POV
I woke up before my alarm.
Not because I slept well.
Because my mind wouldn't let me.
The house was already alive.
Temple bells echoed softly downstairs.
Mumma's voice floated through the hall, chanting shlokas.
The smell of agarbatti filled the air.
Peace.
Routine.
Purity.
And I was about to lie inside it.
I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my hair.
I looked the same.
Innocent.
Simple.
Trustworthy.
No one could see the chaos inside me.
I walked downstairs.
Mumma stood near the mandir, her saree pallu covering her head, eyes closed in devotion.
Papa sat at the dining table, reading the newspaper like he does every morning.
Steady.
Unshakeable.
I bent down first before Mumma.
She placed her hand on my head gently.
"Khush raho, beta."
Be happy.
The word happiness felt heavy.
Then I turned to Papa.
I touched his feet.
His hand rested firmly on my head.
For a second—
I couldn't breathe.
He trusted me.
Without question.
Without doubt.
He didn't check my phone.
He didn't ask where I was going.
He didn't wonder who I was meeting.
Because in his mind—
His daughter was pure.
Safe.
Protected.
And I felt it.
That sharp sting in my chest.
Guilt.
Because I wasn't going to college for lectures today.
I wasn't going with Adray.
I was going to meet a boy my father would never approve of.
A boy with a reputation.
A boy who would make Papa's jaw tighten just hearing his name.
For a moment, I wanted to confess.
To say:
Papa, I'm lying.
Papa, I'm not as good as you think.
But I didn't.
"Mumma," I said softly, keeping my voice steady, "I'm going to college with Adray."
She nodded immediately.
"Thik hai."
Adray was safe.
Approved.
Allowed.
That made the lie easier.
And that scared me more.
Because the first lie hurt.
This one…
Just burned quietly.
As I stepped out of the house, sunlight hit my face.
I paused at the gate.
Inside that house—
I was someone's daughter.
Outside—
I was someone's Bunny.
And I was choosing which version of me to become
The theatre was almost empty.
Morning show.
Dim lights.
Cold air.
Too quiet.
Too private.
We sat in the last row.
His choice.
"Why here?" I asked softly.
"So no one distracts us."
Distracts us.
Not the movie.
Us.
The film started.
I don't remember what it was about.
I only remember how close he was.
His arm resting on the armrest.
His thigh brushing mine.
Every small movement felt amplified in the dark.
"You're tense," he whispered.
"I'm not."
"You are."
His fingers slowly traced the back of my hand.
Just one finger.
Testing.
I didn't pull away.
"You trust me, right?" he murmured.
That question again.
Why did he keep asking that?
"Yes."
He intertwined his fingers with mine.
Firm.
Claiming.
"You look better when you're nervous," he said quietly.
My breath hitched.
"That's not a compliment."
"It is for me."
My heart was racing.
This was my first time sitting like this with a boy.
First time holding hands in the dark.
First time feeling wanted like this.
He leaned closer.
His lips near my ear.
"If I asked you to leave everything for me… would you?"
The question didn't feel playful.
It felt serious.
"Why would you ask that?" I whispered.
"Just answer."
I swallowed.
I should say no.
I should laugh it off.
I should think.
"Yes."
The word left my mouth before my brain caught up.
He squeezed my hand.
"I like that."
The movie screen flashed bright for a second.
In that light, I saw his expression.
He wasn't smiling.
He was watching me.
Like he just confirmed something.
Like he just won something.
Halfway through the movie, his phone buzzed.
A girl's name flashed briefly.
He ignored it.
But he didn't move his hand away from mine.
"Who was that?" I asked carefully.
"No one."
No one.
That answer felt familiar.
"You're jealous?" he asked softly.
"No."
"Good."
Again.
Good.
That word.
Every time I obeyed, he approved.
And I kept craving that approval.
When the movie ended, I didn't feel light.
I felt deeper.
More attached.
More tangled.
As we walked out, he said quietly—
"Don't listen to Adray."
My steps slowed.
"You talked to him?"
"I don't need to," he said calmly. "I can see it."
See what?
"Choose carefully, Bunny."
It sounded like advice.
It felt like a warning.
And somehow—
I was already choosing.