The following week was a blur of high-tension silence and lingering glances. Khushi tried to keep her life "normal," focusing on her studies, but her focus was a lie. While her laptop was open, her ears were tuned to the heavy, rhythmic sound of Ayaan’s footsteps. Every time he passed her door, the air in her lungs seemed to vanish, replaced by a suffocating, electric heat.
Ayaan was a constant shadow. He was busy—phone calls in low, lethal voices—but his obsession with her safety was becoming something deeper. Something possessive.
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