FEISHA'S POV

They say distance gives clarity.

I thought it would silence the chaos inside me.

It didn’t.

Sitting on the porch of this quiet cabin, wrapped in a shawl, the hills of Shimla stretched endlessly before me. The sky was soft lavender, the wind smelled of pine and mist, but none of it reached me.

My heart was too loud.

Too heavy.

And then...

A feeling.

A shiver at the base of my neck. A quiet shift in the wind that didn’t belong.

I looked up.

He was there.

Aviraaj.

Standing beneath the shadow of the trees like he was part of them. Still. Silent. Watching.

I froze, my fingers tightening around the edge of my journal.

My first instinct was to run.

My second? To scream at him. To cry. To demand answers he probably didn’t have.

But I did neither.

I stood.

Our eyes locked across the distance.

And the world fell away.

He had come without a plan.

No speech. No flowers. No apology rehearsed.

Just pain in his chest which i can feel too.

So he stood there.

Until i walked toward him.

“What are you doing here?” I asked, arms wrapped around myself like armor.

His voice was low. Rough.

“I didn’t know, Feisha. Not until after. Not until everything had already... happened.”

I laughed. Bitter. Quiet.

“Convenient, isn’t it? You fall for someone. Flirt. Follow them around. And then you find out they’re from the rival family.”

He flinched.

“I didn’t follow you because of your surname.”

“Then why?” I asked, voice rising. “Why were you always around me? In my way? In my head?”

“Because I couldn’t help it.”

Silence.

The worst kind—the kind that hurts.

“I trusted you,” I said, throat burning. “I was starting to trust you.”

His jaw clenched. “I swear I didn’t know.”

“And when you did?” I whispered. “Did you celebrate? Did your father pat your back? Good job, Aviraaj. You seduced an Ahuja.”

“Don’t,” he said, his voice suddenly hard. “Don’t reduce this to a game. Don’t make it cheap. Not what we had.”

“What did we have?” I asked, trembling. “Moments? Glances? Flirty lines in bookstores?”

“I don’t know,” he said. “But whatever it was… I want it back.”

My heart twisted.

“You can’t have it back,” I said softly. “Because I don’t even know who I am anymore. My family are murderers. My life is a lie. And you... you're part of everything I’m supposed to hate.”

His voice broke. “But you don’t.”

I blinked at him.

He stepped closer. “You don’t hate me.”

I stayed still.

Because he was right.

That’s what scared me most.

He didn’t touch me.

He didn’t move another inch.

He just stood there with all the agony in his eyes.

And I stood, heart crumbling, eyes wet, trying to decide if love could survive a war like this.

“If I told Baba you were here…” I whispered.

“I’d be dead,” he finished, almost smiling. “I know.”

“And yet you came.”

“I had to.”

I paused.

"Do you think your grandfather would’ve wanted you to love me?"

"No."

"Then why are you standing here?"

He looked at me with eyes that made my chest hurt.

"Because I don’t want to repeat their war. I want to end it. Even if it costs me."

I looked away, blinking fast.

I couldn’t do this.

But...

I didn’t ask him to leave either.

And maybe that said enough.

Later That Night – 

The fire crackled softly in the corner.

I was wrapped in a blanket, curled on the old sofa, staring at the flames. My tea had gone cold. My head ached. My heart was confused.

He hadn’t said goodbye.

He’d just walked back to his car.

But before leaving... he looked back.

And I swore—just for a moment,I saw hope in his eyes.

I clutched my journal tight.

The pages were a mess of ink, anger, sorrow, and... his name.

So many times.

Aviraaj Kapoor.

The boy I should hate.

But I couldn't.