.𖥔 ݁ ˖ 𝕿𝖍𝖗𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖊𝖗 𝕯𝖆𝖗𝖐 𝕽𝖔𝖒𝖆𝖓𝖈𝖊 ‧₊˚ ⋅
The warm glow of the bedside lamp bathed the room in a golden hue as Myra sat cross-legged on the bed, a book resting on her lap. The faint sound of the city beyond their window provided a s...
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R U H A A N
Four days. That’s how long it had been since Ayaan delivered the news that shattered any hope of normalcy I might have clung to. Four days since I first realized that Myra’s life was no longer hers to control. That it was mine—and the darkness that followed me—lay just beneath the surface, threatening to swallow everything she had worked so hard to build.
I wasn’t surprised when I saw the first shadow trailing behind her during one of her shoots. The man had the look of someone hired to blend in—an outsider, one who shouldn’t have been there, yet carried the unmistakable air of someone who was. It didn’t take me long to spot him. He was too careful, too rigid in his movements, his eyes too constantly shifting as he surveyed the scene around him.
I watched for a while, my back pressed against the side of my car, hidden in the darkness of the alley where he couldn’t spot me. The paparazzi had a field day, snapping shots of Myra as she made her way down the runway in the latest designer creations. She was radiant, oblivious to the storm that brewed just beneath the surface of her perfect smile.
Her beauty, her confidence—they were all part of the reason why I couldn’t look away. But it was more than that. Myra had become my everything. And every time I saw someone with even the faintest hint of malicious intent in their eyes, I wanted to crush them. I had already failed her once, but not again. Not this time.
I made sure that the shadow didn’t get close enough to make a move. I kept my distance, but I never let him out of my sight. I was her protector now, whether she knew it or not.
Four days had passed since I first noticed it. Each day, the people following her had become bolder, more persistent. The same faces seemed to show up in different places: outside her apartment, in the shadows of alleyways after her shoots, near the back entrances of the restaurants where she met friends. Every time, I was there, I was lurking in the background like a phantom.
But Myra? She didn’t know. She couldn’t know.
She was still oblivious, caught up in her whirlwind career, her mind always one step ahead. She smiled, posed, and played the role everyone expected of her. But I could see the cracks forming in her confidence, the way her eyes darted nervously when she thought no one was watching. I saw it all—the signs of someone who was beginning to feel the weight of being in the spotlight for too long.
I hated it.
I hated how she didn’t know the real reason for the sudden unease she felt. I hated how she didn’t know that the shadows that followed her were no longer just an inconvenience but a danger.
I could have told her. I could have gone up to her, taken her in my arms, and whispered the truth: They’re watching you, Myra. They’re waiting for a mistake.
