The first golden rays of dawn filtered softly through the curtains, brushing Aroohi's face with a gentle warmth. She stirred awake, a quiet smile tugging at her lips as the promise of a new day whispered through her room.

Downstairs, her mother's voice floated up, calm yet tinged with concern, "Aroohi, come downstairs, I have to go."

Aroohi groaned, tossing a pillow over her head.

"Aroohi! Wake up, the world isn't waiting for your beauty sleep!" her mother hollered from the kitchen again.

The next moment, her bedroom door flew open, and her mom stood there wielding a hot paratha like a weapon. "I'm leaving for Nani's house, and you better wake up if you don't want to be late for college."

"Maa," Aroohi mumbled, sitting up, her hair resembling a bird's nest. "Nani's not dying, she just wants to complain about moles in her garden."

Aroohi trudged into the kitchen, her oversized T-shirt hanging off one shoulder, hair a tangled mess on her head and eyes half-shut, tiredness lingering in her body from yesterday. "Where exactly are you going again?" she mumbled while squeezing some paste on the toothbrush.

"To your grandma's place. She's not been keeping well—just for two days." Her mother walked into the dining area carrying parathas.

Aroohi sat up straight. She brushed loose strands of hair from her forehead. "Is she okay, Ma?"

Her mother sighed softly, turning towards her. "She's old, and sometimes these things happen, but you know her, she is running on spite, chaimasala and pure will power. She will be fine."

"You'll be able to manage everything all alone, right?" Her mother added worried.

"Peace and silence for two days? Sounds like heaven," Aroohi replied half-awake with a toothbrush hanging out of her mouth.

Don't forget to water the money plant or it'll die, and I'll blame you for our financial downfall," Aroohi's mother declared dramatically, wrapping her dupatta like a shawl of power as she marched toward the kitchen.

Aroohi grinned, mouth full of foam, blinked at her from the dining table.

"Ma, it's a plant, not an investment portfolio."

Her mother shot her a pointed look. "Everything is an investment. Especially plants. And children." She smiled, throwing her overnight bag on her shoulder. "Which reminds me—you better not skip meals while I'm gone. I don't want to return and find a skeleton in my kitchen."

"Noted," Aroohi mumbled through the foam, raising a lazy salute.

Her mother smacked her forehead lightly before smoothing down her daughter's messy hair with affection. "I've informed all my tuition kids that I won't be taking classes for two days. I will  go check on your grandma and see why she's suddenly developed a newfound obsession with dying dramatically."

Aroohi snorted. "Last time she faked chest pain because we refused to switch the TV from CID to her devotional channel."

"Yes, and she's planning a sequel," her mother said dryly. "So I must go. Call me if anything burns, explodes, or emotionally collapses."

"I'll try to keep the drama in moderation," Aroohi said with a mock solemn nod.

Her mom lingered at the door, eyeing her suspiciously. "Also... please don't spend all your time in your room watching those creepy true crime documentaries."

"I study them, thank you," Aroohi retorted, slapping toast into the toaster. "One must be prepared for serial killers."

Her mom laughed and kissed the top of her head. "If anyone kidnaps you, they'll probably return you in twenty minutes. Too much sarcasm and conspiracy theories."

Her mother leaned in and whispered, "Take care. And maybe stop looking like you wrestled with your blanket."

Aroohi stuck her tongue out just as her mom walked out, laughing.

Her mother smirked and waved her goodbye. "Try not to burn the house down."

"I make no promises," Aroohi called out as her mother left.

After washing her face in the washroom, she poured herself chai, took a bite of burnt toast, and stared at the quiet kitchen. The empty house always felt a little too big without her mother's voice bouncing off the walls. But instead of sulking, she smirked and pulled out her phone to text Shweta, asking her about her plans.

Shweta directly called her, "Yes, darling, what time should I come to pick you up?"

Aroohi, with her mouth full of biscuit, "In an hour, my mom has gone to grandma's place. You can stay at my place tonight."

Shweta, with her mind already processing the plans in her mischievous brain, "sure, snacks, soda and lots of gossip and recreating and discussing my spicy books' scenes."

Aroohi nearly spat her tea out, "ewww, noo... I am ok before the last part."

Shweta, meanwhile, already planning the night, smirked evilly, "We will see, for now the chariot will be waiting for the princess at her door, hurry up.."

