Nandini Verma was 18 when she penned her first story, a tale of passion, betrayal, and revenge. It was a masterpiece, poised for publication. But on the night she was to share her brilliance with the world, tragedy struck. Her abusive father, a figu...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
Five days left until the ball. The planning was done. Every detail had been meticulously mapped out, every possible outcome considered. Now, it was Rakshit's job to ensure the logistics were flawless-cameras in the right spots, security in position, every angle covered. But despite the mountain of work still left to do, my mind was elsewhere.
I was driving her home, but the last thing I wanted was to say goodbye. The car ride was quiet, save for the occasional question from her about our collaboration. She had noticed the extended timeline, six months instead of the usual shorter periods. She was sharp, and though her questions were laced with teasing, I knew she was starting to suspect that something was off.
I couldn't risk her finding out what was really going on. Not now. Not when everything was so close to falling into place. But I also couldn't ignore the fact that I wanted more time with her. I craved her presence, her calming influence. She had become the only person who could ease the constant tension in my life, the only one who could make me forget, if only for a moment, the darkness that surrounded me.
As we neared her home, I felt a growing sense of dread. The thought of leaving her, even for just a few hours, was unbearable. I needed a reason to stay with her, something that would keep us together, even if just for a little longer. My mind raced, searching for a solution, knowing full well that she wouldn't let me stay at her house. She was independent, and fiercely so. Inviting me into her home without a solid reason was something she would never do.
Then an idea struck me. It was a bit villainous, but then again, wasn't that who I was? I couldn't deny the thrill that ran through me at the thought of manipulating the situation just to get what I wanted. After all, she had written me this way in her own stories-dark, cunning, always in control. I was just living up to the role she had unknowingly assigned to me.
As we approached her street, I slowed the car and pulled over a little before reaching her home. She turned to me with a questioning look, her eyes narrowing in suspicion.
"I have an important work coming up," I said, trying to keep my tone casual.
She raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "But you never got any call or information ."
Damn. I hadn't thought of that. In my desperation, I hadn't considered how suspicious this would look. Her rebellious side, the one that often caught me off guard, was in full force now. I could see the wheels turning in her mind, trying to figure out what I was really up to.
I scrambled to recover, realizing how stupid I must have sounded. What was wrong with me? Was I really going this crazy over her? I felt like a fool, but it was too late to back out now.
In a moment of sheer panic, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. "Rakshit fell down the stairs."
Her expression shifted from suspicion to a mix of anger and concern. "What? And you're just telling me now?"
