The silence of my apartment felt heavier than usual tonight.

My exams were finally over, but there was no sense of relief—only a lingering, hollow exhaustion. It’s been more than two months now.

I’m starting my third and final year of college tomorrow, and yet, I feel like a stranger in my own life.

My mind keeps drifting back to that phone call. Ishaan.

The moment I heard his voice, I felt like my soul was physically leaving my body.

The way he spoke, the things he made me do while another man’s fingers were inside me... Gosh, what have I become?

I’m supposed to be a top student, a girl with a future, but I’ve turned into a puppet controlled by two invisible masters.

One who watches from across the ocean, and one who haunts the shadows of my bedroom.

The Stranger... he’s always there. He’s become a constant, terrifying fixture in my life.

He’s in my apartment when I wake up, he’s in the campus bathroom stalls when I’m trying to catch my breath between classes.

Every time he touches me, every time he stretches my tight little pussy with his long fingers, I tell myself I hate it. I tell myself I’m a victim.

But the pleasure... it’s a drug I can’t stop taking. I can’t hold it back.

My body has learned to crave the very thing that should make me run screaming.

I looked down at my nightstand. Twisted Love was finished. I had read every word, feeling the sick parallels between the fiction and my reality.

The obsession, the possession, the way the heroine belonged to a monster... it was no longer a story to me. It was a reflection.

I’ve eaten my dinner, but I didn't taste a thing. My body feels heavy, the weight of the last two months pressing down on my eyelids.

Tomorrow the new session starts, and I have to go back to pretending. I have to look Ishita in the eye and pretend I’m not a filthy little whore who moans her brother's name while a shadow licks her clean.

I crawled under the sheets, the fabric cool against my bare skin.

I didn't even bother with pajamas tonight; what was the point when I knew the shadows would just find me anyway?

I’m so tired.

My eyes are burning, and my brain is a static mess of grey eyes and masked faces.

I’m feeling so sleepy... but even as I drift off, I’m listening.

I’m listening for the sound of a window latch clicking or the heavy, rhythmic breathing of a man who refuses to let me go.

Goodnight, world. Goodnight, Ishaan. Goodnight, Stranger.

I wonder which one of you will be in my dreams tonight.

_________________________________

The sun was barely up, but I was already awake. The weight of the new session—the final year of this long, exhausting climb—was pressing down on me.

I stood under the shower for a long time, the hot water stinging my skin, washing away the phantom feeling of fingers that had haunted me for months.

I stepped out, my hair dripping down my back, and wrapped myself in a plush towel.

I spent a long time in front of the mirror, moisturizing every inch of my skin, trying to feel clean, trying to feel like the Ira who hadn't been broken yet.

I picked out a light blue loose shirt—elegant, simple—and paired it with an off-white mini skirt that showed just enough leg.

My hair, thick and reaching down to my hips, fell in waves around my shoulders. I looked like a normal student.

I looked like I didn't have secrets buried deep in my gut.

After a quick puja and a bitter black coffee, I pulled on my ankle boots and stepped out into the world.

The campus was buzzing with the energy of the first day, but I felt like I was walking through a dream.

I reached the classroom and headed straight for the back. The "Last Benchers" were already there, a fortress of familiarity.

"Fucking hell, Ira! Look at you!" Rahul whistled as I sat down next to Ishita.

"Seriously, babe, you look absolutely sexy," Priya added, leaning over. "That skirt is doing things for your legs. Did you actually sleep? You look... refreshed."

"I'm fine," I lied, offering a small smile. "Just ready to get this year over with."

"We all are," Ishita said, but her eyes were scanning the front of the room. "But keep your eyes open. See that girl who joined late last year? Shruti Singh? She’s been acting like she owns the place already."

I looked toward the door and gasped. Shruti walked in like she was on a runway.

She was beautiful—sharp features, a confidence that felt like a weapon.

She walked straight past us, her eyes not even glancing our way, and sat at the corner of the second-to-last bench, right in front of us.

