15|The Yearning Obsession
Eshaan Vikram Khanna POV
The whiskey burned as it slid down my throat, but it was nothing compared to the fire inside me.
Aaradhya.
She had been mine once. In every way that mattered. And yet, she had slipped away.
My fingers tightened around the glass as I stared at the screen in front of me. The hidden camera fed me every detailâevery breath, every shift of her body beneath the dim glow of her bedside lamp.
She was lying on her side, her long fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns on her pillow. Her brows furrowed slightly, lips parting as she sighed, lost in thought.
I leaned closer, my voice a whisper.
"Nee enna ninaikiraya, kanmani?"
(Are you thinking about me, my precious?)
She used to. I knew she did.
Even now, when she convinced herself she hated me, I saw the flickers of longing. The way her fingers hovered over old pictures before she deleted them. The way her eyes darkened when someone mentioned my name.
She could fool the world. But not me.
I ran a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply. This distanceâit was killing me.
I missed her. Devastatingly. Obsessively.
The way she fit against me when I pulled her close.
The way she gasped my name when I kissed her.
The way she clung to my shirt, afraid to let go.
I missed the soft scent of jasmine in her hair, the way she pouted when I teased her, the way she whispered secrets in my ear when she thought no one was listening.
I missed everything.
A shaky breath left my lips as I stood up, pacing. My mind was restless, aching for a piece of her.
I moved toward the shelf where I kept the remnants of our pastâthings she had left behind, things I had stolen when she wasnât looking.
Her old anklet, the one she stopped wearing but never threw away.
A single page from her diary, her hurried handwriting spilling secrets I was never meant to read.
The tiny silver earrings she had dropped once, never noticing when I picked them up.
My fingers traced over the smooth metal, my mind drifting.
"Un mugam theriyaama vazhka naan ninaikkavae mudiyala, kutty."
(I can't even imagine a life without seeing your face, baby.)
I smirked bitterly.
She thought she could erase me. She thought she could forget.
But how could she?
Our memories were carved into her skin, just like they were burned into mine.
She was my obsession. My addiction. My everything.
And soon...
She would remembers
The whiskey in my glass barely numbed the ache inside me. It was useless. Nothing could fill the void she left behind.
Aaradhya.
I dragged a hand down my face, my eyes fixated on the glowing screen in front of me. She was still asleep, her fingers loosely clutching her phone. Her chest rose and fell with each peaceful breath, completely unaware of the storm raging inside me.
She used to sleep in my arms.
Now, she curled into herself like she was missing something.
Like she was missing me.
I leaned closer, my fingers grazing the screen as if I could reach through it, as if I could touch her. My lips curled into a smirk.
"You can pretend all you want, Aara⦠but I know you still feel it."
I let out a low chuckle, shaking my head.
She was stubborn. Always had been.
But she couldn't erase me from her mind. I wouldnât let her.
I stood up, walking to the shelf where I kept the remnants of her. A small wooden box sat at the edge, and I ran my fingers over it before opening it.
Inside were tiny fragments of our past.
The ring she once fidgeted with, spinning it on the table absentmindedly.
A dried jasmine flower from the garland she wore at a temple visit.
A piece of her broken braceletâthe one she didnât bother fixing, but I did.
She always left pieces of herself behind.
And I always picked them up.
Because she was mine.
Aara thought she could slip away from me, but she didnât realizeâshe was still wrapped in my world, in my obsession.
And soonâ¦
She would be in my arms again.
Zeeshan Khan POV
The city was asleep, but I was wide awake.
I sat in the dimly lit room, the only sound being the slow, rhythmic tapping of my fingers against the armrest. My eyes remained locked on the wall in front of meâa shrine, a collection of stolen moments frozen in time.
Aaradhya.
She didn't know me. Not in the past. Not now.
But I knew her.
I had memorized every little thing about her before she even realized someone was watching. Before she ever knew a pair of eyes followed her every move, absorbing every detail, every habit, every fleeting expression.
She never noticed me sitting in the farthest corner of the library, watching as she bit the end of her pen while solving equations.
She never realized I was the one who returned her lost books to the counter before she could even search for them.
She never knew that the stranger she bumped into at the coffee shopâwho whispered a soft "be careful"âwas me.
She didn't know me. But I knew her.
And I was done watching from afar.
I stood, my fingers tracing the edge of a photograph pinned to the wall. Aaradhya, dressed in soft pastels, her hair cascading down her back, completely oblivious to the storm lurking in the shadows.
She looked⦠untouched. Pure. Unaware of the twisted devotion wrapped around her life.
Unaware of me.
But not for long.
I smirked, my nails scraping against the surface of the photograph.
Eshaan thought she was his. Thought he had claimed her. Thought he could keep her.
Fool.
She was never his.
She never belonged to anyone.
Not yet.
But soon, she would know.
Soon, she would understand.
Because I was done being unseen.
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