AARADHYA'S POV

Today felt normal.

After so many strange little coincidences these past few days, I woke up almost relieved that Navratri excitement was settling into routine.

College had reopened I wore a simple pastel salwar suit, tied my hair into a loose braid, packed my bag, and left like any ordinary morning.

No heavy chaniya choli.
No loud music.
No crowds.

Just classes.just lectures.just me. And I needed that.
The campus looked the same dusty pathways, bougainvillea climbing over old walls, students rushing in clusters.

For a moment, I wondered if I had imagined the pattern forming in my life.

Maybe everything really was coincidence. Maybe I was overthinking. My first lecture went smoothly. Second too.During break, I sat in the library corner near the window my usual seat.

Sunlight filtered through the glass and fell across my notebook.

I tried focusing on my internship applications.I had sent so many.Most never replied.Some politely rejected. Scholarship covers my tuition, but internship would help with experience... and money.

I sighed softly and continued reading , I sat with my friends on the lawn. They were still talking about Navratri."Kal tumhari green wali dress bohot achi thi," Nisha said.

"Thanks," I smiled.

"Second night pe kya pehnogi?" she asked.

"Dekhte hai."

I didn't know yet.we laughed over something silly.Normal.Everything felt normal.And maybe that's why what happened next felt unreal.Just before the last lecture, the professor looked toward me.

"Aaradhya."

"Ji, sir?"

"Dean office se call aaya hai. Aapko bulaya hai."

My heart skipped.Dean?Why?Did I do something wrong?Did some document have an issue?I gathered my notebook and walked toward the administrative building.

Each step felt heavier.inside the dean's office, the air conditioner hummed softly.The receptionist smiled politely.

"Please sit."After a few minutes, I was called in.The dean looked up from his desk.

"Aaradhya Rathore?"

"Yes, sir." He adjusted his glasses. "Congratulations." i blinked.

"Ji?"

"Your internship application  the one with Rathore Infrastructure Group  has been approved."For a second, I thought I misheard.

"Approved?"

"Yes. Just some paperwork pending. You can start next month."I stared at him. Rathore Infrastructure.one of the biggest firms in the city. I had applied randomly, not expecting anything.

"Sir... are you sure?" He smiled faintly. "Yes. You must have a strong academic record." I nodded automatically. Strong. Countless nights.Early mornings. Bus rides. Scholarship forms.
And now..

This.

"Thank you, sir."

When I stepped out of the office, I couldn't stop smiling. My chest felt light. Like something finally worked without struggle.Maybe the universe really is kind. I  called Maa immediately.

"Maa!"

"Kya hua?"

"Internship mil gaya!"

"Sach?" Her voice filled with joy. "Arey waah! Bhagwan ka lakh lakh shukr hai!"

I laughed.

When I reached home in the evening, Papa hugged me.Kavya clapped dramatically.Maa's eyes were shining.

"Dekha? Mehnat kabhi bekaar nahi jaati."

I felt proud.Relieved.seen.Later, while we were having tea, Maa said casually, "Waise tumhare naam ka ek parcel aaya hai."

"Parcel?"

"Haan. Table pe rakha hai."

I walked toward it.a large rectangular box.No return address.No sender name.just my name and our house address.

Strange.

"Kaun bheja?" I asked. "Pata nahi. Delivery wala bas de gaya."I carried it to my room.Maybe Nisha?We often share clothes during festivals.Maybe she sent something without telling.

I opened the box slowly. The lid lifted.And for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Inside A lehenga.

Deep maroon blended with rich red undertones.Heavy embroidery.Intricate threadwork.Hand-stitched mirrors.Delicate golden detailing.it was not ordinary.

It was expensive.The kind you see in bridal stores behind glass.i touched the fabric carefully.

Soft.

Luxurious.

Why would Nisha send something like this?There was no note.Nothing.just the lehenga.Maybe she bought it and wanted me to try first?

We've done that before.

Still..

This felt different.I stood in front of the mirror and held it against myself.The color looked deeper against my skin.Richer.

More mature than my usual choices.

Something about it felt...intense.I shouldn't wear it without confirming.But calling now would ruin the surprise if it was meant as one.And tonight was third night of garba.

Why not?

I decided. After dinner, I dressed slowly.The blouse fit perfectly. Too perfectly.The skirt fell exactly at my waist.the dupatta length aligned just right.i paused. How would someone know my exact size?Maybe alteration margin?Maybe coincidence again?i pushed the thought away.

I applied slightly darker makeup tonight.The maroon demanded it.When I stepped out, Maa stopped mid-sentence.

"Aaradhya..."

"Kaisa lag raha hai?"

"Bilkul... alag."

"Achha?"

"Bohot sundar." Papa smiled proudly. Kavya stared. "Didi, yeh kahan se aaya?"

"Friend ne bheja shayad." maa frowned slightly but said nothing.We left for the temple.tonight, the crowd seemed even larger. Music louder. Lights brighter.As soon as I entered the garba circle, I felt eyes on me.More than usual.Maybe because of the outfit.

