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Praveer

Shit.. she remembers me too...

Oh right... I forgot. It was her father who arranged that fake passport for me.

The realization hits like a gust of wind slamming into a half-closed door. My thoughts scatter.

Now I can't stop wondering-did she know all along that I'm Rayan? Did she come to Delhi for some deeper reason? To confront me? To expose me? Or was it really just... coincidence?

She said she was here to study. Said it so casually. But knowing her... nothing she does is ever without layers.

"So, you remember me too!" she exclaims, eyes wide with a mix of surprise and something softer almost like relief.

I let out a small sigh, scratching the back of my neck. "Yeah… I mean, your father's name gave it away. And your behavior... it's the same. Still doing whatever pops into your head without thinking twice."

Agh-my head. It's pounding. Thinking about all this, trying to stitch together every little moment, every word she's said since we met again-it's like chasing shadows in a fog.

I can't tell what's real anymore.

And the worst part?

A part of me is terrified she did know.

And a part of me hopes she did.

"It's good... you found out it's me," I say, exhaling sharply, leaning back into the cushion of the chair.

The way she's started spitting out details-my tattoo, my name, things no one here should know..there's no way I can keep denying it now.

She just stands there, arms folded, eyes narrowed like she's scanning every flicker of emotion across my face.

"Come to the point," I say, trying to sound composed. "Why are you here?"

She shifts, lips parting like she's about to say something outrageous but then she hesitates. That's the first time I see it. A crack in her confident facade. Something vulnerable.

"I need your help," she says again, quieter this time.

And damn it, that tone ,it pulls me in before I even know what she's about to ask.

"What help?!" I snap, already rubbing my temple like it'll ease the sharp spike of annoyance piercing through my skull.

She shifts again, fidgeting like a damn middle schooler caught sneaking out.

"The thing is... umm." She pauses. "First tell me... do you have a girlfriend? Or like, do you like someone?"

I blink hard.

My head throbs. My eyelid twitches.

Is she serious?

Her face looks utterly dumbfounded, like even she knows how ridiculous she sounds. I flick my lashes in disbelief, leaning forward just slightly.

"Are you on weed?" I ask, deadpan.

She gasps a little, offended, but I don't stop there.

"What type of pure, no sense question is that?" I groan, dragging a hand through my hair.

"You storm into my house, call me by a name I've buried, and now you're throwing dating questions like this is?"

She opens her mouth, then shuts it again.

I raise an eyebrow. "You better start making sense before I kick you out "

"Please, don't get angry, Sir... actually, the thing is that... I... my money transfer isn't happening from London. And here, I have rent and fees to pay..." she's fumbling through her words, eyes darting around like they're searching for an escape route.

"I have money-it's from my grandfather on my mother's side. But the real problem is-"

Before I can ask anything, she rifles through her bag and yanks out a slightly crumpled envelope.

Her fingers tremble just a little as she pulls out a thick, official-looking document and thrusts it in front of my face.

"Read it yourself. The highlighted area," she mutters.

It does look like a will. Faded seal, stamped corners, legal jargon scribbled in the margins.

I take it slowly, frowning, and scan the paper until my eyes land on the highlighted sentence:

"The inheritance will only be transferred to the beneficiary upon her legal marriage, validated by the Indian court system."

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

Then I glance up at her.

It's none of my business if she needs to get married. People get married every day for passports, visas, inheritance, heartbreak.

But why the fuck does she need to know my relationship status?

Why that look in her eyes like I'm the answer to some chaotic equation?

How...how am I supposed to help her in this?

I stare at her .

She clears her throat again, obviously trying to seem composed, but her words are flying out like a tornado.

"I mean... I mean... I need to get married for the money. But but if you're single, will you marry me?"

She actually says it. Out loud. In my living room.!

Then comes the rapid fire nonsense,

"Don't worry…" she murmured, her voice trembling just a little, "you will get the share too… I know it’s risky for you to marry me, but… I don’t have anyone else to turn to."

" I'll give you thirty percent of the money. And we'll divorce after a year..."

She keeps going. Like a storm-nervous, messy, unstoppable.

"I mean-I can go up to forty percent, but not more than that." She grins, unsure, hesitating-like she's not sure if she is making sense.

My eye twitches.

I don't even know what part of this to respond to first.

I get up and stand in front of my door.