"Aye-aye, captain." With that, Aroohi cut the call and rushed to get ready for college.

While getting dressed, her mind flashed back to the events of the previous day. The rain, puddles, giggling of the kids, Meera sticking to her like a koala, the warmth of the hallways and rooms.

The orphanage.

The thought always tugged at her chest like a memory asking to be relived.

She drained her chai, grabbed her bag, and stood by the window for a moment and looked up. The sky looked too blue. Too perfect. She didn't know why it unsettled her.

The horn from Shweta's bike jerked her back from her thoughts, and she quickly rushed out, locking the door of the house.

"Look at you," Shweta drawled, leaning against the door. "Late. As always."

Aroohi flicked her hair dramatically. "A queen is never late. Everyone else is simply... early."

"Wow," Shweta laughed, looping her arm with hers. "Still high on last night's rain dance?"

Aroohi rolled her eyes but smiled. "That was something. I can still hear Meera giggling every time I lifted her. And that new volunteer, Rishi—he looked so shocked when Shweta Madam drenched him."

"He liked it." Shweta winked. "Anyway, he has potential."

"Potential to be your new target?" Aroohi teased.

"Oh, shut up," Shweta smacked her arm. "He's... sweet."
.
.
.
The college was alive with the usual chaos: seniors barking last-minute project instructions, first-years running around like headless chickens, and that one group of boys who always thought beatboxing in the hallway would get them girls. It didn't.

Shweta popped a mint in her mouth and leaned close. "So... what's the plan? Study, bunk, or stalk hot boys?"

"Option three died when Rishi called me 'ma'am' at the orphanage," Aroohi muttered.

"I mean," Shweta wiggled her brows, "you do give head girl vibes."

Aroohi whacked her with a notebook. "Stop!"

Shweta winked. "You wear skirts like a walking distraction."
"I swear to God, Shweta—"
"What? I'm complimenting your ass, not assaulting it... yet."
Aroohi flushed. "You're impossible."

Shweta burst out laughing. "You should've seen your face yesterday, when Rishi accidentally touched your hand. You looked like someone electrocuted you."

"I did not!" Aroohi turned crimson. "He's just... tall."

"Tall?" Shweta teased. "Girl, you were staring at his biceps like they held the cure to global warming."

Aroohi groaned. "I hate you."

"Shh," Shweta whispered dramatically, "don't hate me. Marry me. You get free snacks, back hugs, and I'll even share my moisturizer, and I can even apply it on you if you ask me nicely." She wiggled her brows suggestively.

Before Aroohi could respond, Shweta smacked her butt with her notebook and ran ahead.

"SHWETA!" she screamed, chasing her down the corridor. "I swear to God—"

"God's busy watching your slow-burn romance!"

"Also, my dear best friend, your video from yesterday might have achieved a million views."

"Huhh???" Aroohi looked confused.

"I may or may not have uploaded your video of dancing and slipping in the mud on my Instagram page", Shweta laughed and ran from there before Aroohi could kill her.

"Shwetaa... I am going to kill you..." Aroohi ran after her, all fuming.

They ran, laughing, students staring as Aroohi tackled Shweta near the juice counter. Chaos, as always, followed them like perfume.

The banter continued through lectures, during lunch, and through their aimless rounds around campus.

Until Shweta's phone rang.

"Shit," she murmured, face falling. "I have to go. Mom's locked herself out of the house again."

"Seriously?" Aroohi groaned. "What do I do now?"

"Go home. Chill. Take a nap. Bake cookies."

Aroohi narrowed her eyes. "That's your plan."

"Okay fine—go to the orphanage. Sister Agnes is back from her visit to her home and will be thrilled to meet you."

"That is not a bad idea, but first, let me catch up on the accounts lesson; the professor would kill me."

"Okiee dokiee, if you need anything, call me," saying this, Shweta waved her bye and left from there.

Aroohi strolled through the gate, earbuds in. She had no real classes left for today, but her feet brought her to the canteen for a quick snack.

"Arooooohiiiiii!" a voice screeched from behind.

Before she could react, she was almost tackled by Neha, the self-declared gossip queen of the campus, dressed in bright pink and overloaded with bangles that could cause a concussion.

"I heard you danced in the rain yesterday like you were in a Bollywood film!" Neha squealed.