"Ugh, I don't give a flying fuck how pretty she is," Priya whispered, leaning in close. "She’s too fucking rude. I tried to say hey to her in the hallway and she looked at me like I was a piece of gum on her shoe. Pathetic bitch."

"I have a bad feeling about her, Ira," Ishita murmured, her voice dropping to a serious tone. "She’s been asking a lot of questions about the families on campus. Specifically ours."

I glanced at the back of Shruti's head, a chill running through me.

Another shadow?

Or just another girl?

"Anyway, enough about that," Rahul said, trying to clear the air. "Ira, seriously, when are you coming back to the penthouse? It’s been months. The place feels like a tomb without you. I’m tired of Ishir bhai’s moody face."

"Yeah, Ira," Ishita grabbed my hand, her eyes pleading. "Mumma is missing you so much. She asks about you every single day. She wants to see you again. She’s worried you’re mad at us."

I looked down at my lap, my heart squeezing. "I'm not mad, Ishi. I just... I needed the space."

"Well, you've had enough space," Ishita said firmly. "Day after tomorrow... it's Ishaan's birthday. The big 3-0. He’s still in Russia, but Mumma is throwing a dinner anyway. You have to be there. For her. Please?"

The mention of his name made my stomach flip. I could still hear his voice on the phone. I could still feel the phantom vibration of that call.

"I'll come," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "I'll come back very soon. I promise."

"Good," Ishita squeezed my hand. "Because if you don't, I'm literally going to drag you there by your hair."

Before I could reply, the door opened and the professor walked in. The chatter died down instantly.

"Good morning, class," he announced, tapping his marker against the board. "Welcome to your final year. Let’s start with my favorite... Chemistry."

I opened my notebook, my pen poised over the blank page.

Chemistry.

The study of reactions, of bonds, of things that change when you add heat.

I looked at the back of Shruti’s head and then out the window.

The session had begun, and I knew, deep down, that the reactions starting today would be the most explosive ones yet.

_________________________________

The day dragged on, the heavy weight of academia momentarily distracting me from the chaos of my personal life.

By the time we reached the final lecture—Biology—the classroom was buzzing with that restless, end-of-the-day energy.

I tried to focus on the diagrams of cellular structures, but I couldn't shake the prickling sensation on the side of my neck.

I glanced to my left, and there she was again.

Shruti.

She was staring at me—not a passing glance, but a cold, calculated look.

This was the fifth or sixth time I’d caught her.

When our eyes met, she didn't flinch or look away; she just held my gaze with a terrifying neutrality before slowly turning back to the board.

Whatever, I thought, gripping my pen tighter.

She’s probably just another overachiever sizing up the competition.

As soon as the bell rang, the four of us started packing our bags.

"Fuck, I am so glad today is over," Rahul groaned, stretching his arms over his head. "And can we just take a second to appreciate the fact that our asses are officially saved? Professor Ishaan Khanna is thousands of miles away in the snow. No surprise quizzes, no 'genius-level' expectations."

Priya shuddered, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Ugh, don't remind me. I still have nightmares about the night before he left. Those Physics questions? I swear he was trying to induce a collective stroke in the entire class."

I actually found myself laughing—a genuine, light sound that felt foreign in my own chest.

Despite everything, I felt a strange urge to defend him. "Oh, come on. He wasn't that bad. Ishaan just wanted us to actually use our brains for once."

"Spoken like the teacher's pet," Ishita teased, nudging me.

Suddenly, the air in our corner went cold. Shruti, who had been quietly packing her bag in the bench ahead of us, turned around slowly. Her eyes were like flint.

"It’s Professor Ishaan Khanna," she said, her voice sharp and dripping with a strange, possessive authority. "Not 'Ishaan'. You should show a little more respect for a man of his stature."

The table went silent for a heartbeat before Ishita leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Excuse me? Who the hell do you think you’re talking to? This is a private conversation. Maybe stay in your fucking limits, Shruti."

