For two days, Meera avoided him.
She kept her head down in class, skipped the café, even hid out in the art studio to edit her photos. It was exhausting, constantly planning detours just to feel an hour of peace. But at least it worked.
Or so she thought.
On the third morning, she opened her locker to find her books stacked neatly, her pens aligned, and a sticky note in his unmistakable handwriting:
"Skipping coffee again? Your hands shake without caffeine. Take the thermos I left."
Her gaze dropped. At the bottom of the locker sat a steel thermos, warm to the touch.
Her throat tightened. She hadn't told anyone about the shakes. She hadn't even noticed them herself.
She shoved the thermos back in, slamming the locker shut so hard students turned to look.
By afternoon, she was jittery. Not from lack of caffeine this time—but from him. His absence was just as loud as his presence. She hadn't seen him once today, yet she felt him everywhere.
When Priya plopped into the chair beside her in the lab, Meera nearly jumped out of her skin.
"Whoa, chill," Priya said, raising her hands. "What's with you?"
Meera exhaled shakily. "He's… everywhere, Priya. Even when he's not."
Priya frowned. "What did he do this time?"
Meera hesitated, then whispered, "Thermos. In my locker. With a note about my coffee habit."
Priya blinked. "That's… um… sweet?"
Meera shot her a glare. "It's stalking!"
"Okay, okay, creepy-sweet then," Priya amended quickly.
Meera groaned, burying her face in her hands. "I can't escape him. Even when I don't see him, he's there."
That night, she tried again. Straight back to her dorm. Door locked. Curtains drawn.
Her laptop screen glowed, the only light in the room. She opened a new project folder, determined to drown herself in work.
But when the folder list loaded, her breath hitched.
There it was again. Another new one she hadn't created. This time labeled: "Tonight."
Her hands shook as she clicked.
Inside was a single image.
Her. Sitting in this very room. Laptop open. Exactly as she was right now.
Her blood ran cold.
She shoved the chair back, scanning the room, the corners, the shadows. "No," she whispered. "No, no, no."
The window was locked. The curtains drawn. The door secured.
And yet—
Her phone buzzed.
Aarav: Don't panic. You look better without fear.
Her chest constricted. She dropped the phone onto the bed, backing against the wall.
Another buzz.
Aarav: You're safe. I'm not inside. Not tonight.
She pressed her hands over her mouth to keep from screaming.
The next morning, she dragged herself to class on two hours of restless sleep. Her eyes burned, her body ached, but she pasted on a smile for Priya.
Maybe if she pretended hard enough, she could convince herself everything was fine.
Until Aarav slid into the seat behind her, calm as ever.
"You didn't eat breakfast," he murmured.
Meera stiffened. "How do you—"
He placed a neatly wrapped sandwich on her desk. "Eat."
She stared at it, then at him. "I don't want this."
"Yes, you do."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream at him, to throw the sandwich back in his face, to tell him he was insane.
But she didn't.
Because she was tired. Because part of her knew he was right. Because fighting him felt like trying to hold back the tide with her bare hands.
So she ate.
And the entire time, she felt his gaze on her back, steady, unblinking, as if to remind her—
No matter how far she ran, she'd never outrun him.