the obsession start

Raghav’s Morning

Raghavendra woke to another gray morning, the city streets still wet from last night’s downpour. The air smelled of damp concrete, chai stalls, and early traffic fumes. He rubbed his eyes, feeling the soreness in his shoulders—a reminder of yesterday’s deliveries.

The package from the Rathore mansion sat on his table, unopened. The pen gleamed under the soft sunlight filtering through the window. He had ignored it last night, telling himself it was nothing, but curiosity had gnawed at him all morning.

He reached out, hesitated, and then picked up the envelope. Inside was a short note, written in precise, elegant handwriting:

"For someone who keeps his world moving. Use this well."

Raghav frowned. What does that even mean? He ran a finger along the edge of the note. There was something deliberate about the choice of words, something… personal.

He shoved the note into his pocket. There was no way he was letting this affect him. He had a family to feed, bills to pay, a life to live. And yet… the name Viraj Singh Rathore lingered in his mind, unbidden, like a shadow he couldn’t shake.

---

Aarti’s Observation

His younger sister, Aarti, had been hovering in the kitchen, watching him curiously.

“You’re distracted again,” she said, placing a cup of steaming chai before him. “What is it, Bhaiya? You look… different.”

Raghav chuckled lightly, hiding the tension. “Nothing. Just tired.”

Aarti frowned. “Sure, but even tired, you don’t frown this much. And you’ve been staring at that pen all morning.”

He waved her off, but she didn’t leave. Aarti had always been perceptive, noticing things he tried to hide. And right now, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was hiding from himself.

---

The Delivery Begins

By late morning, Raghav mounted his bike, ready for the first deliveries of the day. The streets were lively again, vendors calling out prices, rickshaws honking, children running past puddles. His routine was comforting, grounding—a stark contrast to the strange tension he felt about the Rathore mansion.

He had two packages before reaching Rathore Lane. Each delivery felt heavier than usual, as if the air itself was pressing down on him. And then he arrived.

The mansion loomed like a dark monolith, its marble gleaming even in daylight. The guards eyed him, just as yesterday, but this time there was a flicker of recognition in their gaze.

He swallowed. Why do I feel like I’m being watched?

---

Viraj’s Obsession Deepens

Inside the mansion, Viraj Singh Rathore was already waiting. He had not slept properly, his mind consumed with images of the delivery boy—his movements, his expressions, even the subtle way he held the package.

Kabir Malhotra, his loyal right-hand man, observed quietly. “Sir,” Kabir began cautiously, “you’ve been pacing since dawn. Perhaps a meeting would… distract you?”

Viraj’s eyes didn’t leave the screen showing Raghav’s bike weaving through the streets. “Distract me?” he echoed, voice low, almost a growl. “Kabir… this is no distraction. This is my world finally… moving into focus.”

Kabir’s brow furrowed. He had seen obsession in Viraj before, but never like this. It was… delicate, terrifying, consuming.

“You should rest,” Kabir insisted, though his tone lacked force. He knew better than to argue when Viraj’s mind was fixed on something—or someone.

“I cannot rest,” Viraj said sharply. “Not when he exists. Not when he moves without knowing I exist.”

---

A Second Encounter

Raghav approached the front door with the second package. He tried to keep his movements calm, professional, but his pulse betrayed him. He didn’t know why the presence of this mansion—and its owner—made him feel simultaneously irritated and… intrigued.

Viraj opened the door before he could ring. His eyes, dark and unyielding, locked onto Raghav instantly.

“You again,” Raghav said, keeping his tone even.

Viraj’s lips curved faintly. “Yes. Again. Because some things cannot wait.”

Raghav’s brow furrowed. “Some things?”

Viraj stepped aside, his gaze still fixed, almost possessive. “Yes… like the person delivering them.”

The words were quiet, almost a whisper, but they struck Raghav like a jolt of electricity. He handed over the package, resisting the impulse to glance at the man’s face for too long.

Viraj’s hand brushed his again—this time deliberate, lingering—but Raghav didn’t pull away. He froze.

“Careful,” he muttered under his breath, though the warning sounded feeble, even to him.

---

Kabir’s Concern

From the corner, Kabir observed again, arms crossed. “Sir… he’s a delivery boy. He’s not like the others. You should… be careful.”

Viraj didn’t answer immediately. His lips were pressed together, eyes following Raghav as he moved. “He is not like the others,” Viraj finally murmured. “And that… is exactly why I cannot ignore him.”

Kabir exhaled slowly, sensing the depth of his boss’s fixation. “Sir… this is different,” he said softly.

“Yes, Kabir,” Viraj said, voice low, almost reverent. “Different. And I intend to make it mine. All of it. Him. Everything.”

---

A Quiet Gift

That evening, after Raghav returned home, another small package awaited him—this time left carefully on the doorstep, unsigned but unmistakably luxurious. Inside was a handcrafted leather journal and a small note:

"For your thoughts. Use it wisely."

Raghav stared at it, heart pounding. The gifts were no longer small gestures—they were deliberate, intimate, unsettling. He looked at the note again, feeling the weight of every word.

Aarti, curious, leaned over his shoulder. “Bhaiya… someone’s very interested in you,” she teased.

Raghav didn’t answer. He didn’t want to admit that the fascination, the unease, was slowly curling into something he couldn’t name.

---

Internal Conflict

Raghav sat on his cot, tracing the edges of the journal. Why am I thinking about him? he asked himself. Why do I feel… drawn?

The name Viraj Singh Rathore echoed in his mind, over and over, like a mantra. He hated it. He hated the pull. He hated the fear and intrigue twisting inside him. Yet… he couldn’t ignore it.

Far away, in the mansion, Viraj watched through his monitors. The boy held the journal in his hands, unaware of his observer. Viraj’s chest tightened, a mix of longing and obsession.

Soon, he whispered, voice barely audible. Soon you will belong to me completely. And I will belong to you too.

---

Chapter Three Cliffhanger

Rain lashed against the windows of the Deshmukh home. Raghav drew the blanket tighter around his shoulders, eyes on the journal. He didn’t know that miles away, Viraj was planning his next move, watching his every route, imagining what it would be like to touch, to hold, to command.

And Raghav had no idea that the web had already begun to close around him.

Because obsession, once ignited, could not be ignored.

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