Chapter 1: The Girl Who Chased

For four years, I chased after Arjun Malhotra—so openly, even the colony aunties would nudge my mother in the lift and smirk. But no one was laughing, least of all me.

It became a sort of family joke, their smiles tight and forced at gatherings, but the joke always landed hardest on me. Even the neighbors would drop hints to my mother in the building lift, eyebrows raised, but I never cared—not when it came to him. Every nudge, every knowing glance, made my cheeks burn, but my heart was stubborn.

He was thoroughly fed up with me. Sometimes, I’d catch his eyes darting past me in the corridor, as if hoping I’d dissolve into the paint on the wall. The more he ignored me, the harder I clung to hope, my cheeks burning with a mix of embarrassment and something I refused to call shame.

Once, hidden around the corner, I heard him mutter to his friend, "Yaar, iss ladki ka kuch karo! Ab toh hadd ho gayi hai. Koi toh kuch karo!" His tone was tired, almost pleading, but I was too stubborn to stop. The words stung, but I pretended not to notice.

As the pressure mounted, my family anxiously sent me abroad. “Bas, ab aur nahi!” my father declared one day, his mustache twitching with irritation. “Go, study. Maybe you’ll grow up a little.” Amma packed extra theplas and a bottle of Nescafé for the flight, her eyes red as she tucked the food into my bag.

He said, "No matter what you have to do, just make sure she never bothers me again. Otherwise, don't blame me for being ruthless." The words chilled the room, and my uncle, who’d arranged everything, gave a nervous laugh. But Arjun was deadly serious. “Main sach keh raha hoon. Samjha do usko.”

Drugs, hypnosis, electric shocks—those methods really worked, or at least, they changed something inside me. Everything from bitter pills to clinics that smelled of Dettol and unfamiliar medicines, with nurses whose crisp English made me feel even smaller. The electric hum of machines still echoes in my nightmares.

I forgot what it was like to love him. Even my memories of him grew vague and indistinct, like old TV serials flickering in and out of focus.

I would lie in the hospital bed, sunlight filtering through foreign windows, and all I could remember was the taste of masala chai from home. Everything else—Arjun’s face, his voice—faded away into the whitewashed walls and the scent of antiseptic.

He finally relented and allowed me to return home. Wherever he appeared, I would go out of my way to avoid him, making sure our paths never crossed. The fear lingered, sharp and persistent.

Because my mother told me: that man with the face of a god is someone I can't afford to offend. Amma’s hands twisted the end of her pallu as she avoided my gaze, her words heavy with warning.

Mummy's words were always sharp as haldi. "Megha, don’t even look at him directly. Log kya kahenge if you ruin things for your sister?" Each warning settled like a stone in my chest.

When I saw him kissing my sister, I secretly took out my phone to snap a picture. My hands trembled, heart thumping as I tried to focus the camera. The scene felt unreal—almost filmi, like a climax I never wanted.

His eyes turned sharp and cold. The way he looked at me, I felt like a thief caught red-handed. Like a slap without any sound, the humiliation burned.

I was so terrified that I shrank into a corner, unable to utter a single sentence. My mind raced—what would Amma say if she saw me now?

I pressed my back to the wall, clutching my dupatta, wishing I could vanish into the plaster itself. I was sure my fear showed in the tightness of my jaw, the way my breath came in short bursts.

"Sorry, I just think you two are a good match, very well-suited…" My words came out broken, stammering like a child reciting a poem before the whole class. I could hear the wobble in my own voice, hating myself for it.

I don't know why. The man who always kept his emotions hidden—his eyes trembled violently. For a second, I wondered if I’d ever truly known him at all. Something strange flickered across his face, gone before I could name it.