Meera woke up to a knock on the door.
She groaned, rolling over. Priya was still asleep, her blanket pulled over her head. Another knock. Not insistent, just steady.
Dragging herself out of bed, Meera cracked the door open—and froze.
A paper bag sat on the floor, neatly folded. Inside: a breakfast sandwich, her favorite tea, and a note in crisp handwriting.
"Eat. You'll need energy today."
Her throat tightened. She hadn't told anyone she had a long shoot scheduled.
She slammed the door shut, clutching the bag.
By mid-morning, she was at the photography lab, editing her work. But when she tried to save her file, a message popped up across the screen:
"Project backed up. Don't worry about crashes. – AM"
Her chest constricted. He was in her laptop again.
She yanked the flash drive out and shoved it in her bag, whispering, "It's mine. Not his."
But the watermark still glowed faintly on the images: Secured by AM.
That afternoon, Priya caught up with her outside the café.
Good news!" she chirped. "The student council wants your photos for the festival banner. How cool is that?"
Meera blinked. "What? I didn't submit anything."
Priya grinned. "Guess someone did it for you. Probably Aarav."
Meera's stomach twisted. Another piece of her life, rearranged without her consent.
"Priya," she whispered, "don't you see? He's everywhere. He's in my laptop, my locker, my assignments, now even my portfolio—"
Priya rolled her eyes. "You make it sound like a crime. Honestly, if a guy did half that for me, I'd marry him."
Meera groaned, rubbing her temples. "You don't get it. I'm suffocating."
That evening, she tried reclaiming something small.
Shoes.
She slipped into a boutique on her way back, determined to buy a pair of heels just because she wanted them. Not because they were safe or practical or Aarav-approved.
The salesgirl smiled. "These just came in—size 6. Want to try them?"
Meera's heart lifted. "Yes, actually."
She sat, pulling them on, admiring how the red straps caught the light. For once, it felt like a choice that was hers.
Until her phone buzzed.
Aarav: Don't. You'll trip in those.
Her breath caught.
She scanned the store, pulse racing. No Aarav. No familiar figure in the mirrors. But the message was there, undeniable.
She tore the shoes off, shoving them back into the box.
By the time she reached her dorm, she wasn't sure if she was angry or broken.
Priya was out again, leaving the room silent. Meera curled up on her bed, hugging her knees, whispering to herself.
"This isn't me. This isn't my life."
But when her phone buzzed again, she still picked it up.
Aarav: You're not alone. Remember that.
A hot tear slipped down her cheek.
Because he was right. She wasn't alone.
She hadn't been alone in weeks.
And maybe she never would be again.
The next day, her professor handed back assignments. "Excellent improvement, Joshi," he said warmly. "I'm impressed with your consistency lately."
Meera forced a smile, but inside, something cracked.
It wasn't her improvement. It was his. His invisible hand guiding every grade, every project, every piece of recognition she got.
She wasn't even sure if she was a good student anymore.
Or just Aarav's puppet.
That night, she stared at her laptop, finger hovering over the power button.
One press. That was all it would take. One press, and maybe she could lock him out.
But she didn't press it.
Because a part of her whispered what she refused to say aloud:
If he wanted in, he'd find a way.
He always did.
And she was too tired to fight anymore.