Aryan’s Pov:
I stepped back, watching him carefully. His breath came in shallow gasps, and I could see the panic in his eyes. Good. He needed to understand the gravity of what he'd done. I wasn't just warning him-I was marking him.
I grabbed a handful of his hair and yanked his head back, forcing him to meet my gaze. "Do you understand me?" I growled, tightening my grip until I felt the strain in his neck. "Because if you don't, I'll be happy to remind you again. And trust me, next time, it won't be so clean."
He opened his mouth to speak, but I cut him off with a slap that echoed in the room. He recoiled, but his shock was quickly replaced by more fear. The silence between us thickened, a warning he couldn't ignore.
"Let me make this crystal clear," I said, my voice low and dangerous. I moved around him, walking slowly, letting him feel the weight of my presence. "You will forget about her. You will stay the hell away from her. If you so much as think about laying another hand on her, I'll make sure you're begging for mercy before I'm done with you."
I turned on him, grabbing his shirt and slamming him back against the wall with enough force to rattle his bones.
"And if you're dumb enough to think you can run to the police for help, I'll have them picking your pieces off the ground by the time they show up. I know people. And no one will ever find you before I do."
I let him breathe for a second before leaning in close, my lips brushing against his ear.
"If I even hear your name again, I'll find you. And you'll wish you never crossed me." I pulled back, locking eyes with him, watching the terror in his gaze deepen.
"Get out of my sight," I spat, pushing him hard enough that he stumbled toward the door. He couldn't get away fast enough, tripping over himself in his haste to escape.
I didn't watch him leave. I didn't need to.
He'd learned his lesson.
————————————————
"What the hell was that, man?" Ian demands the moment I step up.
"Nothing."
"Nothing? You call dragging a guy out of the women’s section and beating the crap out of him nothing?"
I wipe the sweat off my forehead, his blood staining my sleeves. Looking up at Ian, I catch the concern in his eyes.
"Do we have a shirt? Or maybe a t—"
"I’m asking you something! Don’t try to change the subject. Tell me what the hell is going on," he says, firmer this time.
A sigh escapes my lips as I look away, trying to steady the storm raging in my head.
Am I supposed to tell him about Zaira? I’ve never told anyone about her except Aiden.
I glance back at him. "He was harassing a woman. I heard noises, broke the door, and found him there."
"From what I know about you, you’d have gotten him arrested for something like that. But instead, you bring him here and leave him in that condition."
"What are you trying to say?"
"Who was the woman? Aryan, I’ve known you long enough. Don’t try to fool me."
"Oh, please, you’re what—five or six years older than me?"
"Will you tell me who the woman was, or not?"
"She was... someone close. Related to my aunt."
"How close?"
"Excuse me?"
"Excuse you. Do you think I’m dumb? I’ve been around you for years. Now spit it out—who’s the woman you’re beating the crap out of people for?"
Another sigh leaves me. I don’t want to tell anyone about Zaira—ever.
I walk over to the chair and slump into it, gesturing for Ian to sit. He does, his eyes still fixed on me.
"Now, tell me."
I take a deep breath before explaining. "The woman I saved today... she was my best friend." Ian raises a brow, waiting for more.
I pause, the words catching in my throat. "She was a childhood friend. Kind, gentle—everything I wasn’t. She cared for me in ways no one else did when i was a kid"
Leaning back in the chair, I let the memories flood in.
"She loved chocolate, but she’d always give me the whole bar just to see me smile. She’d beg me to play dollhouse with her, and I never gave her anything in return. Not the toys, not the candy—nothing. Mom and Dad’s death made me so quiet, so cold, that I forgot how to be a kid."
I glance at him, then back at my hands, the weight of my past pressing down on me. "You know how they say, 'you bleed on the people who didn’t cut you'? That was me. She gave me friendship—innocent, selfless friendship—and I hurt her in return."
I pause, swallowing the lump in my throat. "There was this drawing of hers, one her father had made for her. She loved it, would always show it to me, telling me how much it meant to her."
The regret twists in my chest. "And I tore it. I tore it on purpose so she’d stop bothering me, stop talking to me, stop being around me."
Ian’s eyes widen, but I can’t bring myself to meet them. My head lowers, shame consuming me.
