Ananya had always believed in seeing the good in people. Maybe it was how she was raised—her parents always taught her to forgive easily, to understand before judging. And for a while, that belief had been her strength.
But now, it was starting to feel like a weakness.
Aryan had been distant for days after she saw him with that girl. He didn’t apologize, didn’t explain—just sent a bouquet of white lilies and a single message: “I’m sorry you got hurt.” No details. No reassurance.
Still, she didn’t ask questions. She didn’t want to hear something that would tear down the man she’d built in her mind—the man who brought her books instead of roses, who whispered promises instead of sweet nothings, who once said she was his only peace.
But she couldn’t unsee the image of him with that girl.
Her heart felt heavier each day. Her phone would buzz at midnight with his calls, but sometimes she didn’t answer. Sometimes, she just lay in bed staring at the ceiling, wondering what she had gotten herself into.
Then came the rumors.
Whispers around her neighborhood. Her friend Priya’s warnings growing more serious. “I heard he’s involved in something bad, Ananya. Like really bad. He’s not just some rich guy with an attitude—he’s dangerous.”
Ananya snapped. “He’s not like that with me.”
Priya only sighed. “That’s what makes it scarier.”
When Aryan finally came to see her again, he brought her a gift—an expensive watch. It wasn’t her style at all, but she accepted it with a forced smile.
“I missed you,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She smiled. “Where were you?”
“Busy.” One word. No explanation.
That night, Ananya finally broke the silence. “Aryan, I saw that girl. And I know what I saw.”
He didn’t flinch. “You think I’d cheat on you?”
She hesitated, her voice trembling. “No... I don’t want to believe that.”
His tone turned sharp. “Then don’t.”
The conversation ended there.
She walked away feeling like she’d lost a battle she didn’t even know she was fighting.
Yet despite everything—the doubts, the cold replies, the mystery—she still loved him. Loved him so deeply that it hurt. Loved him even when she feared he wasn’t being honest. Because he was the first man who had looked at her like she was more than ordinary.
And that kind of gaze becomes an addiction.
Weeks passed. He was in and out of her life like a ghost—sometimes close enough to touch, other times unreachable. She’d wait by the phone for hours, jump at the sound of a car outside, lose herself in thoughts during class.
Her grades started slipping. Her parents noticed.
“Are you okay?” her mother asked one day.
Ananya forced a smile. “Just tired.”
But she wasn’t tired.
She was drowning.
And she didn’t know how to ask for help without breaking the illusion she had so desperately clung to.
Aryan was her secret. Her escape. Her heartbreak waiting to happen.
And deep down, she was starting to realize it already had.
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