have that coffee meeting with Naina today at lunch. I'll send you the café address."
Aarav halts at the door. For a moment, his entire frame stiffens. Then he turns around slowly, his jaw clenched, voice low and sharp.
"Maa, I already told you—I'm not going to marry her. Why are you still doing this?"
"I didn't do it," she says quickly, holding up her hand. "It's your dad."
He doesn't say anything. His gaze hardens, but the anger doesn't spill over. He just exhales once, then turns again.
"Fine," he mutters.
He walks toward the grand wooden entrance. The butler opens the door halfway, but Aarav pauses and looks back over his shoulder.
"Don't go into my study room. I've locked it. And tell the maids not to enter either."
His mother frowns, taken aback. "Why?".
"Nothing. Just tell them." Her expression is puzzled, but she nods slowly. "Okay."
Without another word, Aarav steps out into the crisp morning air.
The sun is bright. His car is waiting. But nothing in his life right now feels more alive than the secret he just left humming behind a locked door.
The morning traffic begins to fade as Priya steps out of the auto-rickshaw in front of Infinitum Tech Solutions Pvt. Ltd. The towering glass building stretches high into the sky, polished to a cold perfection, its entrance guarded by clean uniforms and card scanners.
She pays the driver, nods politely, and turns to face the building.
It's 8:54 a.m.
A few employees walk past her, flashing ID cards, chatting casually, vanishing into the air-conditioned comfort inside. But Priya stays rooted to the spot—just a few feet away from the main door, clutching the straps of her sling bag tightly over her chest.
She doesn't move. Her eyes are locked on the company logo above the door, lips slightly parted, breath caught in her throat.
For the first time since arriving in Bangalore, she hesitates. A strange heaviness presses on her chest. A voice inside her whispers, 'Stay home today... you're not ready,you're not ready to face him.'
The thought tempts her. "One day. Just one day off."
But another voice fights back. "You're not here to hide. You came here to learn. You worked for this."
She takes a slow breath but doesn't step forward.
Across the street, the man on the bike observes everything through his dark glasses. He raises the phone and dials a number.
It rings once before the voice answers, clipped and low.
"Did she arrive at the company?"
"Yes, sir. But—"
"But what?" Aarav's voice sharpens.
The man glances back at Priya, still standing like a statue outside the entrance. "She's been standing outside for about five minutes now. Not moving. Just staring at the building."
A pause.
Then Aarav speaks again, colder this time. "Why?"
The man shrugs slightly, though Aarav can't see it. "Maybe she's hesitating. She looks nervous and seems to be thinking about something."
There's silence on the line, then Aarav says, "Send me the video."
"Okay, sir."
He lowers the phone, taps quickly into the camera app, and selects a short 20-second clip. In the footage, Priya stands motionless in front of the company—clutching her bag straps, hair gently rustling in the wind, her expression unreadable.
He sends the video. And within seconds, Aarav receives it.
Sitting in his car, pulled over at the side of the road with the engine still running, Aarav unlocks his phone and opens the video—watching her on screen, frozen in time, fragile, unsure. Completely unaware she's being seen like this.
His fingers tighten slightly around the phone.
(Aarav's POV)
I watched the video again, slower this time. The way she stands there—so still. Like she's bracing herself. At first, I thought it was nerves. Then she touched her left ear.
And now I know better.
It's me.
The memory of yesterday crashes into me—I close my eyes, jaw tight, the phone still glowing in my hand. She's scared to come to work today. Because of me.
A sharp breath pushes past my lips, something volatile crawling under my skin. Guilt? No. I don't feel guilty. But there's a burn in my chest that wasn't there a moment ago.
I didn't mean to scare her. I just... couldn't watch her laugh with someone else like that. That smile wasn't for me. It should have been for me.
I whisper to no one, voice low and cold: "You made me do that, Priya. I just... needed you to understand."
But now?
Now I see her hesitation clearly. She's afraid to walk in. Because of what I did. I press the bridge of my nose, exhaling slowly. Then I open the video one last time.
She's holding her bag straps, like a soldier clutching a shield. Her head tilts forward just slightly, her eyes fixed on the door.
I whisper again, softer this time:
"You don't need to be afraid of me."
Even if I'm the reason she is.
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To be continued........
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