Aroohi rolled her eyes. "Says the girl who lip-synced 'Tip Tip Barsa Paani' in front of the principal's office during the last rain."

"That was performance art," Neha sniffed, flipping her hair. "Yours was just... poverty chic."

"Wow," Aroohi said dryly. "That's the nicest insult I've ever received. I'm touched."

"Anyway," Neha said, leaning in conspiratorially. "Tell me honestly. Are you secretly dating that hot architect dude who visited campus last week? He looked like a villain from a Netflix series."

"Wait—what architect?" Aroohi blinked.

Neha squinted. "Okay, maybe he wasn't an architect. Might've just been a well-dressed random. But he looked dangerous. Like he owns a cigar, a yacht, and at least two women named Natasha."

Aroohi laughed, shaking her head. "If someone that suspicious enters my life, I'll make sure to ask for your blessings."

As they walked toward the campus café, a group of boys from the Fine Arts department passed by, whistling a Bollywood tune. One of them winked.

"Rain queen's here!" he called out. "Don't slip today!"

"Oh, don't worry," Aroohi called back sweetly. "Next time, I'll make sure to push you first."

The group burst out laughing. Even Neha gave a grudging nod of approval.

"Uff, you're in form today," she said. "Where's Shweta, by the way? You two are like a packaged deal."

"Emergency call from home," Aroohi said, the laughter fading just a little from her eyes. "So I'm flying solo today."

She grabbed a cold coffee, made her way to the back garden of the college, where she often went to sit and journal. Today she has lessons to complete, after a while, the feeling crept again, and paused.

For a second, she felt like someone was watching her. Not in the obvious, flirty way boys did. This was different. Quiet. Focused. The kind of gaze that lingered too long.

She looked over her shoulder. Nothing.

A squirrel ran up a tree. A couple argued near the cycle stand.

She shook it off.

Just in her head. Probably.

She glanced at her phone. No new texts from Shweta.

Biting her lip, she exhaled and murmured to herself, "Maybe I'll just drop by the orphanage for a bit. I miss them."

And with that, she stood, dusted her skirt, and started walking—unknowing that every step was slowly leading her toward something that would twist her world inside out.

Aroohi tightened the knot of her ponytail and kicked a pebble as she walked alone toward the orphanage. It was oddly quiet today—Shweta had ditched her for some "emergency-at-home" situation. And her mother had left early for Nani's house, dramatically clutching her handbag like it was a weapon. "Don't burn the house down in my absence," she'd said.

Aroohi, of course, had rolled her eyes like the obedient daughter she was.

With nothing better to do, and her favourite human (i.e. Shweta) MIA, the orphanage felt like a warm hug waiting to happen.

She smirked to herself, thinking about the chaos from yesterday. That rain. That pure, Bollywood-level rain. She had twirled like a lunatic, slipping on a puddle, dragging half the kids into a water war, while Shweta screamed about mud in her bra. Honestly? 10/10 memory.

And Sister Maria... oh, Sister Maria had the expression of someone who regretted every life choice that led her to supervising these two drenched gremlins. She'd stood on the porch with her hands on her hips like a disappointed school principal and muttered something about "young ladies catching pneumonia and dragging innocent children into it."

Aroohi had tried to argue that water builds immunity.

Sister had simply thrown towels at their faces.

But the best part? Meera.

Tiny, soft-spoken, angelic Meera. Who followed Aroohi around like a baby duck and kept trying to share her soggy biscuit like it was treasure. She had whispered, "You're my angel. Like the one from the cartoon."

Aroohi had melted on the spot.

She still remembered the way Meera twirled in the rain, arms wide, her laughter rising above the storm like sunlight. It made Aroohi want to bottle the sound. Protect it. Hell, adopt her on the spot if she could.

There had also been that... weird moment. Like someone had been watching.

Just for a second, she had felt it—like heat brushing her skin from a distance. But when she turned, there was nothing but a swaying gate and a very confused cat staring back.

"Maybe I need to stop watching true crime before bed," she muttered, adjusting her backpack.

Still, there was a pull in her chest. Something about that place—the laughter, the muddy chaos, the softness of little hands gripping hers—made her feel more alive than any college lecture or late-night binge-watch could.

With a little bounce in her step, she sped up.

Unaware that today would twist everything.

And that her angel moment was about to cross paths with something far from heavenly.

