Avneet stepped out of her car slowly, as if the ground wasn’t quite steady.
Hair perfect. Lipstick flawless. Sunglasses hid her swollen eyes. Not a single crack on the surface.

No one would guess her body was still aching from the abortion she had less than 24 hours ago.

No one would guess she’d woken up in a hostel bed alone, curled up in fetal position, her arms wrapped around herself like they could hold something that was no longer there.

No one could see it.

So she made sure they never would.

She adjusted her designer bag, smirked at a few staring juniors, and strutted toward the canteen with the same flawless confidence she wore like perfume.

But every step was an effort.

She felt like she was dragging a body that didn’t belong to her anymore.

Siddharth stood behind the building, near the old neem tree, leaning against the wall, reading.

A group of guys sat on the low ledge nearby. Loud, obnoxious, the type that puffed up their chests when women passed by. One of them lit a cigarette. Another scrolled through his phone, snickering.

“Bro, Faisu’s such an idiot,” one said, voice laced with mockery. “That chick’s basically community property now.”

“You mean Avneet?” someone replied, laughing.

“Yeah, man. She’s like… the deluxe version of easy. You don’t even need to try. Just offer her a drink and she’ll probably undress herself.”

“You know she stayed in some guy’s room the other night, right?” another chimed in. “Wouldn’t surprise me if she did him too. Faisu thinks she’s heartbroken. I say she just needed someone to warm her bed.”

"Please that bitch's legs open wider than vending machine”

Laughter. Ugly. Loud.

Siddharth froze.

His fingers tightened around his notebook. He didn’t move. Didn’t breathe.

And then—
“I swear, give me one chance and I’ll be the next to fuck her. She is so easy... you just have to make her feel special for like two seconds. She's just a used doll now anyway.”

These words dug under his skin like broken glass.

These boys laughing like hyenas, how could they reduce a girl to slutty punchline!

That was it.

Siddharth moved.

Quick. Silent. Cold.

In three strides, he grabbed the collar of the guy who said it and slammed him against the brick wall. His notebook hit the floor. So did the cigarette.

The laughter died instantly.

The guy stared at him, eyes wide, choking slightly.

“Say it again,” Siddharth growled, voice low and dangerous. “Say one more word about her.”

The guy stammered. “Bro—what the fuck—let go, man—”

Siddharth leaned in, his jaw tight, his eyes like steel.

“She doesn’t deserve this. I don’t care what you think she is. You don’t get to touch her name with your filthy mouth.”

He shoved him back.

The boy staggered, gasping.

Siddharth picked up his notebook, dusted it off, and walked away—calm, silent, leaving the tension like a storm cloud behind him.

Avneet sat with her group at their usual table, arms folded, eyes on her phone. Laughter rang around her—Jannat was telling a story about someone fainting during a presentation.

It was all so loud.

She smiled, nodded, even laughed.

But her ears were ringing.
Her stomach clenched.
Her throat was dry no matter how much water she drank.

Her fingers kept drifting to her stomach when no one was looking. Her legs trembled beneath the table, pressed tightly together.

She caught sight of Siddharth passing by the windows across the courtyard.

Their eyes met.

For just one second.

He didn’t look angry.

He didn’t look impressed.

He wasn't judging.

He wasn't pitying.

He looked like he knew.
Knew she wasn’t okay. Knew she was faking every breath. Knew something inside her had broken.

And that—

That terrified her.

Because she wasn’t ready to be seen.

Not like this.

Not by him.

She looked away quickly.

But not before he saw flicker of something behind her mask- Grief, guilt  and exhaustion well hidden behind her makeup and pride.

She didn't deserve any of this

The way she smiled without meaning it. The way her hand kept brushing her stomach. The slight limp in her step. The quiet panic in her fingers when no one noticed them trembling.

No one else saw it.

But he did.

Because he knew what it looked like to wear pain like armour.

Avneet excused herself to washroom.

Avneet locked herself inside the last stall, leaned against the door, and slid to the floor.

