Sanya's P.O.V...
Yes, I agreed to the deal.
Even when Aarav's voice was laced with disbelief, and Naina's eyes brimmed with concern. They both tried to stop me. To protect me.
But I still said yes.
Not because I was interested in the brand.
Not because I craved the spotlight or needed validation.
I agreed... because I had to know what lay beneath Rosé Luxe's glimmering surface. I needed to understand why they wanted me so desperately. Why my face adorned their corridors in eerie silence.
Because those weren't just creative shots.
They were pieces of my life.
Moments I didn't remember anyone capturing. Moments too intimate, too real.
A photograph of me laughing outside a theatre with Aarav.
A painting—yes, a painting—of me sitting on the grass in the park behind my old apartment, book open on my lap, hair tied in a messy bun, completely unaware of the world.
How did they get these?
They weren't stylized. They weren't staged.
They were stolen.
Each one felt like a thread pulled from my privacy. Someone had been watching, recording, recreating me in ways I couldn't understand.
And when I turned away from those haunting walls, Karan Shegal was standing there. Like he knew I would come out shaken. Like he was waiting for the perfect moment.
His smirk was unbothered. Confident. Cold.
Like he'd won something.
And I hated that look more than anything.
So I said yes.
To throw him off. To dig deeper. To get ahead of whatever twisted thing he was planning.
He didn't need to know that I wasn't playing his game.
Because I had my own.
Now, hours later, the silence in my bedroom was too loud.
I sat at my vanity, staring at my reflection.
My hair, still loose from the shower, had dried into soft waves, tumbling past my shoulders. I wore a silk nightgown in midnight blue, one I usually loved for its comfort. But tonight, it clung too tightly to my skin, like even fabric had become a weight.
My eyes—lined with the faintest kohl smudges—looked unfamiliar. Like they belonged to someone who was pretending to be composed when everything inside her was unraveling.
I had washed my face.
Brushed my hair.
Moisturized my skin.
Gone through every step of my night routine, trying to convince myself that I was okay.
But peace hadn't come.
Not tonight.
Something lingered in the air. Something unspoken. Like a whisper caught between walls.
I stood up abruptly, the sudden stillness pressing into my chest like a warning.
That's when my phone buzzed.
The screen lit up from across the room, its glow cutting through the dim light like a beacon.
I walked toward it slowly, bare feet brushing against the cool marble floor.
Maybe it was Naina.
Maybe she'd had second thoughts and wanted to talk.
Maybe she was worried about my silence since the argument earlier.
Part of me wanted it to be her—someone familiar. Someone I didn't have to pretend with.
I picked up the phone.
But it wasn't Naina.
My heart thudded once. Loud and low.
It was Ayaan.
That name.
After one whole year of silence.
After disappearing like I was a chapter he was done reading.
And now... his name lit up my screen like a spark I wasn't prepared for.
I stared at it, breath trapped in my throat.
A hundred memories surged forward without warning. His laughter. His stubborn opinions. His chaotic charm. His absence.
What did he want?
Why now?
I shouldn't pick up.
Not after everything. Not after the way he left without answers.
But my thumb hovered.
I told myself not to.
But I still did.
Because some ghosts don't vanish. Some names still echo inside you even when you don't speak them out loud.
And some hearts—no matter how bruised—still ache for voices they haven't heard in too long.
So I answered.
And in that single breath of silence on the other end—I knew nothing would be the same after this call.
There was only silence.
No words. No explanations. No greetings.
Just... silence.
A silence so heavy, it wrapped around my throat like a noose. I could hear both our breaths—his, steady and deep; mine, shaky and uneven.
A part of me wanted to speak. To scream. To ask him why he was calling after all this time.
But I couldn't. My lips wouldn't move.
And then... he said it.
That word.
That damn word.
"Precious."
My heart slammed against my chest so hard, it felt like it was trying to claw its way out—desperate, breathless.
No.
No, no, no.
He didn't just call me that.
Not after all these months.
Not after vanishing like I meant nothing.
That name... his name for me.
It shattered something inside me the moment I heard it.
I didn't think.
I couldn't think.
I disconnected the call with trembling fingers, as if the phone had turned into fire.
And then I threw it.
Not hard—just away. Onto the bed. But it felt like I was trying to throw him away with it.
My hands clenched into fists, and before I could stop them, tears welled up and blurred everything.
I didn't want to cry.
Not for him.
Not for someone who left without turning back. Not for someone who only knew how to return when silence had finally started to feel normal.
But I did.
Because no matter how strong I pretended to be... no matter how deeply I buried the hurt... the truth was simple:
He still had the power to break me—with a single word.
Precious.
It was never just a nickname.
It was a promise.
One he broke.
And now, I didn't know if I was crying because he said it...
...or because a part of me had been waiting all this time, just to hear it again.