Meera
I returned to the version of myself I hadn't seen in years.
Cold. Methodical. Distrustful.
It was the only way I knew how to survive.
Work became my sanctuary, my disguise. The long hours, the case files, the relentless emails—they asked nothing of my heart. Only my mind. And my mind knew how to build walls high enough to forget what it felt like when someone touched you like you mattered.
Yuri noticed first.
She didn't say anything the first few days. She just hovered—an extra coffee placed by my hand, a silent drive home at night, her car parked like a shield outside my building.
"You think you're being followed," she said one night, quiet as we sat in her car, the engine still running.
I didn't answer.
She didn't need me to.
Later, curled up on my couch, wrapped in a blanket that smelled like sandalwood and regret, Yuri looked at me and said, "He hasn't stopped calling, has he?"
My throat closed.
I shook my head.
"You miss him."
My eyes filled, but I blinked them away. "That's not the point."
"Then what is?"
"That I love him," I whispered. "And I'm going to destroy him. Because the world I belong to will always be a battlefield. And he doesn't deserve to bleed because of me."
Yuri leaned in. "Do you really think he doesn't already know what it means to bleed?"
That night we talked until the sky turned violet. About love, about fear, about the curse of being born with expectations that don't match your truth. And when Yuri hugged me before leaving, I held on longer than I meant to.
Two weeks later, I walked into the hospital, exhaustion in my bones, and made my way to Aryka's office.
"I want to be reassigned," I told her.
Aryka looked up from her tablet. "Excuse me?"
"Yuri could be a good fit for your team. I'm recommending her as consultant."
"You're running."
"I'm being practical."
Aryka stood slowly, crossing her arms. "You think you can outrun this? The scandal? Your past? Aarav?"
My silence answered for me.
She exhaled. "You know what I found out? That Dev wasn't just an old friend. He was your escape hatch. Your cover. The shield your family used to keep the press distracted. And yet, you still chose medicine. You still chose here."
"I didn't choose Aarav."
"Didn't you?" she said softly. "Because he chose you. Even when he was furious. Even when he felt betrayed. And do you know what that looks like to me? Love."
That was the crack. The final one.
The tears broke through, hot and fast.
Aryka didn't say anything as she wrapped her arms around me. I sobbed into her shoulder, all the fear and guilt and heartbreak spilling from me in waves.
When she pulled back, her hands were firm on my shoulders. "You don't run from love, Meera. Not when it's real. Not when it's Aarav."
Her words echoed as I walked the hallway later that night. It was empty, the soft buzz of overhead lights humming like ghosts.
Then—a hand. Firm. Over my mouth.
I yelped, instinct rising, but I was pulled into a dark room, the door slamming shut behind me.
I turned, ready to fight—
And then I saw him.
Aarav.
His chest was heaving, eyes dark, jaw clenched like he'd been holding back the tide.
He clicked the lock behind him.
"What the hell—"
"You've been avoiding me for two weeks," he growled.
"You left me no choice."
"You think you get to decide for both of us now?"
The air snapped between us, charged and electric.
I backed into the wall. He followed, step by step, until there was nowhere left to go.
His hands slammed flat on the door behind me, caging me in.
"Tell me to walk away," he said, breath hot against my skin. "Look me in the eye and tell me you don't want this."
My pulse thundered.
I opened my mouth.
But nothing came out.
Because I did want this. Wanted him. Wanted to burn every mask I'd ever worn just to taste the truth of his mouth again.
The space between us was shrinking, unbearable.
And when he finally leaned in—
The world didn't shatter.
It ignited.