"Seriously," Priya added, her voice rising. "You’ve been here for five minutes. You don't know who we are, and you definitely don't know who you're talking to."

Shruti didn't look at them. She shifted her gaze to me, her lip curling in a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. It was the look of someone who knew a dirty secret.

"Oh, I know exactly who I'm talking to," she snapped, her eyes raking over my light blue shirt and mini skirt as if she could see what's hidden beneath. "Probably better than you think."

"Hey," Rahul stepped in, his voice dropping an octave. "Mind your fucking business and turn back around before this gets ugly."

Shruti rolled her eyes, a slow, theatrical gesture, and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear.

"Pathetic," she whispered, turning back to her desk.

"What a bitch," Ishita hissed, grabbing my arm as we stood up to leave. "Ira, if she opens her mouth to you again, even for a second, you tell us. I don't give a flying fuck if she's new; she's too fucking rude."

I looked at the three of them—Ishita’s fierce protectiveness, Rahul’s tensed shoulders, and Priya’s indignant scowl. A little bit of the tension in my chest eased.

"Aww," I teased, bumping my shoulder against Ishita’s as we walked toward the exit. "Look at you guys. Are you going to play my bodyguards now? Should I get you all matching suits?"

Rahul and Priya rolled their eyes in unison, but the smiles were back on their faces.

"Don't get used to it, Ira," Rahul joked, though the use of that name made my heart skip a jagged beat. "We're expensive to hire."

As we walked out, I glanced back one last time. Shruti was still sitting there, watching me leave, her eyes dark and unreadable.

The session had just started, but I already knew she wasn't just a student. She was a warning.

I just didn't know what she was warning me about yet.

____________________________________

The tension from the hallway hadn't even faded when the door creaked open again.

It wasn't a student this time, but the college peon, clutching a thick stack of freshly printed papers.

He looked frazzled, his eyes darting toward the door as if he were being pursued by a ghost.

"Miss Class Topper," he panted, holding the stack out to me. "You need to take these. They’re the new notes and the syllabus outline. Assigned by the new Biology professor."

" Oh hell No! Not again!" I shouted in pure frustration, throwing my hands up. "The session hasn't even been active for six hours and we’re already being buried in extra material? Who is this guy?"

Ishita stepped up beside me, her arms crossed. "Yeah, who is it now? Did they hire a drill sergeant or a teacher?"

The peon swallowed hard, wiping sweat from his forehead. "I... I don't know his name yet, miss. But he’s scary. Too rude. He didn't even look at me when he handed these over. Just told me to get them to the topper immediately."

After the peon scurried out, Rahul and Priya crowded around.

"Great," Rahul groaned. "Now who’s the new Biology professor? If it’s another hard-ass like the last one, I’m dropping out and joining the circus."

"Stop whining," I muttered, though my own head was throbbing. I looked at Ishita. "Help me distribute these, please? The sooner everyone has them, the sooner we can figure out what kind of hell we’re in for."

Ishita nodded, and for the next ten minutes, we moved through the rows, handing out the crisp, white sheets.

The classroom was a chaotic mess of chatter and complaints until the stack dwindled.

"Give me the rest, Ira," Ishita said, grabbing the last few papers. "I’ll handle the last row. You look like you’re about to snap. Go clean the board; the previous professor left a mess of diagrams."

I gave her a grateful look and walked toward the front of the room.

I picked up the eraser and started wiping away the chalk dust.

As I moved the eraser in rhythmic circles, my mind wandered—as it always did—to the man in Moscow.

I wondered how Ishaan was.

Did he actually miss me, or was I just a game to him?

Despite the stalking, despite the terror, the truth was a jagged pill to swallow: I really did miss him. I missed the way his presence used to command the very air in the room.

Suddenly, the chatter behind me didn't just fade—it died. The silence was instantaneous and heavy, the kind of silence that precedes a storm.

I turned around, the eraser still in my hand, and the world stopped turning.

There he was.

Ishaan Khanna.