I grip the door handle, my heart racing with a mix of frustration and confusion. This woman, standing here with her desperate eyes and nonsensical propositions, is something I never signed up for. I move closer, my voice hard and cold.

"Come here. Devi"

"Ohh... for a long time I haven't heard this name," she says, grinning softly. "You used to call me that, nah?"

She hesitates for a moment, before obediently stepping beside me, still unsure of what's going to happen next.

I stare at her, the frustration bubbling over, and my voice drops, firm and final. "Get out."

"Eh?! Eh??" Her confusion is palpable, but it doesn't stop me.

"GET OUT OF MY HOUSE!" I scream, every word laced with anger and disbelief.

Before she can protest, I grab her sling bag, forcefully placing the papers into her palm. She tries to stammer, but I don't care. With a swift motion, I drag her out the door, the sound of her protests falling deaf to my ears.

I lock the door behind her, my voice booming with authority as I scream, "NEVER COME BACK HERE!!!"

From the outside, I hear her frantic cries, her voice breaking through the heavy silence. "BUT! BUT!!! SIR!!! AT LEAST FIND ME SOMEONE WHO WILL MARRY ME!!!"

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to drown out the chaos, the absurdity of it all. This is a mess. And I want no part of it.

"DO YOU THINK I RUN A MATRIMONY APP?!" I shout, throwing my hands in the air.

She doesn't flinch. Instead, she matches my energy.

She is so stubborn.

"But I... I need that money to go on with my studies!" she yells back, her voice cracking at the end.

There's a pause. A long, thick silence between us. Only the door is separating us.

"I'm not asking for a real marriage," she says, quieter now. "Just one that exists on paper. One year. Then we part ways. You get your cut. I will get my life back."

" No! "

                                      ★★★

Five days have passed.
She hasn't come to the university.
The lectures going on are important-she should know that.

Is something wrong?
Maybe she really couldn't pay the rent.
I didn't do anything but I am feeling guilty here .

I glance at the clock. University hours are nearly over. Still no sign of her.

It's past 5 pm.

I shouldn't care. It's not my problem.
But something about the way she showed up  desperate makes it hard to ignore now.

I stand up from my chair, sighing.

Just a quick check. Maybe she's at the bookstore.
If she's not fine. I won't go looking again.

After the university ended, I stopped my bike in front of the bookstore where she works.

Somewhere in the back of my mind, a small voice muttered ..

" I hope she's here."  Just to ask why she hasn't been coming to university.

I walk inside and glance around. Quiet as usual.

"Hello...?" I call out.

The old owner looks up from behind the counter. "Yes, Praveer? Here for a new book?"

I shake my head. "No... actually, the girl who works here..."

"Divya?" he says, already knowing who I mean. "What happened?"

I clear my throat. "She's my student. She hasn't been coming to university for a few days now, and... well, practicals are going on. It's important."

He nods slowly. "Hmm. She was coming here every day. Full time. But she didn't show up today."

I feel something tighten in my chest but I push it aside.

"Oh... I came just to check. I thought she might be here. That's all."

"Alright," he says with a faint nod, then looks back at his register.

Damn it.
Why am I feeling this low? She's not my concern. She isn't.
But... but then why the hell does it feel like something's off?

"Ahhhh!" I let out a sharp breath, raking a hand through my hair.
Enough of this. Let's just check her place and get it over with.

I swing my leg over the bike, twist the key, and speed off, ignoring the honks and weaving through traffic like it's nothing. The city blurs around me-just noise, lights, and thoughts I don't want.

In a few minutes, I reach the building where she stays. It's quiet. A little too quiet.

I park the bike, take a breath, and start walking toward the entrance.
Not sure what I'll say. Not sure what I'm expecting.
But I need to know she's okay. That's all.

That's all.

I enter the building and make it halfway up the steps when a sharp voice stops me mid-thought.

"Praveer! You're so late!" Miss DeCosta.

I turn, startled. "Ah!" I flash a confused smile, trying to catch up with the moment.

She narrows her eyes at me. "What are you smiling about? Your wife is sick. She hasn't eaten a single thing today!" Her voice is laced with frustration, arms folded like she's about to scold me further.

Wife?
Right. She still thinks we're married. God knows how got involved in this mess.

"I mean... I just got to know she's sick. I'm sorry," I say, scratching the back of my neck and offering a quick apology.

