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"Behind every wall of indifference lies a story of pain, and even the coldest hearts crave warmth-they just don't know how to ask for it."

SIDHARTH walked past Sana, heading toward her scooter. Without a word, he inspected it briefly before pulling out a bungee cord from his bike's storage compartment. With practiced ease, he secured her scooter to the back of his bike, giving the setup a firm tug to ensure it was tied properly.

"We'll fill the fuel on our way," he said curtly, straightening up. His voice softened, almost imperceptibly, as he added, "Let's get you home."

"Thank you, Sidharth," Sana murmured, her tone quiet but sincere.

He glanced at her briefly, his expression unreadable. "Just get on the bike, Sana," he said gruffly, avoiding her gaze. "You need rest."

Sana stared at him, disbelief flickering in her mind.

"And he says he doesn't care for me. Stupid boy." She thought.

She stepped closer and climbed onto the bike behind him. Hesitating for a moment, she clutched the back of his shirt lightly, unsure of how else to hold on.

The engine roared to life, and they took off. The cool air whipped past them as Sana exhaled for what felt like the first time in hours. Without thinking, she rested her head lightly against his back.

Sidharth's body stiffened instantly, his grip on the handlebars tightening.

Sana noticed his reaction and immediately withdrew, her heart sinking. "Is he uncomfortable with me?" she wondered, the thought stinging unexpectedly. But instead of dwelling on it, she decided to ask.

"Sidharth, are you un-"

"No," he interrupted, his voice curt. "I'm not uncomfortable with your touch. It's just..." He trailed off, hesitating. How could he explain without sounding ridiculous?

"What is it, Sidharth?" Sana pressed, her curiosity piqued.

He exhaled sharply. "I've never had anyone ride my bike with me before. Let alone a girl. That's all," he admitted, the tension leaving his body as he reminded himself it was just Sana.

Sana smiled, warmth spreading through her chest. "Lucky me," she thought, feeling an unexpected burst of happiness.

"You know, Mr. Bad Boy," she teased, "sometimes you can actually be cute."

"Shut up," he scoffed, glaring at her through the side mirror. "I'm anything but cute."

"Of course," she replied, biting back a laugh.

"F*ck off," he muttered, turning his attention back to the road.

"Don't curse at me," she warned lightly.

"Then stop annoying me," he shot back.

Sana chuckled but let it go, her thoughts drifting as the ride continued in comfortable silence.

"Why, out of all the people, had it been Sidharth who came to my rescue?" she wondered. "And why, for the first time, did I feel like I could trust him with my life?"

At a nearby gas station, Sidharth stopped to fill her scooter's tank. Sana considered telling him to leave, that she could manage from there, but the sharp look he gave her made her close her mouth.

The rest of the ride was quiet, save for the hum of the engine. Though no words were exchanged, his presence was reassuring. Today, that was enough.

When they reached outside her house, Sidharth parked his bike and got off to untie her scooter. His sharp gaze flickered to her as she brushed her hair back, watching him intently.

"Why were you alone?" he asked suddenly, his tone sharper than she expected. "Where's Julia?"

"She ditched me at the last minute," Sana replied, crossing her arms defensively. "She texted saying she had some work and would go home with a classmate."

Sidharth's brow furrowed, his grip tightening on the scooter's handles. "And the guy following you-do you know him?"

Sana shook her head, her expression darkening. "No. Today was the first time I saw him. He followed me for a while, and when my scooter stopped, he got off his bike and started walking toward me. He didn't say anything, but..." Her voice faltered, the memory of her fear resurfacing.

Sidharth's jaw clenched, fury flashing in his eyes. "If I ever see that bastard again, I swear I'll kill him," he muttered, his voice dangerously low.

Then he turned his glare on her. "And you-what the hell were you thinking, coming home alone? Do you have any idea how unsafe it is?"

Her eyes flashed with defiance. "This has never happened before, Sidharth! How was I supposed to know someone would follow me today?"

"That's not the point!" he snapped. "You were careless, and it could've cost you. He could hurt you."

Sana's shoulders sagged slightly. "I'm not careless," she said defensively. Then, softening, she added, "But... thank you for being there."

Sidharth nodded stiffly. "It's fine," he said gruffly.

Sana tilted her head, studying him. "But why were you there in the first place? This isn't the way to your house-it's in the opposite direction."

Sidharth stiffened, caught off guard.

"What do I say now? That, I noticed her leaving alone, then I followed her to make sure she reached home safe?" he thought, then without answering, he turned back to his bike, preparing to leave. "Best ignore her."

"Wait!" she called, grabbing his arm. "Were you coming to coax me?"

"In your dreams," he snapped, pulling his hand away. "I had some work in this area. Don't overthink it."

Her smile faltered, and she took a step back. "Why are you like this?" she murmured, her voice barely audible.

"Like what?" he asked, his tone defensive.

"Like you don't care about me," she replied, her eyes searching his.