He was standing tall in the doorway, the frame barely seeming large enough to contain his aura.

He was wearing impeccable black formals, the fabric hugging his broad shoulders, with a crisp white shirt underneath that made his tanned skin look like polished bronze.

And those eyes... those piercing, dark grey eyes were scanning the room with a lethal calm.

My heart wasn't just beating; it was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird trying to break free.

My mouth went dry, my breath hitching in my throat.

"I’m sure," he began, his voice a deep, resonant baritone that sent a shiver straight down my spine, "that absolutely no one in this room has missed me. Yet, here I am."

He stepped into the room, the click of his expensive shoes on the linoleum sounding like a countdown.

His gaze swept over the rows, lingering for a fraction of a second on Rahul and Priya. "I’ve been hearing some... interesting feedback about my 'tough' questions. It seems some of you prefer the circus to my classroom."

My lips parted in a silent gasp. He had heard us.

Ishita froze in the middle row, a sheet of paper still halfway out of her hand.

Rahul looked like he wanted to dissolve into the floorboards, and Priya was desperately trying to shrink behind Rahul’s shoulder, her face turning a pale shade of white.

Then, his gaze shifted. It landed on me, heavy and possessive, pinning me to the spot.

"Miss Mishra," he said, his voice dropping an octave, silkier and more dangerous. "If your work is done... perhaps I might actually start the class? Or should I wait for you to finish your daydream?"

I couldn't move. I was lost in him. He looked more handsome than ever—leaner, sharper, more dangerous.

I was literally drooling, my mind a hazy mess of the man on the phone and the man standing five feet away from me.

The grey eyes... they were the same. Everything was the same.

Before I could even process a response, Ishita came running toward the front, her face flushed with panic.

She grabbed my arm, her grip tight.

"Sorry, sir! So sorry!" she blurted out, giving a frantic little nod before dragging me toward our bench.

We scrambled into our seats, my legs feeling like jelly.

The entire class sat in a state of collective shock, not a single person daring to whisper.

Ishaan walked to the podium, his movements predatory and smooth. He didn't even look at his notes as he spoke again.

"Open your texts to page 108," he commanded, the sound of fifty books opening at once echoing through the room. "Chapter: Genetics and Molecular's."

He leaned forward, resting his large hands on the edge of the desk, his gaze lingering on me for a heartbeat too long.

"I will be teaching for the next forty minutes," he said, a small, dark smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. "And then... I will be asking questions. I suggest you listen very carefully, because my expectations have only grown while I was away."

I stared at the page, the letters blurring. He was back. The master was back in his tower. It was happening right here, in the light of day.

_________________________________

The atmosphere in the room was suffocating. Ishaan—Professor Khanna—was in his element.

He moved in front of the whiteboard with a predatory grace, his voice deep and steady as he dissected the complexities of molecular bonds.

But the most agonizing part?

He didn't look at me. Not once.

It was a cold, calculated erasure. I sat there, my pen trembling over my notebook, staring at the back of his head, then his profile, silently begging him to just glance my way.

To acknowledge that I was more than just a seat number in his lecture hall. But his grey eyes remained fixed on the diagrams, as if I didn't even exist.

Beside me, the collective anxiety of the back bench was manifesting in frantic, hushed whispers.

"Fucking hell, look at her," Ishita hissed, leaning forward so her breath hit my ear. She was nodding toward the second-to-last bench. "The new girl, Shruti... she’s practically drooling over my brother. It’s disgusting."

"I’m telling you, I have a weird feeling about her," Rahul whispered back, his voice tight with nerves. "She’s not just looking at him; she’s studying him. Like she’s trying to memorize the way he breathes."

"It's not just studying, Rahul," Priya added, her voice barely audible. "She’s looking at Sir with such lustful eyes. It’s too fucking bold for a new student. She acts like she’s already won him."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't. I just shifted my gaze from the back of Shruti’s head to Ishaan’s broad shoulders.