The noise from the canteen was faint through the walls. Laughter. Footsteps. Life.

Her fingers gripped her knees, knuckles white.

She didn’t cry.

She couldn’t.

She had given away the right to cry.

She had chosen this.

But the guilt sat heavy in her ribs, pressing against her lungs.

“You’re fine,” she whispered to herself. “You’re still Avneet. Still the queen. Still in control.”

But deep down…

She didn’t believe it.

“Come on Avu, buckle up! Stop behaving like a loser!!! You just need a good sex and everything will be okay again!" She huffed a deep breath.

She washer her face, touched up her makeup and hair and walked back into the canteen like she owned it. Every step sharp. Every glance commanding. Her lips curled in that dangerous smirk she wore like a crown.

But inside, she felt hollow.

Her body still ached. Her mind still echoed with the silence of that sterile clinic. And her heart—it throbbed in the quiet moments, in the pauses between words, like it was mourning something she didn’t allow herself to grieve.

She saw him.

Siddharth.

Sitting alone, reading. Calm. Still. Focused.
And yet, she could feel his eyes find her the moment she stepped in.

He didn’t look away.

She forced herself toward Armaan a guy she's been eyeing, laughing before she even reached him. That high, fake laugh that made her sound untouchable.

“Missed me?” she said, throwing herself into the seat beside him.

Armaan looked her up and down, smirking. “I was starting to think you forgot me.”

“Please,” she said coolly. “You know I love me some hot boys”

They laughed.

She leaned in. Her fingers grazed his wrist. Her voice dipped lower.

She wasn’t doing this for Armaan.

She was doing it for control.

Because somewhere behind her, Siddharth was watching. And she didn’t want him to think she was weak or broken.

She wanted him to remember the version of her that destroyed everything.

She kept smiling.

Kept laughing.

Armaan’s hand brushed her waistqnr his fingers dared trail down to her thigh.

She didn’t flinch.
She didn’t recoil.
She didn’t show anything.

But her grip on the edge of the table tightened just slightly.

Her jaw tensed for a second too long.

Siddharth saw it.

He was across the room. Still. Silent. But watching.

He saw her mask.

And beneath it—the pressure. The pain. The shame she refused to let anyone see.

Not even him.

Especially not him.

The moment the canteen cleared out, Avneet stepped outside, phone in hand, cigarette between her fingers.

Siddharth was already out there—leaning against the back wall, unreadable.

Their eyes met.

No one spoke for a moment.

“You don’t need to stalk me,” she said finally, voice casual, cool.

“I wasn’t,” he said calmly. “Just saw a performance worth a front row seat.”

She smirked. “Glad you enjoyed the show.”

He didn’t laugh.

“I’m not judging you, Avneet,” he said after a pause.

She shrugged. “Good. I don’t care if you do.”

“You’re better at lying to everyone else,” he murmured. “Not so much to me.”

She stiffened.

“You think you know me?” she asked, raising her chin.

“I see you.”

“No, you see what you want to see. The broken girl under the bitch. That’s your type, isn’t it?”

He didn’t answer.

She stepped closer, close enough to smell his cologne.

“You want to fix me, Siddharth?” she whispered, eyes narrowed. “Here’s a warning: I bite.”

He leaned in slightly, close enough to see the flicker of something sad in her.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said. “Just trying to understand how someone can look so untouchable while screaming inside.”

She didn’t respond.

Because he was too close to the truth.

Because she was afraid that if she opened her mouth, the scream might actually come out.

So instead—she stepped back.

Took a drag of her cigarette.

And blew the smoke right past him.

“Stay out of my business,” she said flatly. “Whatever you think you saw—it wasn’t real.”

And with that, she turned and walked away.

He stood there long after she left.

Because he’d seen it—

The heartbreak in her eyes. The regret in her silence. The girl buried alive under her own armor.

And no matter how much he tried—

He knew he wouldn’t be able to walk away from her.

Not anymore.