"And it worked," I continue, my voice barely above a whisper. "She didn’t talk to me. Hell, she didn’t even look in my direction after that. I still remember the day she walked into the room and saw me with the torn pieces of her drawing in my hands. She cried so much, but she didn’t tell her mother or brother that it was me who destroyed it."
I lean back in the chair, the weight of regret crushing me.
"At first, I felt relieved. The silence didn’t bother me. But as months passed, it started to eat at me. Her cold eyes, the way she avoided me—it drove me insane. That’s when I realized what I’d done."
I rub my hands together, trying to shake off the guilt. "I tried to apologize. I even bought ten chocolate bars for her. But she didn’t forgive me. She never looked at me the way she used to—with love, with trust."
I shake my head, bitterness creeping into my voice. "When I realized the gravity of my mistake, I couldn’t stay there anymore. I was twenty when I left London and moved to New York.
And I never forgot her. You know, we didn’t talk for six or seven years. I’d come to London, stay, and spend time there, but I never found the courage to face her, to meet her. This Eid, I met her. She wasn’t that sweet Zaira anymore, not with me. And I don’t blame her. I deserve her hate—and more."
Ian nods, his expression understanding. Silence falls between us before Ian breaks it.
"So, how are things between you two now?"
"I don’t know. As much as I want her to forgive me, to look at me with love, I also know it’s selfish. I deserve her hate, her anger." Ian nods again.
"Do you love her?" he asks, catching me off guard.
"Huh?"
"Do you love her, Aryan?"
"No." The word almost feels foreign on my tongue.
"I don’t love her... I just think about her a lot."
So damn much that sometimes it brings me peace, and sometimes it makes me want to pull my hair out
I stand up, not wanting to answer another question. I glance at Ian, who’s sitting next to me. His expression remains stoic, as it was before.
"Let’s meet tomorrow then." I start walking toward my car, but his voice stops me in my tracks.
"If you love her, tell her. Before it’s too late," he says.
I cast one last look at him before I get into the driver’s seat.
His words keep ringing in my mind—
If you love her, tell her before its too late.
————————————————
Setting the mug on the table with a sigh, I sit down in the chair. The breeze hits my skin, sending a shiver down my spine.
It’s so still, just 1 AM, and I can’t seem to find it in me to sleep.
All I can think about is Zaira.
Is she okay? What if she’s still crying?
The thoughts are eating me up inside.
I shouldn’t worry that much; she’s a strong girl.
I march over to my bed, my legs heavy with exhaustion. Sitting down on the soft cover, I feel the bed sink beneath my weight.
The warmth of the bed offers little peace to my restless body, though my mind stays heavy with thoughts.
I lean my head against the headboard and close my eyes.
The events of today replay in my mind, and I open my eyes again, sitting up quickly. I pick up my phone from the other side of the bed as an idea forms in my mind. Dialing Arhaan’s number, I press the mobile to my ear.
He picks up. "Sup?"
"Send me Zaira’s number." I tell him.
"I can’t, sorry."
"What do you mean you can’t?" My irritation flares up.
"My dear brother, you told me to keep a low profile, right?"
"Yeah, but what does that have to do with giving me Zaira’s number?"
"Oh, it’s everything. I know how much of a jerk you can be, and if Zaira gets upset, her brother will find out. And trust me, even keeping a low profile won’t help. That bhediya will find me and beat the shit out of me."
(Bhediya=wolf)
I take a deep breath, my irritation now simmering in my voice.
"Listen, this is important. So send me her number. And I don’t know about her brother, but I will find you first. So send it now."
"Easy there, itni thand mein bhi aap itna tapp rahe ho." (Easy there, even in such cold weather, you’re so heated.)
"Are you sending me her number or not?"
I swear, I’ve never met anyone more dramatic than my own younger brother.
"Sent!"
I hang up and quickly copy the number sent by Arhaan, pasting it in the dialer. I call her.
Beep, beep, beep.
"Hello?" She finally picks up, my heart calming a bit at the sound of her sweet, feminine voice.
"Who is it?"
"It’s me, Aryan."
"Aryan?" I lean my head against the headboard, my restless mind finally getting some peace.
"How did you get my number? And why did you call at this late hour? Is everything alright—"
"You didn’t leave the habit of asking too much questions, did you, Zaira?"
silence falls between us before I break it.