And then, as if he heard the silent plea in my soul, he turned.

Finally, our eyes met.

I froze. This wasn't a warm look of recognition; it was a dark, icy promise.

His gaze was heavy with a silent warning: You wanted my attention, Little Bird? I’m going to make you beg for it until you have no pride left.

Before any of us could breathe, the silence was shattered.

"SILENCE!" Ishaan’s voice thundered, echoing off the walls like a physical blow.

The entire class jumped.

He slammed his marker down on the podium. "While I am teaching, why on earth are you four talking? Do you think my lecture is an invitation for a social tea party?"

We all turned into statues. I could feel the blood drain from my face.

"Since you have so much to discuss," he said, his voice dropping to a lethal, quiet rasp, "let’s see how much you’ve actually retained. Miss Priya, stand up."

Priya looked like she was about to faint. She stood up, her knees visibly shaking.

"What is the structure of the DNA?" he snapped.

"I-it’s... it's a double-stranded helix," she stuttered, her voice thin. "Composed of two polynucleotide chains... running antiparallel... with a sugar-phosphate backbone."

"Sit down," he dismissed her coldly, then turned his gaze like a spotlight. "Mr. Rahul. What is semiconservative replication?"

Rahul stood up, swallowing hard. "It’s... it’s the process where each strand of the original DNA molecule serves as a template... for a new strand. So each new DNA has one old and one new strand."

"Barely adequate," Ishaan muttered. "Ishita. What are leading and lagging strands?"

Ishita stood up, her jaw set. "The leading strand is synthesized continuously in the 5' to 3' direction. The lagging strand is synthesized discontinuously... in short segments called Okazaki fragments."

Then, the weight of the room shifted. He turned to me. The grey eyes were merciless.

"Miss Mishra. What is the central dogma of molecular biology?"

I looked straight into his eyes, refusing to look down. My heart was a frantic drum, but I wouldn't let him see me break. Not here.

"The central dogma explains the flow of genetic information," I answered, my voice surprisingly steady despite the fire in my veins. "It flows from DNA to RNA through transcription, and from RNA to protein through translation."

His gaze lingered on me for a second too long—a dark, possessive spark—before he abruptly shifted his attention to the second-to-last bench. To Shruti.

"And you," he said, his tone changing slightly. "The new face. Name?"

"Shruti Singh," she said. Her voice wasn't shaky or scared. It was melodic, almost purring, with a weird, confidential tone that made the hair on the back of my neck stand up.

"Well, Miss Singh," Ishaan leaned back against the desk. "What is transcription?"

Shruti didn't hesitate. She didn't even look at her notes.

She looked directly at him, her smile small and knowing. "Transcription is the process where a specific segment of DNA is copied into RNA by the enzyme RNA polymerase. It’s the first step in gene expression."

The classroom was deathly silent. Ishaan looked from her back to us, his lip curling in a familiar, narcissistic smirk.

"It seems," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm as he looked at the four of us, "that some people in this room are here to actually learn. Perhaps you all should learn something from Miss Singh instead of talking nonsense and wasting my time."

I felt the sting of his words like a physical slap.

Ishita, Rahul, and Priya looked down at their desks, humiliated and terrified.

Shruti didn't turn around, but I could feel her triumph.

Ishaan picked up the marker again, turning back to the board. "Let’s continue. And if I hear one more whisper from the back row, you’ll find that my punishments are far more rigorous than a few simple questions."

I gripped my pen until my knuckles turned white.

He was back, alright.

And he was playing us against each other with a cruelty that was uniquely his.

_________________________________

The bell rang, signaling the end of the psychological warfare Ishaan called a lecture.

The tension in the room didn't dissipate; it just shifted, curdling into something more bitter as he began to pack his leather satchel.

"Miss Singh," Ishaan’s voice cut through the sound of shifting chairs.

It was smooth, professional, and yet it held a weight that made my breath hitch.

Shruti stopped mid-motion, looking up at him with that same unnerving confidence. "Yes, Professor?"

