Sehgal's Entwined Fate

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟏

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not edited chapter*

Avantika's pov

"Arghhhh" I was passing through his room and hear his scream , is this his scream what happened to him. Should I go to see him ? What if he again shouted on me. But what if he is injured , i have to check on him.

I stepped into Aryan's room cautiously, my heart pounding louder than I wanted to admit. Something felt off. His scream from moments ago still echoed in my mind, chilling and raw. Why did he scream? Was he hurt? I called his name softly, but there was no reply.

The room was empty.

Completely empty.

A wave of unease rolled over me. My eyes scanned the space quickly-no sign of him. But something was different today. My gaze landed on a huge brown door at the far corner, one I swear hadn't been there before. How had I never noticed it? It looked old, almost ancient, like it didn't belong in this modern room.

A strange chill brushed my skin, but I shook it off. I was here for Aryan. I had to know what happened. Gathering the courage that trembled inside me, I took a slow step forward. The silence was too loud, the air too still.

I looked around again, hoping for a sign, a shadow-anything.

Then my eyes caught on something small. The back side of a painting frame tilted slightly on the wall.

Odd.

I almost dismissed it. Almost.

But something-some invisible pull-urged me to take a closer look. My instincts prickled. It wasn't just a painting anymore. It felt like it was calling me.

I hesitated for a moment, then took a breath.

And walked toward it.

With hesitant fingers, I reached for the tilted painting. The moment I turned it around, my breath caught in my throat.

A portrait. Of a girl.

She was beautiful-ethereal almost-bathed in soft hues and shadowed light. For a second, I just stared, mesmerized by the delicate brush strokes, the emotion etched into the canvas. And then... it hit me.

It was me.

The realization struck like lightning. That was my face. My eyes, my smile. My breath hitched, and suddenly my hands were trembling-shaking like I'd just discovered the eighth wonder of the world hidden behind a dusty frame. I didn't know whether to laugh or cry, but my eyes made the decision for me. Tears welled up, blurring the portrait.
Is he know painting? Did he is painter?

Why? Why would Aryan paint me like this? With so much care, so much... feeling?

Before I could make sense of it, the bathroom door creaked open.

My ears snapped toward the sound, my body stiffening. Aryan stepped out-half-stumbling, clearly in pain, clutching his side like he'd fallen. A towel hung loosely around his waist, his hair damp and clinging to his forehead. But what froze me wasn't just his state-it was his face.