His words scrape against something raw inside me.
“And you—” he scoffs, eyes glittering with satisfaction, “you can’t even keep one woman quiet.”
The impact comes from the side.
Devraj’s fist slams into Ayush’s face with a force that finally knocks the smirk clean off him. Rage flashes across Devraj’s features—unfiltered, protective, lethal.
But I don’t move. I can’t.
Ayush’s words echo in my head, not because they’re true, but because they touch a wound I’ve spent my entire life guarding. One I promised myself I would never pass on. One I swore would end with me.
And suddenly, the only thing louder than my anger is the fear that maybe—just maybe—I am closer to becoming him than I ever wanted to admit.
Sitara’s hand grips my arm.
It should stop me. It should anchor me, the way her touch usually does. But this time, I don’t turn. I don’t let myself look at her face, because I know—I know—that if I do, I will break right here. In front of everyone. In front of her.
All I can hear is his words.
It keeps echoing, bouncing around my skull like it has nowhere else to go. Louder than the music outside, louder than the murmurs in the corridor, louder than my own breathing. My body goes cold and hot at the same time, a sick, crawling sensation running up my spine, settling deep in my chest.
What if he’s right?
The question isn’t loud. It’s worse than that. It’s quiet. Insidious. It slips in like it has always been waiting for the right moment.
What if I am like him?
The thought hits so hard it knocks the air out of my lungs. My breath stutters, my chest tightening painfully as images I don’t want come rushing in—Sitara flinching under my voice, her eyes dimming, her smile fading because ofme. Sitara crying in silence, convincing herself she deserves it. Sitara shrinking, the way my mother used to.
My stomach twists violently.
I promised myself I would never be that man. I promised myself as a boy hiding behind locked doors, as a teenager clenching his fists helplessly, as a man who swore he would rather burn than become his father.
Never.
But what if love isn’t enough? What if anger slips through the cracks one day? What if I lose control for a second—and that second costs her everything? My chest caves in under the weight of it. It feels like something inside me is collapsing, folding inward, leaving nothing solid to stand on. My fingers twitch uselessly at my sides.
I take a step back.
Then another.
Each one feels wrong. Each one feels like I’m tearing myself in half. But my feet keep moving anyway, driven by a single, brutal certainty.
I turn away.
I walk.
I walk away from the voices, from the heat of the confrontation, from the chaos still buzzing behind me. Most of all, I walk away from her—because staying feels dangerous now. Staying feels selfish.
If being near her means even the slightest chance of turning into the man I hate—Then leaving is the only choice I have.
Even if it hurts.
Even if it breaks me open from the inside.
Even if every step feels like I’m carving her name into my ribs. I will not hurt her. I won’t.
I want to be yours
