The clock struck past midnight.
The city outside shifted from bustle to breath—Delhi settling into its quieter hours, though never entirely still.
The sky deepened to a heavier shade of blue, clouds drifting lazily above buildings that glimmered like constellations turned upside down.
Inside his Room, Arnav Singh Raizada lay wide awake.
He had tried every method known to him—closing his eyes, focusing on breath, mentally listing upcoming meetings.
None of it worked.
His thoughts kept circling, returning again and again to the girl with sunlight tangled in her hair.
He shifted on the mattress, turning onto his side.
The sheets rustled.
The room was cool, dim, painfully silent.
He hated silence tonight.
Silence let him think.
Thinking made him feel.
Feeling made him vulnerable.
And vulnerability was something he carved out of himself years ago.
Yet here he was—unable to shut out the echo of her laughter.
The soft fall of her dupatta.
The way she rubbed her palms together when she was nervous.
The gentle warmth she radiated without trying.
His jaw worked silently.
It wasn't just attraction.
If it had been attraction, he could've buried it.
Ignored it.
Drowned it in work.
This was… something else.
A compulsion.
A pull that tightened each time he fought it.
A thread around him that kept drawing him back to her, no matter how far he tried to step.
He touched his chest with two fingers.
Something hurt there.
A pressure beneath the sternum.
Sharp and strange and almost desperate.
He didn't like the feeling.
But even worse…
He didn't want it to stop.
His gaze dragged to the ceiling.
"That café…" he murmured.
Her place of work.
Her space of comfort.
A place where strangers could stand too close, smile too easily, talk to her without fear.
The thought stabbed through him, a sudden flare of possessive heat he didn't bother denying.
He was already fixing that problem.
He was already moving pieces.
Things were changing.
And she would never know.
He turned onto his back again, one arm thrown over his forehead, eyes squeezing shut as if the darkness would quiet the storm inside him.
It didn't.
The storm kept building.
Meanwhile… across the city
Khushi Kumari Gupta curled beneath a thin blanket in the small room she shared with Payal.
Their home wasn't much—just enough for comfort, just enough for love.
A soft breeze slipped through the partially open window, carrying faint sounds of distant traffic.
She held her phone loosely, scrolling through pictures of children at the festival—the ones who had smeared color on each other's faces, laughing loudly under the afternoon sun.
Her fingers paused over one photo.
She hadn't noticed it at the time, but now she could see a tall man standing in the backdrop.
Sharp profile, black suit, intensity carved into the set of his shoulders.
Arnav Singh Raizada.
Her breath hitched softly.
Not because she recognized him instantly…
But because even blurred, he carried a presence strong enough to catch her eye.
Stronger than she expected.
Stronger than she was ready for.
She zoomed in slightly.
Still not clear.
Still unmistakably him.
Her lips parted. "He was there?"
Payal stirred beside her. "Hmm? Who?"
"No one," Khushi whispered quickly.
She locked her phone.
But the flutter inside her didn't quiet.
Arnav Singh Raizada.
She had only seen him from afar—towering, unapproachable, intense.
A man whose voice held power.
Whose presence filled space.
Whose eyes…
She swallowed.
She remembered the way he'd adjusted her dupatta earlier that evening.
She hadn't turned then, but she had felt something.
A shift in the air.
A warmth at her back.
A presence.
"It must've been the wind," she whispered to herself.
She turned onto her stomach, burying half her face in her pillow, cheeks warming.
It was ridiculous to think about him.
He was a man far removed from her world.
Someone she would likely never interact with again.
And even if she did…
There was nothing connecting them.
Except a faint warmth she kept feeling in her chest when his face crossed her mind.
She closed her eyes tightly.
"Khushi, sleep," she murmured to herself.
But her heartbeat had picked up—softly, shyly, a bit too fast.
---
Back at the his room .
Arnav sat up abruptly.
The sheets fell away.
His breaths were slightly uneven—controlled, but strained around the edges.
He dragged a hand through his hair.
Enough.
He swung his legs off the bed and stood, pacing once.
The cold marble under his feet grounded him.
The night air brushed against his skin as he walked toward the balcony.
He stepped out.
The breeze hit him.
Cool.
Sharp.
Necessary.
He gripped the balcony railing with both hands, muscles tight.
"Why her?" he breathed.
It wasn't frustration.
It was confusion wrapped in hunger.
Wonder wrapped in obsession.
He inhaled deeply, trying to steady himself.
He had seen countless people.
Shaken thousands of hands.
Signed countless deals.
Crossed paths with hundreds of women at events, meetings, conferences.
None of them had lodged themselves under his skin.
None of them had made him lose sleep.
Or question the walls he lived behind.
Or feel… anything beyond what he allowed himself.
Khushi had done it in seconds.
Seconds.
He released the railing slowly, fingers loosening.
"This can't continue," he muttered.
But the words were empty.
Because he had already crossed every unspoken line.
Already moved pieces on the board she didn't even know existed.
Already felt the shift inside himself.
And that shift wasn't reversing.
He walked back into his room.
Sat on the edge of his bed again.
Exhaled once—long, low.
Then he whispered into the dimness, voice soft enough to be a secret, strong enough to be a vow:
"You don't have to know it, Khushi…
Not yet.
But you changed everything."
The night held the confession like a witness.
And when he finally lay back down, he knew sleep wouldn't come—but he also knew something else:
This was only the beginning.
The hunter had taken his first step.
And without realizing it, he had already been hunted in return.
---
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