She gives me a look that could slice steel. "Hmph. Don't just stand here then."

"I'm going, I'm going," I mutter, heading upstairs.
Under my breath, I sigh, Great. Now I've got a sick 'wife' too.

Third floor. I climb the stairs two at a time and stop at her door. I knock just once, lightly.

"Who?"
A faint voice filters through the door. Hoarse. Weak.

"It's Praveer... Open the door."

There's a pause. Then her voice comes again, sharper this time. "Why are you here?! At this hour? I'm not going to open the door!"

"I heard from Miss DeCosta that you're sick-"

"That's none of your business!" she yells, louder than her voice probably allows. I can almost hear the cough that follows.

I exhale through my nose, trying to stay calm. "You're not coming to university. You missed practicals. And now you're sick and haven't eaten anything. That does make it my business-whether you like it or not."

No response.

I stay standing there, the hallway quiet except for the buzz of a flickering tube light overhead.

"You can throw another tantrum after I make sure you're not dying in there, alright?"

Silence again.

Then-click.

The lock turns.

Did I just say that? That she's sick and it's my business?

Fuck. That came out all wrong.

I run a hand through my hair, already regretting every word that left my mouth. This is exactly why I avoid unnecessary involvement.

The door creaks slightly, just an inch or two. She peeks through-barely.

Her eyes are red. Puffy. Teary.
Her nose is flushed, red too. She looks exhausted, like she hasn't slept in days. Or eaten. Or maybe both.

She glares at me through the gap. "What do you want now? Come to lecture me on practicals again?"

I clear my throat. "I just... Miss DeCosta said you were sick, and I-"
I stop myself before I blurt something stupid again.

"...I just came to check you were still breathing. That's all."

She doesn't say anything. Just stares, like she's trying to decide whether to slam the door or let it stay cracked open.

"You're so mean," she huffs from inside, her voice still scratchy. "It's not nice to talk to a sick person like that."

I sigh, pressing my palm to my forehead. "Have you taken your medicine?"

"Yeah..." she mutters, barely audible.

"Okay..." I reply quietly, unsure what else to say.

Suddenly, her face twists, and she puts a hand over her mouth, eyebrows knitting in discomfort. She raises her index finger-wait.

Then the unmistakable sound of retching echoes from the bathroom.
A flush. Silence again.

I'm still standing near the door, frozen, trying to decide if I should just walk away or step inside. But then-

"Devi..." I call out, knocking softly against the wall.

No response.

"Devi?" I call again, this time louder. Still nothing.

Damn it.

I push the door open and step in.

The room is a mess. Books scattered, dishes on the side table, clothes draped over a chair.

Totally mess.

And there she is.

Collapsed in front of the bathroom. Motionless. Pale.

Something sharp pulls in my chest.

I rush over and kneel beside her, my hand immediately going to her shoulder. "Devi?" I shake gently. "Hey-Devi. Wake up."

Nothing.

No choice now. I scoop my arm under her back and legs.

She's burning up.

I stand up, holding her tight against me. "Hang on," I mutter to no one in particular.

I kick the door open with my foot and head for the stairs.

With Devi still unconscious in my arms, I move quickly but carefully down the stairs. The weight of her body against me feels too fragile, too small in my grip.

Every step I take is measured, and I make sure her head doesn't loll too much, holding her securely.

I gently sit her down in front of my bike, positioning her in a way that she won't fall over. My hands hover, unsure for a moment, before I lock both of her hands into mine, making sure she stays steady.

"Just hold on," I mutter to her, even though I know she can't hear me.

The bike's engine revs loudly, cutting through the silence of the night. I glance down at her again, her face pale and her breathing shallow. I grip the handlebars tighter, trying to shake the unease rising in my chest.

"Just hold on..." I repeat, trying to keep my voice steady.

With one final look, I take off, my heart pounding against my chest as the cold wind whips past. Every bump, every turn feels like it's pulling at me, but I focus. The hospital isn't far, and she needs to get there, fast.

       ─────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────────────

I always say I’ll update on a certain date, but your beautiful comments motivate me to post early. I even updated two chapters today, so I really hope to see your love in the comments!

Thank you so much for the support!

⁉️Also, in the previous chapter, Divya noticed that there’s no ink on Praveer’s arm. Can you guess why he doesn’t have a tattoo?

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