By now, Meera had stopped telling Priya the details.
What was the point? Every time she ranted, Priya brushed it off with a laugh or a teasing "but he cares about you." Priya didn't see the bars of the cage forming around her.
But Meera did.
It was in the way Aarav appeared at the bus stop just as she arrived, every single morning. Never early, never late. Just perfectly timed.
It was in the way professors started looking at her differently, almost impressed, as if someone had polished her image behind the scenes.
And it was in the way her phone buzzed at odd hours with messages she hadn't asked for but couldn't ignore:
Aarav: Don't sit near the east windows in the library. The glare strains your eyes.
Aarav: Skip the café today. The food is stale.
Aarav: Drink more water. You only had one bottle yesterday.
Each message was simple, calm, logical. Each one was also a reminder: he was watching.
That week, she went to the printing room to collect her project report. The clerk handed her the papers with a polite smile.
"Nicely formatted. Very professional."
Meera frowned. "Professional? I didn't—"
Her eyes scanned the pages. The margins were perfect. The headers aligned. Even the citations were corrected.
Her chest went cold.
She hadn't formatted this.
She hadn't even saved a final copy yet.
That evening, she cornered Priya in their dorm.
"He's in my laptop," Meera whispered, hands shaking. "He fixed my report before I even printed it."
Priya's eyes widened. "Okay, that's… actually insane."
"Finally!" Meera snapped. "You believe me now?"
Priya hesitated. "I mean… yes, it's creepy. But it's also kind of—"
"Don't say sweet."
"—dedicated," Priya finished sheepishly.
Meera groaned, throwing herself onto the bed. "I'm suffocating. Every corner of my life, he's already there. I don't even know where I end and he begins anymore."
The next day, she tried something new: rebellion.
She skipped class. Not for fun, but just to see if she could.
She sat in the park, camera in hand, clicking photos of trees and sparrows until the ache in her chest eased. For two hours, she almost felt free.
Then her phone buzzed.
Aarav: You're not in class.
Her throat closed. She shoved the phone back in her pocket, refusing to reply.
Five minutes later, another buzz.
Aarav: You're at the park.
Her hands trembled. She scanned the area, heart pounding. Students milled about, children played, couples strolled—but no Aarav.
And yet, somehow, he was there.
When she returned to campus, he was waiting by the hostel gate.
"Did you enjoy your little escape?" he asked mildly, as if she'd gone for a stroll and not a desperate attempt at freedom.
Meera clenched her fists. "You can't keep doing this. Following me. Tracking me. It's insane!"
Aarav's gaze didn't waver. "You keep using that word as if it's an insult."
"It is an insult!"
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. "No. It's devotion. Insanity is thinking I could ever let you walk away."
Her breath hitched. His calmness terrified her more than anger ever could.
That night, she lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling.
She thought of the park. Of the fleeting freedom she'd felt. Of the way it had crumbled the moment her phone buzzed.
Maybe that was the worst part. Not the messages. Not the photos. Not the intrusion.
But the truth she was starting to accept.
Aarav didn't need to raise his voice or chain her down.
He didn't have to.
Because he had already built an invisible cage around her.
And piece by piece, she was starting to live inside it