For the first time in weeks, Meera felt like she could breathe.
The photography department had opened applications for a new feature — "Unfiltered", a student-led project showcasing real, raw stories. No sponsors. No oversight. No Aarav.
She didn't tell Priya. Didn't tell anyone. She submitted her concept under a pseudonym — M.J. — and spent her evenings working in the old studio behind the auditorium, camera flashing softly in the empty dark.
It felt good.Real.Hers.
Every shutter click whispered: I still have control.
Three nights in, she caught herself smiling for the first time in days. She transferred her photos onto her laptop, the images raw and imperfect — portraits of students caught mid-emotion. Vulnerable. Human. Everything Aarav hated being.
She named the folder Freedom.
It was almost midnight when she left the studio, her camera bag heavy on her shoulder. The campus was silent, wind curling through trees.
She didn't notice the shadow until it moved.
Aarav stepped out from the dark like he had been carved out of it.
"Late night," he said softly.
Her heart stuttered. "What are you doing here?"
He didn't answer immediately. His gaze drifted to the bag on her shoulder. "You've been busy."
Meera froze. "You—how do you know—"
"I know everything you do," he said, too calm, too steady. "But I waited to see how far you'd go before pretending you could hide something from me."
Her stomach turned cold. "You had no right."
"I have every right," Aarav said, stepping closer. "You're mine, Meera. There's nothing about you I don't get to know."
Her voice broke. "You're not my—"
He caught her wrist mid-motion, not hard, just firm enough that she felt the steel under his control. "You took pictures," he murmured. "You called them Freedom."
Meera went still. "You went through my files?"
His lips curved faintly. "You left them where I could find them."
"That's not true!" she snapped, jerking back. "You hacked into my laptop!"
Aarav's eyes softened. "Words like hack make it sound ugly. I was just… looking after you."
Her throat tightened. "You don't get to protect me from myself."
"Someone has to," he said simply. "You keep doing things that hurt you."
Her anger cracked, replaced by disbelief. "How is this hurting me?"
"Because it's built on pretending I don't exist," Aarav said. His hand loosened but didn't fall away. "And you can't erase me, Meera. Not from your work. Not from your life."
She looked up at him, trembling, the night wind cold on her skin. "Why? Why can't you just leave me alone?"
Aarav's gaze locked on hers, quiet and unblinking. "Because I stopped knowing where I end and you begin."
The world seemed to tilt.
She tore free, stumbling back. "You're insane."
He smiled faintly. "No. Just honest."
And as she turned and fled toward the dorms, she realized she could still feel the echo of his hand on her wrist — not painful, but unshakable.
The next morning, her name wasn't on the Unfiltered project list.
The file titled Freedom had vanished.