Vaidehi - His Second chance ✔️ [Completed]

48. Stalker

Life is twisted.

In all the best ways. In all the worst.

Rotten like old fruit. Bitter like blood on the tongue. Corrupted — like all of us. Like me. Like her.

We're all just dried-up plants, shriveled and cracking, buried too close in the same dirt, thirsty for the same thing — her light. Her scent. Her breath. Her skin.

But there isn't enough room for everyone to bloom, is there? Someone always takes more. Someone always gets too close. And that someone isn't me. Not yet.

So we fight. All of us. Teeth and thorns. The one who survives gets the sun. Gets her.

The rest? They rot.

And I'll watch them rot. I'll make sure they do.

Because I see her. I always do. When she laughs. When she cries. When she thinks no one's looking.

I always am.

Half a year. That's how long I've lingered—unseen, unheard, but always there.

She doesn't know how often I've stood close enough to count her breaths. How I've memorized the way her lips twitch when she dreams, how the sheets slip off her shoulders in the middle of the night.

She's delicate in sleep. Breakable. Like glass left on the edge of a table.

And during the day?
She laughs for him. Smiles for him.
Him.

But that's okay. I don't mind watching. I don't mind waiting. Because I believe in balance. I believe in giving the world its little illusions of choice.

But when it's my turn—
And it will be—
I won't ask.

I'll take.

She won't have to look at anyone else. Ever again.
Not when I've already seen her more closely than she's ever seen herself.
Not when I've already imagined a thousand ways to make her stay.

She just doesn't know she's mine yet.
But she will.

Soon.

Barely half a year since I came to know of her existence—when her photo landed in my hands like a gift wrapped in chaos. My task was simple: separate them. Break them. It wasn't just about her—it was a golden opportunity. A perfect opening to settle the score.

Revenge. For everything Sanskaar Singh Suryavanshi stole from me.

He ruined us. Crushed our business, stripped our pride, and exposed our secrets like rotten meat to the vultures. He knew every loophole, every crack in the armor we had built, and he used them all. Smartly. Cruelly.

Soon, her pictures began flooding my house—first a few, then dozens, until every corner whispered her name. A new photograph every second day, as if the universe itself conspired to feed my hunger. Smiles, stolen glances, moments she thought were private... they all belonged to me now.

She became everything. The first thought when I opened my eyes and the last when sleep dared to visit. She started fulfilling all my fantasies without ever knowing. The walls of my home—no, my sanctuary—scream only of her.

Her laughter plays like a melody in the silence. Her eyes follow me from every frame. I talk to her in the dark, and sometimes, I swear she responds.

People say obsession is dangerous. But they don't understand the purity of devotion.

She doesn't know it yet... but she's always been mine. Mine to keep, and mine to have.

It's not obsession. It's inevitability.