Him OR Her

11. The Unveiling 🔞

Riya

The days following that stormy night were filled with a nervous energy that clung to us both. Jeet and I spent every waking moment together, combing through our past interactions, our routines, looking for any clue that might point us to whoever or whatever was stalking us.

It was exhausting, the the constant vigilance, the way our nerves were on edge. But in a strange way, it also brought us closer. I started to notice things about Jeet I'd never pair attention to before–he way his jaw tightened when he was deep in thought, the way his eyes darkened when he was worried. It was like seeing him for the first time, and it scared me how much I was starting to care.

We didn't talk about it, though. It was as if acknowledging that growing bond between us would somehow make it all too real, too fragile.

But then, just when I thought we might be going mad, we found something. It was by sheer accident-Jeet was going through his old notebooks, looking for any detail he might have missed in his notes, when a folded piece of paper fell out.

He handed it to me, his expression a mix of confusion and curiosity. I unfolded it slowly, my heart pounding in my chest as I read the words scrawled in an unfamiliar hand:

You've been chosen. Watch your back.

My blood ran cold. The handwriting was jagged, almost violent in its intensity, and the message was clear. Someone had been watching us for a while, playing a twisted game.

"What does it mean?" I whispered, my voice trembling.

Jeet was silent for a long moment, his gaze fixed on the note. "I don't know," he finally said, his voice low and dangerous. "But we're going to find out."

The note had come from someone close, someone who had access to Jeet's things, and that narrowed down our list of suspects. We started asking around, subtly questioning friends and classmates, but no one seem to know anything. Or if they did, they were too scared to say.

Days passed, and the tension between us grew. It wasn't just the fear anymore–it was the closeness, and intimacy that had developed between us. Every touch, every glance seemed to carry more weight, more meaning.

And then it happened.

We were in the library, hidden away in a secluded corner, surrounded by the comforting scent of old books and the dim, golden light of the evening sun filtering through the windows. Jeet was sitting across from me, his fingers tapping absently on the table as he read through an old textbook, trying to distract himself from the gnawing fear that had taken root in both of us.

I couldn't stop staring at him, my thoughts a tangled mess of fear, desire, and confusion. I wanted him–more than I'd ever wanted anything-but I was terrified of what that might do to us.

But then Jeet looked up, his eyes locking onto mine, and something in the air shifted. The tension between us snapped, giving way to a heat that burned through me like wildfire.

"Riya," he said, his voice low and rough, "I can't do this anymore."

My breath caught in my throat. "Do what?"

"Pretend like I don't feel this–whatever this is–between us." His eyes were dark, intense, and full of something I couldn't quite name. "I'm tired of fighting it."

I didn't have time to respond before he was standing, moving around the table to pull me into his arms. His touch was electric, sending shockwaves through my body as he pressed me against the bookshelf behind us, his lips crashing down on mine.