It was heavier than what I normally wore. The mirrors reflected light sharply.

When I spun, the maroon flared like flame.people moved slightly aside to give space. Compliments came from unknown girls. "Dress bohot sundar hai."

"Thank you." i smiled. The music accelerated. Faster. After almost an hour, my head felt slightly heavy. Probably because I skipped proper dinner.

I ignored it. Continued dancing. Sweat formed at the back of my neck. The lights felt brighter than usual.

Sound louder.My heartbeat uneven. I stepped out of the circle. Tried to steady my breathing. Maybe just dehydration. I walked toward the side.

The ground tilted slightly.i blinked. Why does everything look blurry? Voices around me became distant.

Like underwater.I tried focusing on a fixed point.The temple gate.The lights.someone brushed past me.my balance shifted.

My knees weakened.I remember thinking Not again.

And then Darkness swallowed the edges of my vision.
When I opened my eyes, I was not at the temple.i was in my room. My bed. Maa sat beside me. Relief flooding her face.

"Beta thik ho na ab ?" i tried to sit up. My body felt weak. "Kya hua?"

"Pata nahi kiski nazar lag gai meri bacchi ko," Maa murmured, adjusting my pillow. "Agar chot lag jaati to?"

"Main... gir gayi thi?"

"Haan. Behosh ho gayi thi." My head throbbed slightly. "How did I come home?" Maa paused for a fraction of a second. "Accha hua wo ghar pe chor ke gaye tumhe... warna hum to wahan wait hi karte rehte."

"Kaun?" I asked softly. She avoided my eyes. "Bas... kuch log." "Kisne laya mujhe?" Silence.

"Maa?"

"Tum rest karo abhi." Her tone changed. Gentle. But firm. "Maa, kisne laya?" she stood up and adjusted the curtain slightly. "Mandir mein bahut log hote hai. Koi toh hoga jise pehchante ho."

"I don't remember."

"Isliye toh keh rahi hoon rest karo." Something about her hesitation made my stomach tighten. If it was just friends, why not say their names? If it was Papa, he would be here.

If it was some neighbor, she would mention. Why silence? My eyes drifted toward the lehenga draped over the chair.

Maroon. Red. Beautiful. Heavy.

I tried remembering the last thing clearly.

And then, Nothing. A strange thought entered my mind. Not clear. Not solid. Just a whisper. What if it wasn't just weakness? What if something else happened?

I shook my head lightly. Don't overthink. You were tired. That's all. But one question refused to leave. Who brought me home?

And why won't Maa say his name?

ABHIMANYU'S POV

I never harm. I never destroy. I only weaken enough to make dependency possible. She skipped dinner. I knew she would. Excitement makes her careless. The juice stall vendor was replaced two hours before peak time temporary staff, paid well, instructed clearly. Nothing dangerous. Just enough to lower blood pressure rapidly. Just enough to blur edges. Just enough to make her world tilt.

From the upper balcony, I watched the entire sequence unfold. She looked radiant in that maroon lehenga. My choice. My measurement. My purchase. Delivered without a name. Of course it fit perfectly. When she entered the courtyard wearing it, every head turned, exactly as expected. But admiration from strangers does not belong to them. It belongs to me.

She danced longer than yesterday confident, unaware. Then she stepped toward the juice stall. I watched her lift the glass, watched her sip, watched her finish half. Time. Seven minutes. Her movements slowed slightly. Ten minutes. She touched her forehead once. Twelve. She left the circle. Fifteen. The world began to sway around her.

I descended the stairs before she collapsed. No panic in my steps. No rush. I calculated the point of fall. She stumbled near the side corridor less crowded, perfect.

Her sister reached her first, crying. "Didi!" People began to gather. But I stepped in before curiosity turned into chaos.

"Side," I said calmly.

My voice carries authority without volume. It always has.

I caught her before her head could hit the stone floor. Again. Her body felt lighter this time, less resistant. Her heartbeat steady but weak. Good.

Her sister looked up at me with tear-filled eyes. "Please help!"

"I am."

I lifted her effortlessly. The maroon fabric pooled around my arms. I felt something disturbingly possessive rise in my chest. This this is how she should be. In my hold. Not in circles of strangers.

"Papa ko phone karo," her sister cried.

"Number?" I asked.

She fumbled through her phone, hands shaking. I took it, calm, dialed, spoke briefly, introduced myself. "Mandir ke paas behosh ho gayi thi. Hum ghar chhod dete hai." No room for argument.

My driver brought the car to the side entrance. We placed her in the back seat carefully. Her sister sat beside her, holding her hand tightly. I sat in the front, watching through the mirror.

Even unconscious, she looked peaceful. The address matched my records. Of course it did. We reached within twelve minutes. Her parents were waiting outside the gate already anxious, worried.

