After reaching home, I should have felt normal.
Safe.
Protected.
Instead, I felt restless.
I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling, replaying every second from the theatre.
His breath near my ear.
His fingers intertwined with mine.
The way he said, "You're mine."
Why did that sound like security instead of control?
My phone buzzed.
A girl's name flashed on my screen.
My chest tightened instantly.
Who was she?
Before I could overthink, another message came from him.
Don't start overthinking. It's my sister.
I exhaled.
Relief washed over me so quickly it embarrassed me.
Why was I reacting like this?
Why was one unknown name enough to disturb my peace?
Because I was becoming obsessed.
And I knew it.
Before I could drown deeper in my thoughts, my phone rang again.
Adray.
Why is he calling now?
I picked up.
"Hello, moti," he said casually.
"Who are you calling moti?" I snapped immediately.
He laughed. "Tumhe aur kisko?"
"If you've called me to irritate me, I'm cutting the call."
"Arre wait, Ashu. Listen."
I sighed dramatically. "What?"
"Your birthday is coming. What gift do you want?"
Oh.
Right.
My birthday.
I had forgotten.
On my birthday, both our families have lunch together every year.
Papa and his father have been best friends forever.
Tradition.
Stability.
Security.
Everything my life was supposed to be.
I stayed silent for a second.
"You keeping your mouth shut for one week would be the biggest gift," I said dryly.
He scoffed. "Let me decide the gift myself."
"Whatever," I replied.
I cut the call before he could argue more.
I don't know why—
But after hanging up, I didn't feel like talking to him.
I wanted to talk to Shivrit.
So I called him.
He picked up after three rings.
"Hello," he said.
Something was wrong.
His voice was heavier.
Slower.
Rough.
"Are you okay?" I asked.
"Perfect," he replied.
But he didn't sound perfect.
"Have you been drinking?" I asked cautiously.
A small laugh escaped him.
"Why? You don't like boys who drink?"
I had never spoken to someone drunk before.
I didn't even know how drunk people sounded.
But something in his tone felt… loose.
Unfiltered.
"You shouldn't drink," I said softly.
"And why is that, Bunny?"
"It's not good."
"For who?" he asked.
"For you."
There was silence on the other end.
Then—
"Since when do you care so much?"
The question wasn't mocking.
It was curious.
"I just do," I whispered.
Another soft laugh.
"Careful."
"Why?"
"Because the more you care…"
His voice dropped.
"The harder it'll hurt."
My heart skipped.
"What does that mean?"
"You're too innocent for my world," he murmured.
"I don't want to be innocent."
Silence.
Then—
"That's dangerous."
His breathing was uneven now.
"I don't want you talking to Adray," he said suddenly.
The shift was sharp.
"He's my best friend."
"I don't like him."
"That's not a reason."
"It is for me."
His tone had changed.
Less playful.
More territorial.
"You don't need him."
The words felt heavy.
"Don't say that," I replied quietly.
"I don't like sharing what's mine."
Mine.
Again.
Drunk words.
Sober thoughts?
My chest tightened.
He was intoxicated.
But somehow—
So was I.