⸻

Afternoon — The Orphanage

The minute she stepped in, Aroohi was hit with nostalgia. The walls still smelled of wet chalk and old prayer candles. Children squealed upon seeing her, wrapping around her legs like tiny octopuses.

"Aroohi Didi!" Meera, the tiniest of them all, barreled into her arms.

"Oh my baby," Aroohi lifted her. "Missed me already?"

"You didn't come for lunch," Meera pouted. "I saved laddoo for you."

Aroohi felt a tug in her chest. "You little angel."

Sister Agnes joined them soon after. "You're a sight for sore eyes, child."

"I had nothing better to do, so I thought I'd drop in."

The nun gave her a quiet smile. "You bring more to this place than you know."

There was a pause. The nun seemed to be tense.

"Is something wrong?" Aroohi asked softly.

Sister Agnes pulled Aroohi aside. "We might have a problem."

Aroohi tensed. "What kind of problem?"

Sister Agnes hesitated. "There's... talk. The land under the orphanage—some legal technicality. It might be just a rumour, but it's been bothering the trustees. Developers have started sniffing around."

"Will they shut down the orphanage?" Aroohi asked, horrified.

"I hope not. But let's keep this between us. No need to scare the children."

Aroohi's smile dimmed. "Will it shut down?"

"I hope not. But Aroohi, keep this to yourself. We don't want to scare the children."

Aroohi nodded, but something in her gut twisted. The weight of it was already settling on her shoulders.

Meanwhile, Meera tugged her skirt, with her hand raised, asking Aroohi to pick her up.

"Yes, my love?" Aroohi asked, picking her up, and booping her nose.

Meera grinned, "I gave a flower to a man with a lion's face today. I called him Raj Bear."

Aroohi laughed. "Raj Bear?"

"Yup! He looked like someone who needed a teddy bear hug."

She melted. "Oh, Meera... what am I going to do with you?"

Then the girl whispered shyly, "You should meet Raj Bear. He was nice. And smelled like—chocolate!"

Aroohi blinked. "Who?"

"The tall, serious man," Meera whispered, holding up a crumpled daisy. "He smiled when I gave him this and said I was sweet like strawberry milk. Then he asked your name. I think he will like you too!"

Aroohi laughed it off, brushing it aside—but her heart skipped. Who was Raj Bear?

Back in the play yard...

The sky turned cloudy. The wind blew, and soon the kids began squealing in delight, dragging Aroohi to the muddy yard.

She laughed, barefoot, spinning, arms wide.

A little boy yelled, "Didi, you look like a peacock!"

"Then you're my rain frogs!" she shouted back, slipping dramatically and landing on her butt.

The children howled with laughter.

Sister Agnes stood at the doorway, fuming, "AROOHI! What in God's name are you doing?"

Aroohi held up her muddy palms, smiling sheepishly. "Baptizing the next generation?"

Sister pinched her ear. "You're worse than them!"

"But you love me," Aroohi grinned, standing up, soaked in sweat from all the playing, and proud.

.

.

Later that evening, after helping around, Aroohi walks down a quiet road toward the bus stop. The air feels off — too still. A shadow steps out behind her, swift as a viper.

He had followed her the entire day.

The syringe trembled in his fist, not from fear, but from the raw, pulsing storm inside him—lust, rage, hunger—all tangled into a desperate need so fierce it clawed at his sanity.

She doesn't even know.
She has no idea how deep I'm buried in her skin.
How every breath she takes feels like a cruel punishment, a teasing promise I'll never taste... until tonight.

From the vibrant college campus where she laughed with that girl, Shweta, to the narrow lanes that led to the orphanage, where her face softened into something holy.

She was his. His little goddess of chaos. And he was tired of watching from behind glass and shadows.

He wanted to feel her.
Taste her.
Claim her.

"Tonight," he whispered, crouched in the shadow behind the rusting green dumpster. His breath was wild. His fingers clenched around the syringe, trembling—not from fear, but from anticipation.

He'd stolen the vial. An aphrodisiac. Potent, dangerous in large doses.

She would writhe.

She would moan.

And she would be his completely, uncontrollably his.

His eyes burned, fixated on her—her soft neck exposed as she moved, the way her pulse fluttered beneath porcelain skin. He imagined sinking teeth there, tasting her, claiming her.

