42

The sunlight filtered softly through the curtains as Tara slowly opened her eyes, her mind a foggy mess. She sat up, rubbing her temples, trying to process everything from the night before.

Was that a dream? She wondered, running her hands through her hair.

It seemed so real, but maybe it was just the alcohol or her overactive imagination. She couldn't shake the feeling, but she shrugged it off. He probably had been drunk—she had to ignore it. After all, she knew how these things went.

Tara moved through her morning routine mechanically. The water from the shower felt refreshing as it cascaded over her, washing away the remnants of the previous day's confusion. She stepped out, toweling off before slipping into a smart, fitted dress that accentuated her figure. The stockings were a soft, sheer black, and she added a trench coat to complete her look—chic yet professional. She glanced at herself in the mirror, momentarily satisfied with the reflection. Today, she would just focus on classes.

She locked the door behind her and made her way down the hallway, the clack of her heels on the polished floor echoing in the stillness. Her mind began to wander as she reached the elevator.

Maybe it wasn't as complicated as I'm making it.

As the elevator doors slid open, she stepped inside, her hand already reaching for the button to descend. That's when she froze, her breath hitching in her throat.

Standing there, just behind her, was Aryan.

The elevator doors hadn't even fully closed, yet she knew, with a sinking feeling, that her day was about to take a very different turn.

The elevator hummed quietly as Aryan leaned slightly closer, his presence suddenly filling the small space. "Good morning, baby," he said, his voice low, teasing, almost intimate.

Tara stiffened, her heart racing as she turned to face him, her eyes narrowing. "Don't call me that," she snapped, trying to keep her composure.

But Aryan was undeterred. He moved a step closer, closing the already small gap between them, his gaze intense. "Why can't I? You're my baby," he said, his tone so matter-of-fact, as if it was the simplest truth in the world.

"No, I'm not," Tara shot back, her voice trembling but determined. She took a deep breath, willing herself to stay calm, to distance herself from the dangerous familiarity of his words.

His smirk deepened, and he stepped in even closer, almost trapping her against the back of the elevator. "I'm done being away from you, Tara. I want you now, and I'm going to make you mine again." His words were firm, unapologetic, and there was no mistaking the finality in them.

Tara swallowed hard, trying to ignore the flutter in her chest, the way his nearness seemed to short-circuit her thoughts. "Please, don't," she whispered, shaking her head, feeling the weight of his words pressing down on her.

Aryan's smile turned more intense, more possessive. "Your heart is already mine, Tara," he said, his voice almost a whisper. "It's just your mind I need to convince. But don't worry," he added with a dark glint in his eyes, "I know how to fix your mind."

The elevator chimed, the doors opening with a soft whoosh. Aryan stepped back, though the tension still lingered thick in the air between them. Tara quickly walked toward the door, her mind in chaos, but before she could make it out, Aryan reached out and grabbed her hand, his grip strong, unyielding.

"Where are you going?" he asked, his voice calm but possessive.

She pulled her hand slightly, trying to regain control of the situation. "To class," she said, her voice strained with confusion.

"I'm coming with you," he declared, without a hint of hesitation, pulling her along as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Tara's confusion deepened as he firmly held her hand, walking beside her with a steady, unwavering pace. She tried to keep her thoughts together, but everything about this situation felt wrong, and yet, something deep inside her stirred in response to his presence.

She tried to ignore the weight of Aryan's hand as it gripped hers, leading her down the corridor with a quiet determination.

His presence beside her was impossible to shake, even as she kept her pace steady, trying not to engage. She didn't want to talk to him, not after what he'd said in the elevator. But he didn't seem to care about her silence.

"How's your morning been, Star?" Aryan's voice was casual, like he wasn't the one who'd just cornered her in an elevator with words that still echoed in her mind. "I'm guessing you didn't sleep well?"

Tara glanced at him briefly, her eyes briefly meeting his before she looked away. "Fine," she muttered, her voice cold and distant.

He smiled knowingly, not fooled by her curt response. He squeezed her hand tighter, keeping the connection alive. "You always say 'fine' when it's anything but," he teased, clearly amused. "You know, I remember a time when you couldn't lie to me. We used to laugh about it, remember?"

She kept her gaze forward, unwilling to entertain his words. Her heart ached with the memories that threatened to resurface, the ones she had tried to bury. But something in his tone made it hard to ignore him. He always had a way of bringing up the past, of pulling her back to moments she had long ago tried to forget.

"Yeah," she muttered, the single word slipping out of her lips before she could stop it. "I remember."

His grin widened as if hearing those words were a victory for him. "Of course you do. You always remember." His voice softened as they walked along the street, "You're always going to remember, Tara. That's the thing about us... the good memories. They're never really gone, are they?"

Tara clenched her jaw, trying to ignore the way his words seemed to worm their way into her chest. "Stop," she whispered, but it came out barely audible.

Aryan didn't stop. He never did. He walked beside her, but not too close yet his presence kept an undeniable force in her life. "I'm not here to remind you of the bad stuff," he said, as they reached the corner near the lecture hall. "I'm here to bring back the good stuff. The stuff you can't forget, no matter how hard you try."

He turned toward her, his gaze unwavering. "Like how we always joked about how you'd never make it through the day without spilling coffee on yourself?"

Tara froze. The mention of their inside joke hit her like a tidal wave. That small, absurd joke—something so simple, so intimate between the two of them—had always made her laugh, no matter how bad things had gotten. Her lips parted slightly, and for a split second, she could almost see it: the old her, the one who didn't push him away, the one who smiled at everything he said.

Her breath caught. "Don't..." she whispered, her voice wavering.

Aryan stopped walking, his hand still firmly holding hers. He gently pulled her to face him, his eyes locking onto hers, intense and unyielding. "This is just one memory, Tara," he said, his voice soft but filled with a certainty that left her breathless. "But I'm going to bring back everything. All the memories. Everything we had... it's all coming back to you, for us."

Tara's heart raced in her chest. She couldn't escape it. The way he spoke, the way he looked at her—she could feel herself falling back into the pull of him, even if she didn't want to.

"Please..." she murmured, but it wasn't enough to stop him. He was already too close, too embedded in her thoughts, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Tara didn't know if she wanted to fight it anymore.

💜