Saharsh's POV:
Sameera shifted beneath me.
At first, I thought she was just trying to get comfortable—but then her hands pressed lightly against my chest. Not pushing. Not pulling. Just… creating distance.
I froze.
She slipped out from under me quietly, like she didn't want to wake something fragile between us. For a second, she just stood there, back to me, her shoulders stiff. Then she started walking away.
"Sameera," I called, my voice rougher than I intended. "Wait."
She didn't.
The space between us felt louder than any argument we'd ever had. I swung my legs off the bed and followed her, panic clawing up my throat.
"Listen—" I started, reaching out.
My fingers closed around her wrist.
She stopped.
Slowly, she turned her head just enough for me to hear her when she spoke.
"Saharsh… please. Not now."
That was it.
No accusation.
No anger.
Just exhaustion.
Her voice was heavy—Before I could say anything else, she slipped her hand out of my grip. Gently. Firmly. As if she needed that boundary more than she needed comfort.
And then she walked away.
The door closed softly behind her, but the sound landed hard in my chest.
I stood there, staring at nothing, replaying the moment again and again—
For the first time I didn't know how to reach her.
And that scared me more than anything else ever had.
---
The next morning felt wrong.
I sat through half a lecture without hearing a single word. The professor's voice blurred into background noise, slides changing, pens scribbling—while all I could see was Sameera walking away from me last night. Her voice. Heavy. That please, not now echoing in my head like a warning I hadn't understood in time.
I tried. God, I tried to focus.
But her silence hurt more than any argument ever could.
I pushed my chair back and walked out.
I didn't know when I'd decided it, but my feet were already moving, carrying me toward her side of campus. I was barely aware of people around me, my thoughts stuck in a loop of I need to fix this.
"Oi, Saharsh!"
A hand grabbed my shoulder from behind, yanking me out of my haze.
Daksh.
He looked concerned—genuinely so.
"What's wrong with you? You just walked out like—"
"I can't talk right now," I cut in, already turning away.
"Saharsh, wait—did something happen with Sameera?"
That made me stop for half a second.
"I just need to find her," I said, my voice tight. "I'll explain later."
He studied my face, then sighed, stepping aside. "She'll listen. Just… don't do anything stupid."
I didn't reply. I was already moving again.
I checked everywhere—outside classrooms, near the canteen, corridors she usually passed through. Every place she wasn't made my chest feel heavier.
The thought that she might keep avoiding me today too made something panic inside me.
And then I saw her.
The library.
She was standing near one of the shelves, flipping through a book she clearly wasn't reading. Her hair was tied loosely today, a few strands falling the way I knew too well. For a second, I just stood there, relief crashing into me so hard it almost hurt.
Then she looked up.
Our eyes met.
And just like that—she turned away.
She started walking.
My heart sank.
"Sameera," I called, hurrying after her.
She didn't stop.
"Please," I said, lower now. "Just listen to me."
Nothing.
She kept walking, faster now, like if she didn't stop, she wouldn't have to feel anything. And that—that broke something in me.
Before I could overthink it, I reached her, wrapped an arm around her waist, and lifted her straight off the floor.
Gasps echoed around us.
"What—Saharsh!" she exclaimed, stunned. "Put me down!"
I didn't stop.
"People are staring," she said urgently, her hands clutching my shoulders.
"Saharsh, please—"
I carried her into the nearest empty classroom, my heart pounding, and gently placed her on a bench. I shut the door behind us, the click sounding final in the sudden silence.
She stared at me, shocked, breath uneven.
I stood there, chest rising and falling, hands clenched at my sides—terrified, desperate, and completely undone by the thought of losing her without even being heard.
"Now," I said, forcing my voice to stay steady even though everything inside me was shaking, "you're not going anywhere until you hear me out."
She shook her head instantly. "I don't want to—"
And just like that, she slid off the table, turning her back to me.
Something in me snapped.
I caught her by the waist before she could take another step. She gasped as I lifted her up and placed her back on the table.
"Saharsh—!"
I stepped in, bracing my hands on either side of her, trapping her there. Not to hurt her. Never that. Just to stop her from running.
"I dare you," I said quietly, staring straight into her eyes, "to walk away from me one more time."
Her breath hitched. She looked everywhere except at me—my shoulder, the window, the door. Anywhere but my face.
That hurt more than her anger.
"Look at me," I murmured.
She didn't.
Fine. Then I'd talk anyway.
"You've misunderstood that message," I said.
Her head snapped up.
"Misunderstood?" Her voice cracked despite the edge in it. "It literally said the other night was amazing. What else was I supposed to think?"