Mine. Mine. Mine.

Aroohi turned into the alley, her steps light, oblivious, her hair flowing behind her like a provocation. The world slowed for him. He saw her lips parted as she hummed something, saw her pause mid-step as if sensing something—

He lurched forward, heart hammering, fingers itching to rip and possess. The world around him shrank until only she existed—fragile, untouchable.

Aroohi shrieked, her elbow jamming backwards into his ribs as she twisted, eyes wide with terror.

She tried to run, but he managed to push her to the brick wall and pressed her from behind, feeling her softness and groaned in her ear.

She fought. Her screams were a symphony of resistance, a melody that only fed the madness inside him.

"God, yes, fight me—show me how alive you are.
But you will break.
You'll shatter beneath me, begging for release.
I'll make you mine in ways you don't even understand."

He said while rubbing her behind with his crotch and trying to feel her front through her top.

"Get off me!" she yelled, slamming her bag against him.

The syringe nearly fell from his fingers. His hand clamped over her mouth—no, not yet—he had waited too long.

But she wasn't weak. She was fire. Kicking. Biting. Her teeth scraped his wrist as he growled in frustration.

"Fuck"

"Why do you fight me?" he hissed, pinning her against the wall. "Don't you feel it too? I dream of you on my bed, Aroohi. Moaning, undone, mine."

The needle grazed her arm, a sting that promised oblivion. His mind spiralled—visions of her writhing beneath him, every curve, every gasp, seared into his flesh.

She struggled harder. His breath hitched. A surge of frustration exploded as she struck him—too fast, too fierce. Pain blossomed across his ribs, but it only made the hunger fiercer.

You think you can deny me?
You don't know what you've awakened.

He fought to steady himself, heart thundering like a beast trapped in a cage. His blood sang with delirium, thoughts jagged and wild—her scent intoxicating, her defiance a siren's call.

He forced the needle into her forearm.

She gasped, her body jerking violently.

He smiled—until she twisted at the last second and slammed her knee between his legs. His breath whooshed out. Her hand flailed backward, reaching out for anything to hold, but only resulting in ripping out the sleeve of her top. He fell back, knocking over an old crate of glass bottles beside them.

Crash. Shards exploded around them.

He staggered. Glass shattered like his control.

She bolted, stumbling, falling—but she ran.

He was left bleeding, broken, and burning with a dark promise.

Blood poured from a fresh cut across his temple.

She ran without looking back.

Not steadily—but stumbling like a drunk, clutching her burning arm, trying to scream, but the drug had already seeped in, turning her voice to mush.

He tried to follow—but the world swam. Blood dripped into his eyes. She was already on the main road.

Aroohi stumbles away, her legs falter, but she manages to dash into the open road, just in time for headlights to bathe her in white.

A black car screeched to a halt beside her.

A man stepped out, same as last night, shock turning into concern as he rushed to catch her just before she collapsed.

From the shadows, the stalker watched, fury boiling under his skin.

That man—he touched her. Held her. Lifted her into his arms like she belonged to him.

From the shadows, the stalker emerges, blood trickling from his temple. He watches the person's car vanish.

The stalker snarls, eyes gleaming with lust and fury. His obsession has boiled over.
"She was supposed to be moaning my name tonight, not screaming it in fear," he thinks darkly.

"Who the fuck is he?"
"No one takes what's mine. No one."
His knuckles crack as he grips the shattered syringe in his pocket.
"You tasted fear tonight, Rooh. Next time, you'll taste devotion. Raw, twisted, unholy."

His face darkened.
No.

NO.

She belonged to him.

His fists shook as he pressed against the brick wall, blood from his temple dripping down his collar.

"I'll get her back," he whispered.
"She'll beg to return to me.
No one gets to have what's mine."

His obsession was no longer just in the shadows.

It was hungry.

And now... it was personal.

"You will come back to me.
You will crawl back, desperate and raw.
Because no one takes what's mine."

His voice was a rasping whisper lost in the twilight.

I'm coming for you, Aroohi.
And when I do... You won't be able to escape.
____________
Hello darlings,
Next update is here,
Do comment, like and share.
A quick question:
Do you want Rajbeer to claim Aroohi physically in the next chapter
Or
Ravish her once she is willing to be with him mentally and physically?
Share your thoughts...
Till then toodless😉😉😉😎😎😎