(Anaya's POV)
The street outside was dim, empty, and still — a quiet echo to the storm that had erupted inside her. Kabir's voice, sharp and unwavering, replayed in her mind. And yet, beneath it, she felt the silent undercurrent of care he had never voiced.
Aarav appeared beside her, calm, warm, reassuring. "You okay?" he asked gently. "I know he can be… intense."
She glanced at him, torn. His presence offered comfort, ease, predictability. And yet, Kabir's precise, unyielding control — his quiet protectiveness — haunted her thoughts.
Her chest tightened. She wanted Kabir's apology, the acknowledgment of his inner conflict, yet she could not deny the safety Aarav extended. She was caught, suspended between the controlled, burning intensity of Kabir and the open warmth of Aarav.
Her mind spun, trying to reconcile the two forces. And for the first time, she felt utterly unanchored — uncertain which path to trust, which hand to take.
The night stretched before her, heavy with possibilities. The slow-burn tension was no longer subtle. It was a storm, and she was standing directly in its eye.