His expression hardened, but his heart clenched at her words. "I don't care about anyone but myself," he replied coolly, though deep down, he knew it was a lie.

He started to care about her and he hates himself for that.

"You're selfish," she said, smirking faintly to mask her disappointment.

"Yes, I am," he admitted, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jacket. "People make you like this. Anyway, I'll be waiting for you this weekend."

"I'm not coming, Sidharth," she said firmly.

"Excuse me?" he asked, raising his brows in disbelief.

"You heard me."

"You're joking right?" He asked.

"No. I already told you-I won't let you touch me until you coax me," she said stubbornly.

A low chuckle escaped him. "This is stupid."

"No, it's not," she argued.

"Don't be so dramatic, babe. I'm not your boyfriend who'll entertain your tantrums," he said irritably.

"You called me a b*tch!" she snapped, her anger flaring.

"And you've called me an assh*le. Multiple times, actually," he shot back. "Did I make a fuss over it? Huh? Did I ask you to coax me? Pamper me? Like some boyfriend?"

"Fine," she muttered, crossing her arms. "But what about the real reason we fought? Why don't you eat with me, Sidharth?" she finally asked.

"I like to eat alone," he said simply. "Just like you enjoy eating with people, I prefer my own company. It's not a big deal."

Sana blinked in shock, staring at him as if he had just grown a second head. "You like eating alone? Are you even normal?"

She felt like laughing but didn't-for his sake. He looked pretty serious about it.

The word "normal" hit a nerve, but Sidharth kept his expression calm, though his jaw tightened ever so slightly.

"You got your answer," he said flatly. "Now I'm leaving."

He moved his bike backward, pausing briefly to add, "If you want to come this weekend, you're welcome. If not, I don't care. Stay happy in your dreamland. But I'm not doing any boyfriend sh*t for you. We're not in a romantic relationship."

Without waiting for her response, he revved the engine and sped off, the roar of his bike echoing down the street.

Sana stood there, stunned, watching him disappear into the distance. Her mind raced, trying to process what had just happened. Then, with an irritated huff, she muttered, "Idiot," and turned toward her house, dragging her scooter.

---

It was the weekend, and Sidharth stood in his kitchen, carefully plating a meal. The aroma of grilled chicken breast mixed with a fresh quinoa and avocado salad filled the air. Both dishes were "safe" foods-simple, bland, and predictable. He placed the plates on the counter, his movements precise as if following a strict ritual.

Cooking for Sana was an odd decision, especially given his aversion to eating with others. But something about her stubbornness had stirred an unusual need in him-a need to prove he could meet her halfway. Even if he wouldn't sit across the table and share the moment with her, this was his compromise.

After finishing the cooking, Sidharth hesitated before scooping a small portion of quinoa salad onto his plate. He added three thin slices of chicken breast-nothing more, nothing less. Everything on the plate was measured and minimal, carefully avoiding excess.

He carried the plate to the dining table, sitting alone in his dimly lit dining room. Taking a deep breath, he arranged the food with his fork, ensuring each bite contained an equal balance of ingredients. His movements were slow, methodical, almost mechanical.

The first bite hovered near his lips before he finally took it. Chewing was deliberate and slow, as if he were hyper-aware of the texture, taste, and consistency.

His jaw tightened at certain moments, his expression briefly clouded by discomfort before he forced himself to swallow.

As Sidharth sat alone, a wave of bitterness washed over him, unbidden. His thoughts wandered back to a memory he'd tried desperately to suppress.

He was eight.

The dining room was brightly lit, but the scene unfolding within was anything but warm.

"Eat it," Manisha had said, her voice sharp, cold.

The plate of palak paneer in front of him looked more like a punishment than a meal. He hated the smell, the slimy texture, and the overpowering taste of spinach that lingered long after swallowing.

"I don't like it," he had whispered, his voice trembling. "Please, Manisha Aunty. Can I have something else?"

Her response was swift and merciless. "No. This is your punishment. Bad boys don't get choices."

When he refused to take another bite, her hand lashed out, smacking his face. "Eat. Or do you want me to tell your parents you're a bad boy? Do you want them to stop loving you? Or do you act like a good boy and eat?"

Tears rolled down his cheeks as he picked up the spoon, shoving the food into his mouth. The taste made his stomach churn, and he gagged, spitting some of it out.

"Disgusting," Manisha had spat, her voice dripping with contempt. "You can't even do this one thing. How will anyone ever love you? You piece of sh*t!"

The next day, the punishment worsened. She'd forced him to eat palak paneer for every meal, adding spinach curry and spinach paratha to the menu for variety. That day, he had gagged, and vomited while eating later cried getting bitten by her.

One afternoon, she'd gathered the house staff to watch him eat. The shame of being the center of their mocking stares burned into his memory. When he vomited after just one bite, the laughter from the staff felt like knives piercing his chest.

"See?" Manisha had sneered. "This is why no one will love you. You're a bad boy."

