For a long, weighted twenty seconds, Rudra stood frozen in his kitchen.
Then it hit him.
The door. The sound of Ayaan's voice. The way he hadn't looked back.
Rudra's chest tightened, sharp and painful.
No.
No, no, no—he couldn't let it end like that.
Before another thought could chain him down, Rudra spun on his heel. He didn't bother with his shoes, didn't bother with his phone, didn't bother with anything. Still in his house slippers, he yanked the door open and jogged down the corridor.
The echo of his hurried steps filled the quiet building stairwell as he cut downward, two, three steps at a time, the long hem of his loungewear brushing his ankles. His heart pounded louder than his footsteps.
He had never done this before.
Never chased.
Never ran.
Never broken his own control so openly.
But this was Ayaan.
And the thought of letting him walk away—misunderstanding, hurt, doubting—was unbearable.
Rudra pushed the heavy door of the stairwell open, breath uneven, eyes sweeping the entrance below.
"Ayaan—"
His voice echoed, deeper than intended, but trembling in a way he couldn't hide.
Rudra shoved open the glass doors of the building, the night air rushing sharp against his skin. His eyes darted left—nothing. Right—
There.
Ayaan's figure, already halfway down the quiet street, head lowered, bag strap clutched in his hand as if he was holding himself together.
Rudra's chest constricted. His legs moved before his mind could, slippers slapping against the pavement as he broke into a run.
"Ayaan!"
The name tore out of him, louder than he meant, echoing under the dim glow of the streetlights.
Ayaan froze mid-step. His heart lurched, and he turned, wide-eyed, disbelieving.
And what he saw nearly knocked the breath out of him—
Rudra Malhotra.
The cold, composed man who never lost control.
Running. In his house slippers. Toward him.
Ayaan blinked, stunned. "R-Rudra?"
Rudra skidded to a stop just in front of him, breath harsh, eyes blazing with something fierce and unguarded. He didn't speak at once, couldn't—because every word in his throat had been replaced by the terrifying thought that he'd almost let Ayaan walk away.
For a long, raw second, neither moved. The streetlight bathed them in a soft gold, the quiet city around them blurred and forgotten.
Finally, Rudra spoke, voice low, strained, and utterly honest—
"Don't go."