I stepped out first. Lifted her again. Her father tried to help, but I didn't let him carry her fully. Just enough assistance to maintain courtesy. Inside the house, I placed her gently on her bed. Her mother's hands trembled as she adjusted her pillow.

"Thank you beta," her father said sincerely.

I nodded once. "She should rest. Dehydration lag raha hai."

He kept thanking. Gratitude comes easily to people who believe in coincidence. I left without lingering. No unnecessary presence. The driver closed the door. And as the car pulled away, I allowed myself one slow breath. Success.

Back at the haveli, dinner had already ended. I went straight to my room. Made one call.

"Status."

"Stable. Doctor local bulaya gaya precaution ke liye. Nothing serious."

"Good."

I ended the call, laid back, closed my eyes. She will wake up confused. Her mother will mention "some people." Not my name. Confusion deepens attachment faster than clarity.

Morning. The haveli courtyard buzzed softly with routine activity. I was halfway through breakfast when Adhvik's voice cut across the table casually.

"Kal kisi ladki ko car mein le ja rahe the tum?"

The spoon paused mid-air in my hand. He said it lightly, but deliberately loud. Every head lifted. Dadi Sa's gaze sharpened.

"Chori?" she asked slowly.

Adhvik leaned back slightly. "Haan. Mandir ke paas."

Silence stretched. I placed the spoon down calmly. Didn't respond immediately. Let the weight build.

Dadi Sa turned toward me fully. "Kaun chori thi, Abhi?"

I looked at Adhvik first. "Bina kuch jaane sawaal karne ki tumhari aadat nahi gayi, Adhvik."

His jaw tightened slightly. "I just asked."

Dadi Sa raised her hand lightly. "Ke hua? Bata shanti se."

I leaned back slightly, measured tone. "Mandir mein jo ladki mili thi us din."

Choti Maa looked up quickly. "Kaunsi?"

"The one who fainted after pooja."

Recognition dawned in Dadi Sa's eyes. "Wo ghani kamzor lage thi."

I nodded slightly. "Kal phir behosh ho gayi."

Mother frowned. "Phir?"

"Uski chhoti behen ro rahi thi. Side area mein thi. Main phone call ke liye gaya tha wahan." Technically true. I had gone. Just not coincidentally.

"She asked me to call her father."

"And?" Dadi Sa prompted.

"Before that, I decided we should drop them home. Address diya. Chhod diya."

Silence again. My father observed quietly.

Choti Maa spoke carefully. "Unke maa pitaji ne aapse kuch kaha toh nahi?"

"Nahi. Shukriya keh rahe the."

Adhvik studied my face closely, trying to detect something. He won't. I don't display unnecessary emotion.

Dadi Sa shook her head slowly. "Wo chori ghani kamzor hai. Uss din bhi pooja ke baad hosh mein koni thi."

I gave a neutral nod. Inside, I almost smiled. Weakness is easier to manage than strength.

Choti Maa spoke again, thoughtful. "Unka ghar idhar se zyada door nahi hai."

"Hm."

Dadi Sa turned toward her suddenly. "Bahu."

"Ji, Maa?"

"Us chori ke maa pitaji ka number hove koni thare paas?"

Choti Maa blinked slightly. "Ji... hoga."

Dadi Sa's eyes gleamed with quiet intention. "Shaam ko manne phone laga ke dena. Kuch kaam hove mare ko unse."

The air shifted subtly. Adhvik looked between us, curious. I remained expressionless. But inside, the pieces were aligning faster than expected.

Dadi Sa doesn't chase randomly. She remembers faces. She observes reactions. She had noticed her twice fainting—twice in proximity to me. Coincidence in her world becomes fate quickly. Good. Let fate take credit.

The rest of breakfast continued with routine conversation. But I could feel Adhvik's gaze occasionally—suspicious, interested. He will watch. Let him. He does not understand layered strategy.

After breakfast, I walked toward the outer courtyard. Took out my phone. Dialed.

"Yes, Rana sa?"

"Doctor?"

"Normal weakness declared."

"Good."

"Next step?"

I looked toward the carved arches of the haveli toward tradition, toward inevitability. "Nothing drastic." Pause. "Just... maintain distance for two days."

"Ji."

I ended the call. Distance after intervention increases emotional echo. She will think, replay, wonder. Who took me home? Why won't Maa say his name? Why does he appear only when something goes wrong?

Confusion deepens attachment. And fear. Fear begins when safety feels personal.

Later that afternoon, I passed Dadi Sa's chamber. She was speaking softly with Choti Maa. I caught one line clearly. "Shaam ko phone lagayenge."

I walked past without stopping. But my pulse shifted slightly—not from nervousness, from anticipation. The second phase is unfolding without my push.

That is the beauty of control when others believe they are making decisions. Night will come. Phone call will happen. Formal introduction will begin. And she will still believe everything is coincidence.

Until one day she realizes every fainting spell, every rescue, every opportunity, every absence of danger had a source. Me.

And by the time she understands, she won't be able to step away. Because I won't be saving her anymore. I'll be the reason she needs saving.