"I got your number from Arhaan. I called because I’m worried about you."
The words slip out before I realize it, and I curse internally when she doesn’t respond.
What the hell is wrong with me?
"I… I’m fine." Yeah, right. Her voice says it all.
"Don’t lie to me."
"I’m not lying."
"Oh, yeah? I can hear it in your voice."
I hear her sighing. "Theek hai! Nahi hoon main theek, mujhe abhi gussa aur bohot zada dar aur bura lag raha hai..."
Her voice cracks, and my heart clenches.
"I’m coming to your house."
"Wait—what? Why?"
"I’m not letting you suffer alone. I don’t care if you hate me or whatever. I’m coming, Zaira."
I hang up, throw on a jacket, grab my car keys, and leave the room.
I’ll be damned if I let her suffer like this.
————————————————
Soon enough, I was outside her house, dialing her number again.
She picks up.
"Tumhara thoda sa dimag kharab hai? Apni car piche karo!"
(Are you kind of crazy? Move your car back!)
"Kyu? Kisi ke upar chadhai hui hai car ko maine, hm?"
(Why? Have I had my car over somebody, hm?)
"Azhar bhai utha gaye toh tumhare upar zarur chadh jayegi car."
(If Azhar brother wakes up, it’ll be over for you in no time.)
"One second, ye sab log mujhe tumhare bhai ki dhamki kyun dete rehte hain?"
(Wait a second, why the hell does everyone keep threatening me with your brother?)
"I am his friend, yaar. He works with me, we’ve had several meetings together—"
"Gaddi ko piche karlo apni!!" She yells at the speaker.
(Move your car back!)
Why the hell does she get angry with me so easily? Still, I obey and take a U-turn, driving back a couple of houses’ distance from hers.
She opens her front door, wearing a shawl that hides her face like a thief. She quickly locks the door and runs toward my car, stepping inside and shutting the door immediately.
Breathing heavily, she removes the shawl.
She’s wearing a black hoodie that seems to swallow her whole body, and she finally looks at me.
Her dark brown eyes meet my green ones.
Her eyes hold a mix of annoyance and fear.
I look at her for a moment, my heart racing.
I should probably go see a therapist.
I look away from her, taking a deep breath.
"Why did you come like that? I told you I was fine."
Irritation flares at her nonchalance. I turn to her again.
"No, you were crying."
She sighs. "I’ll be better in no time."
I don’t reply to that, just looking straight into her eyes.
"Will you say something now?"
I start the engine and begin driving.
"Where are you taking me?"
"Somewhere."
"Where?"
"You’ll see."
She doesn’t say anything else and leans back in her seat, clutching the shawl in her hands.
Her head lowers as she fidgets with the shawl. Soon enough, we reach the destination.
An ice cream parlor.
I remember how she used to love all the sweet things, especially ice cream and her favorite chocolates.
So I thought it would be the best thing to make her happy.
I glance over at her, taking in her quiet, slightly sad face.
"You’re still worrying, aren’t you? I told you not to worry about anything, that I’ll take care of everything."
She doesn’t reply, and with a sigh, I step out of the car and march to the passenger side. Opening her door, I wait for her to step out.
When she does, she looks around at the surroundings.
"Where are we?"
"Ice cream parlor."
Her face lights up, and her doe eyes finally show some of that sunshine I’ve been missing.
I suppress a smile and hold out my hand.
"Let’s go."
She immediately places her hand in mine, and I start leading her toward the shop. When we reach it, I open the door, stepping aside to let her in first.
I step in behind her as she scans the counter, tapping her chin as she decides what flavor to get.
She turns to me. "What’s your favorite ice cream?"
"I don’t eat ice cream."
"Wait—you don’t eat ice cream?!"
I shake my head at her shocked expression.
"Who doesn’t eat ice cream, seriously?" she sighs, then looks back at the counter. Turning to me, she adds, "I think you’ll like vanilla."
"No, no. You eat. I don’t want to have it."
"I didn’t ask you. I told you." With that, she tells the seller to get two ice creams.
One, chocolate for her.
Second, vanilla for me.
To be continue
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2691 words!
The chapter was getting a bit lengthy, so I decided to stop here. It will be continued in the next chapter. So for now, wait!
Please comment your thoughts, guys!
Do you like Aryan so far?
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