Inayat's pov:
I slowly flutter my eyes open, but my body refuses to move. Every inch of me feels heavy—burning with fever.
There's a strange kind of pain crawling through my bones. Not the usual ache—something deeper, unbearable.
I hear the creak of my door as someone steps inside. A familiar presence fills the room, and I sigh.
Chachi.
The clock reads 7:00 AM. I'm late. I haven't made breakfast. And I know exactly what's coming. She'll skin me alive with her words—if not worse.
I try to lift myself up, but my body feels like dead weight.
"Keep sleeping, princess," she mocks coldly.
"No, Chachi… I was just getting up," I whisper, struggling to make my voice steady.
She storms toward me and rips the blanket off my body. The sudden chill cuts through my skin like ice. I'm forced to sit up, trembling.
"This isn't your father's palace that you get to sleep in like a queen," she snaps, voice sharp enough to slice.
"I was just... I'm sick—"
Slap.
The sound echoes through the room like thunder. My cheek stings. My eyes sting worse.
"Five minutes," she growls. "Do the housework. Then your precious university. And don't forget your job."
And with that, she walks out—leaving behind her cruelty like poison in the air.
Tears silently stream down my face. I wipe them away with trembling fingers.
This… this is my normal.
It's been this way since I was eight. Ever since I lost my parents, I've been punished every single day—just for the sin of being an orphan.
I forced myself out of bed, each step to the washroom heavier than the last. After completing my morning routine, I freshened up and changed into a parrot green frock suit, its matching dupatta soft against my skin. I dabbed a thin line of eyeliner along my lower lash line and applied a gentle swipe of pink lip balm across my lips—just enough to look presentable.
Slipping into my worn sandals, I stepped out of my room and headed downstairs to prepare breakfast. Wrapping my dupatta tightly around my waist, I began cooking, my movements slow but practiced.
Thankfully, Chachi isn't hovering nearby.
My body still ached, and weakness clung to me like a second skin—but in this house, pain has never been an excuse.
After preparing breakfast and cleaning up the kitchen, I stepped out and made my way toward the university.
As I reached the gates, my eyes landed on a figure dressed entirely in black—face hidden beneath a hood, only a pair of intense eyes visible beneath the shadows.
He was staring at me.
And I… I was staring right back.
It's him.
The same man who's been following me for the past two years. I still can't believe it—but it's him. I haven't seen him around for the past couple of months, and just when I thought he might have disappeared for good… he's here again.
He never approached me. Never spoke a single word.
Just… followed. Silently. From afar.
I never had the courage to confront him. To ask who he was or what he wanted.
But he never tried to harm me. Not once.
I tore my eyes away and entered the university building, pretending not to notice the lingering gaze behind me.
As I walked through the hallway, a group of boys approached—led by the same popular guy who had confessed to me last month. I rejected him. A week later, he met with an accident and ended up in the hospital for weeks.
Now he was back. And clearly, so was his arrogance.
"Hey, beautiful," he smirked, winking at me.
I lowered my gaze and quickened my steps toward my classroom, hoping to escape before things escalated.
He grabbed my wrist.
I froze.
For a moment, I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. I didn't know what to do—or how to react. No one would stand up for me anyway. He belonged to one of the richest families in the city.
And me? I don't even have a home to call my own.
I refused to look at him. His fingers reached for my cheek.
Laughter echoed around me—cruel, amused, entertained. Everyone was watching. No one dared to intervene. When he wants something, he gets it. That's how it's always been. Untouchable. Unstoppable.
But then... his grip on my wrist loosened.
I blinked, confused, and looked up—only to see him stepping away from me, eyes suddenly wide.
Behind him stood one of my professors. A kind man, always willing to help me in class. Calm, but firm.
He leaned in and whispered something into the boy's ear.
Whatever it was, it sent a chill down the guy's spine. His cocky smirk vanished. Replaced by fear.
Real fear.
I couldn't believe it.
Then—he looked at me. And for the first time ever, I saw something unexpected in his eyes.
Respect.
"I'm sorry," he muttered, voice low. "I won't bother you again."
And just like that, he walked away.
My heart was still racing as I turned my gaze toward the university gates.
He was still there.
My silent shadow in the black hoodie.
Smirking.
His face was still half-hidden, but I knew. I felt it. He was watching. Proud. Amused.
I turned on my heel and walked away, heading to my class—trying to ignore the fire blooming in my chest.
I didn't know who he was.
But he knew me.
And he was always watching.
After attending all my lectures, I stepped out of the university and headed straight to my part-time job.
The familiar scent of roasted coffee beans greeted me as I entered the café. I changed into the standard uniform, tied my hair back, and started taking orders like always.
But then… I saw him.
My eyes froze on the man by the window—him. My shadow.
Still hidden beneath that black hood, his face mostly obscured. But his eyes… they never wavered.
He looked at me as if his world depended on it. As if blinking would be a sin. As if something terrible might happen to me if he looked away for even a second.
Did he know about my family?
I closed my eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. My body was still burning with fever. My head throbbed mercilessly, and my legs were barely holding me up.
And then—everything went dark.
The world blurred. The voices faded.
The last thing I remembered before everything slipped away was a pair of strong, unfamiliar arms wrapping around my waist.
Catching me.
Holding me.
Keeping me from falling.