For a second, I just stared at her.
That was it?
That one line was enough to break us?
I let out a short laugh, more disbelief than humor. "So that's it," I said softly. "That's how much you trust me."
I saw it land. The flicker in her eyes. The hesitation.
"Don't twist this on me," she shot back. "You didn't even try to explain."
"I did," I said immediately. "You didn't let me. You walked away."
"Because I didn't want excuses."
"They're not excuses," I snapped, then forced myself to breathe. Losing my temper wasn't going to help. "They're facts."
She stayed quiet, jaw clenched, eyes glossy. God, that look destroyed me every time.
"I took Gauri to a club," I said, slower now, making sure every word landed right. "Daksh was there. Shivam. Kiara. Ask any of them."
Her expression wavered—just slightly—but I caught it.
"She got extremely drunk," I continued.
"Could barely stand. Daksh and I took her back to her hotel. After that, we went straight home."
Her gaze searched my face like she was afraid of what she might find.
"Then why didn't you tell me?" she asked, quieter now.
"Because you were already under too much pressure," I said honestly. "Your interview. I didn't want you thinking you were stressing about your future while I was out enjoying myself."
My hand hovered near hers, not touching. I didn't trust myself to.
"And the plan was sudden," I added. "I was the only one sober anyway. You know I don't drink."
She swallowed.
She opened her mouth, then shut it again.
I tilted my head, letting the tension ease just a little. "Also," I added, unable to help myself, "for the record—the other night was amazing because she finally stopped crying after throwing up everywhere. Very emotional. Very dramatic."
A tiny breath of laughter escaped her before she could stop it.
Relief hit me instantly. "There," I smiled. "I missed that."
She glared at me, but it wasn't real anger anymore. "You're impossible."
"And you," I said, leaning in just enough for her to feel me there, "are terrible at pretending you don't care."
Her shoulders finally relaxed.
And this time… she didn't try to leave.
I could feel it.
Not in the way she spoke, or even in what she said—but in the pauses. The way her shoulders stayed tense even after I explained everything. The way she didn't fully melt into me like she usually did.
Something had come back with her from home.
I brushed my thumb lightly over her knuckles, grounding both of us. "Hey," I said gently, "did something happen?"
Her breath hitched. Just for a second.
Barely noticeable. But I noticed.
"At home, I mean," I added, keeping my tone casual, careful not to push.
She shook her head too quickly. "No.
Nothing like that." Then, as if filling the silence might make the question disappear, she continued, "It's just… job tension. Final year. Interviews. Everything feels like it's closing in."
I didn't call her out. But I didn't miss the way her eyes dropped.
She sighed and finally looked at me. "I'm sorry," she said suddenly. "For avoiding your calls on the interview day. And for… yesterday." Her voice softened. "I don't know what got into me. I just—panicked."
Her fingers curled into the fabric of my hoodie like she needed something solid to hold onto.
"I shouldn't have doubted you," she whispered. "That wasn't fair."
I moved closer immediately, sliding my arms around her, pulling her into my chest before the spiral could take over. Her breathing was already uneven. Too fast.
"Hey. Hey," I murmured, rubbing slow circles on her back. "Look at me."
She tried—but her eyes were glassy now, panic hovering just beneath the surface.
"You're safe," I said firmly. "I've got you. Breathe with me."
I inhaled deeply, exaggerated it, waited until she followed. Once. Twice. Three times. Her heartbeat slowly steadied against my chest.
"There," I said softly. "You're okay."
She nodded, but she didn't say anything. And that's when I knew—this wasn't just stress.
This was something heavier. Something she wasn't ready to say out loud.
"You know," I said after a moment, resting my forehead against hers, "you don't have to carry everything alone."
Her lashes fluttered, but she stayed quiet.
"I know you," I continued, voice low, honest. "You're strong to a fault. You'll smile, joke, act like everything's fine—and then sit alone with your pain because you don't want to burden anyone."
Her grip on me tightened.
"But I'm not anyone," I said. "I'm here.
For all of it. The mess, the fear, the things you don't even have words for yet."
She finally looked at me then.
Something raw flickered in her eyes.
"You can tell me," I said gently.
"Whenever you're ready. I'll face it with you. Whatever it is."
She swallowed hard, nodding—but still didn't speak.
And I didn't push.
Because love, I was learning, wasn't about forcing truths out of someone.
Sometimes, it was just about staying—steady, patient—until they felt safe enough to let the truth come on its own.
And I'd wait.
As long as she needed.