"Bring your notes to my office in ten minutes," he commanded, not even looking at her as he adjusted his cuffs. "I want to review your intake of today’s material. There are... details we need to discuss regarding your placement."

A slow, triumphant smile spread across Shruti’s face. "I'll be there, Sir. I wouldn't want to keep you waiting."

As she stood up to leave, she didn't just walk past us. She stopped at the end of our bench.

She leaned in slightly, her eyes flickering over the four of us before settling on me with a predatory gleam. She didn't speak out loud, but she didn't have to.

She leaned in and whispered just loud enough for only the four of us to hear, before giving a slow, deliberate wink.

"I see the way you look at him, Ira," she murmured, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. "But keep your eyes off my man. Because very soon, he’s going to be entirely mine."

She turned on her heel and strutted out of the room, her heels clicking a steady rhythm of victory.

"Fucking hell," Rahul hissed, his face red with anger. "Did that pathetic bitch just threaten us? In the middle of the classroom?"

"I’m literally going to lose it," Priya whispered, her hands shaking as she shoved her books into her bag. "The audacity. Who does she think she is? I feel so disgusted just being in the same room as her."

"Ira, don't listen to her," Ishita said, grabbing my shoulder, her voice thick with worry. "She's just a too fucking rude interloper. My brother would never—"

"Let's just go," I interrupted, my voice sounding hollow and metallic. I couldn't look at them. I couldn't look at the door where Ishaan had just vanished. "Please. I just want to leave."

I avoided their eyes, pushing past them toward the exit.

My mind was a chaotic storm, the winds howling one single, devastating fact:

Instead of calling me, the girl he’s marked, the girl whose name he moaned on the phone—he called her.

My subconscious flared up, a cruel, mocking voice echoing in the chambers of my head.

What did you expect, Ira? You’ve been getting finger fucked by a stranger for months.

You let a shadow taste you while you moaned Ishaan’s name.

You cheated on him in the dark, and now you’re scared of a girl in the light?

You’re a filthy little whore, remember?

Why would he want a broken toy when he can have something new?

My heart shattered, the pieces falling like glass inside my chest.

I felt a hot, stinging tear slip from my eye, carving a path through my makeup. I didn't stop to wipe it.

"Ira! Wait!" Ishita yelled behind me.

"Ira, come with us! We’ll take the car!" Rahul shouted, his voice echoing in the hallway.

I didn't listen. I didn't stop. I broke into a run, my ankle boots thudding against the pavement as I bolted toward the campus gates.

I didn't want the penthouse. I didn't want their protection. I wanted to disappear.

I reached the bus stop just as the doors were closing, shoving my way inside and collapsing into a seat in the back.

I leaned my head against the cold glass of the window, sobbing silently as the bus pulled away, leaving my friends—and the man who owned my soul—behind in the dust.

_________________________________

The evening shadows stretched across the apartment, casting long, skeletal shapes on the walls.

I hadn't moved from the couch in hours. My stomach was in knots, making the thought of food repulsive, and even my novels—my usual escape—lay abandoned on the floor.

I had cried until my throat was raw and my eyes felt like they were filled with hot sand.

I lay there, staring at the ceiling, watching the fan spin in a slow, dizzying circle, until the sharp chime of the doorbell shattered the silence.

My heart didn't just jump; it felt like it stopped. I sat up, clutching my chest, my breath coming in short, terrified gasps.

Who could it be?

Was it him?

Had Ishaan followed me here to finish the destruction he started in the classroom?

Or was it the Stranger, coming to claim the debt I owed for the months he spent watching me?

I stood up on shaky legs, smoothed my rumpled shirt, and opened the door. I froze.

It wasn't a monster.

It was Ishir bhai and Aunty.

"Ira, baccha," Aunty said softly, her eyes instantly taking in my disheveled state.

"Ishir bhai... Aunty... please, come inside," I whispered, stepping back to let them in. My voice was a broken rasp.