Sidharth blinked, his fork frozen mid-air. The taste of quinoa and chicken faded as the ghost of palak paneer lingered on his tongue. A lump formed in his throat, but he swallowed it down, forcing himself to finish the bite.

The memory explained too much-his obsession with control, his aversion to eating with others, and his rigid preference for safe, bland foods.

The idea of being judged while eating terrified him, even now. He ate alone because it was the only way he could avoid the stares, the laughter, the suffocating shame.

Finishing his meal, Sidharth pushed the plate aside and rested his head in his hands. For a brief moment, he considered not delivering the food he'd made for Sana.

What if she won't like it? But mostly, what if she judged him too?

But then he remembered her fiery determination, the way she challenged him, pushing past his walls. Maybe-just maybe-she'd understand.

With a heavy sigh, he stood, carefully packed the food into containers, placed them neatly on the kitchen island, and then waited for her in the living room, sitting on the couch and killing time on his phone.

"She should be here in about half an hour," he mumbled, noting that the time was 3:45.

Sana stood in front of Sidharth's door, staring at the polished surface. Her thumb hovered over the doorbell as doubts clouded her mind.

Was this a mistake?

She had told herself she wouldn't come unless he coaxed her, didn't apologize to her, yet here she was, giving in. Again.

With a deep breath, she pressed the doorbell. After two long minutes, the door finally opened, revealing Sidharth in a full-sleeve black T-shirt paired with gray trousers. His hair was neatly set, and a familiar smirk graced his lips.

Typical Sidharth Vyas.

He leaned casually against the doorframe, his eyes scanning her briefly before giving her a smug look.

"Couldn't resist my charm, I see?" he teased. "Anyway, welcome." He stepped aside, giving her space to enter.

"Keep dreaming, Vyas." she retorted, brushing past him as she made her way into the house. She walked directly to the living room, dropping onto the couch as if she owned the place.

"We're supposed to go upstairs," Sidharth said, locking the door behind him and following her.

"Not today," she declared, making herself comfortable. "Today, we're just going to talk."

Sidharth leaned against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Talk?" he repeated, his voice laced with disbelief.

"Talk," she repeated firmly, patting the empty space beside her in a silent invitation.

He ignored her gesture. "Why not just skip to the part we're both here for?" His voice was low, firm, and impatient.

"Not happening," she replied with a sweet but defiant smile. "I'm not in the mood."

Sidharth's jaw tightened as he stared at her, frustrated but unsurprised by her antics. "This is stupid, Sana."

"Not at all." She smirked, knowing she was getting under his skin.

"It is," he snapped. "Your demand is stupid. You are stupid. I've already told you the conditions-no strings attached. No kisses, no hugs, no cuddles, no personal questions. None of that emotional crap. It's simple."

"Yes, you did," she replied calmly. "But I'm not asking for any of that. I just want us to talk. Communication helps people understand each other, and I want to understand you, Sidharth."

"I can't do that," he said curtly, shaking his head.

"What is wrong with you, Sidharth?" she asked, exasperated. "You won't eat with me, you won't sit with me, you won't talk to me-but you expect me to sleep with you? What even is this?"

Her words struck a nerve.

"Do you have any...."

His expression darkened, and his voice lowered dangerously. "Don't you dare finish that sentence."

Sana ignored his glare, softening her tone. "I'm not trying to upset you. I just want to know you-understand you. Emotionally."

He dismissed her words with a sharp gesture. "Are you coming upstairs or not?"

"Only if you promise to sit with me while I eat and talk with me. Nothing too personal-just random things. I like doing that when I eat," she proposed.

Sidharth stared at her, weighing his options. On one hand, the idea of sitting and talking while she ate made him uncomfortable. On the other, Sana looked irresistible in her red dress, and her stubbornness only added to her allure. He wondered how her parents let her come every weekend, that too in that dress.

"What did you tell your parents before coming here?" he asked abruptly, changing the subject.

Sana smiled, catching the subtle shift in his tone. "I told them I was going to a friend's house for group study."

"They believed that?" he asked, genuinely surprised.

"They trust me," she replied simply, though guilt flickered in her eyes. The thought of lying to her parents for someone who kept her at arm's length stung.

Sidharth noticed the shift in her expression. "I'm sorry for that," he said quietly.

She shook her head, her lips curving into a sad smile. "It's okay."

"And... I'm sorry for calling you a b*tch," he added after a pause, his voice softer now. "I didn't mean it."

Her eyes widened in surprise. She hadn't expected an apology, least of all from him.

"Thank you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

Sidharth just nodded.

"Let's go upstairs," she declared suddenly, breaking the moment of vulnerability.

Sidharth smirked, following her lead. As she got up, she grabbed his hand, lacing their fingers together.

He didn't pull away.

For a man who lived by rigid rules, the act of letting her hold his hand-a clear breach of his boundaries-felt oddly natural. Without realizing it, he let her take the lead, their interlocked fingers a silent testament to the walls she was slowly breaking down.

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