They walked in, the air of authority and warmth they carried momentarily clashing with the cold, lonely atmosphere of my apartment.

They sat on the couch, and I hovered by the door for a second before joining them in the small living space.

"How have you been, Ira?" Ishir bhai asked, his voice deep and grounding. He looked at me with a sharp, perceptive gaze. "We heard the new session started today."

"I'm... I'm okay," I lied, looking at my feet.

"Ishaan has come back, you know," Ishir bhai said, watching my reaction closely.

"I know," I replied, the image of those grey eyes in the classroom flashing behind my lids. "I saw him today."

The silence became heavy. I stood up quickly, needing to escape their gaze. "Let me make some coffee. Please, sit."

I retreated into the kitchen, my hands shaking as I fumbled with the beans and the water.

I took ten minutes, using the time to splash cold water on my face and try to steady my breathing.

When I finally emerged, I handed them the steaming mugs.

"Thank you, baccha," Aunty said, taking a sip. I sat down beside her, feeling like a small child in the presence of a queen.

She turned to me, her hand reaching out to pat mine. "Ira, I met you once in Ishaan’s penthouse, and after that, you just vanished. No calls, no visits. It was as if the earth swallowed you whole."

"I'm sorry, Aunty," I whispered, the guilt gnawing at me. "After he left... I just needed a little space. Everything felt so overwhelming. I thought coming back here would help me clear my head."

"Space is good," she said gently, "but isolation is dangerous." She leaned in, her eyes shining with intent. "The day after tomorrow is Ishaan’s birthday. It’s his thirtieth, a big milestone. I’m throwing a dinner at the Khanna mansion, and I want you to come. I expect you to be there."

I felt the panic rise again. After seeing him with Shruti, after the way he ignored me, I couldn't imagine standing in his house. "Aunty, I... I don't think it would be appropriate for me to come. I'm just a student, and given the circumstances... it might be better if I stay away."

Ishir bhai leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "Ira, listen to me. You aren't coming to this party as my brother’s student or as some guest. You are coming as my sister. You are coming because you are part of this family, whether you’ve accepted it yet or not."

The kindness in his voice was the final straw. A fresh wave of tears spilled from my eyes, hot and uncontrollable.

I lowered my head, sobbing quietly into my hands.

Aunty didn't hesitate; she pulled me into a tight, motherly hug, stroking my hair. "No need to cry, baccha. No more tears."

She pulled back slightly, her thumb wiping a tear from my cheek. "You have cried enough. Your eyes are speaking for you—they are swollen and red. You’ve been crying for hours, haven't you?"

I couldn't answer. I just nodded, burying my face in her shoulder.

We talked for a little while longer—about college, about the new session, and how Ishita was doing.

I kept my answers short, telling them everything was fine, trying to hide the dark reality of my life.

Finally, they stood up to leave.

Ishir bhai stopped at the door, pointing a finger at me with a faint, commanding smile. "Day after tomorrow, Ira. Be ready by five in the evening. I will personally come and pick you up. No excuses."

"I'll be ready, Bhai," I agreed, knowing there was no use fighting him.

Aunty hugged me one last time at the threshold. "And Ira? I want you back in Ishaan's penthouse. Rahul, Priya, and Ishita are already living there, and they miss you terribly. The house feels empty without your spirit."

"Maybe... maybe after the party, I'll shift back," I whispered, the thought of being near my friends finally outweighing my fear of the shadows.

Aunty’s face lit up. She hugged me again, beaming. "That makes me so happy! I’ll be waiting for you at the party, then. Wear something beautiful."

After they left, the silence of the apartment felt deafening. I walked back into my room, my legs feeling like lead.

The emotional exhaustion was more taxing than any exam. I lay down on the bed, my eyes still feeling heavy and throbbing from the hours of weeping.

I didn't eat. I didn't turn on the lights. I just closed my eyes and let the darkness take me, falling into a deep, dreamless sleep while the evening sun was still setting outside my window.

_________________________________