"You came."

"Did you think I wouldn't?" I replied, my voice steadier than I felt, though my heart was pounding against my ribs like a trapped bird.

He looked down at his glass, a faint smile pulling at his mouth that made my breath catch in my throat. The dim lighting of the bar softened the sharp angles of his face, revealing a vulnerability I hadn't seen before.

"I wasn't sure," he admitted, his voice barely audible above the ambient chatter of the bar.

I walked over and stopped right in front of him, close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from his body, close enough to catch the subtle scent of his cologne—something clean and woodsy that made my head spin.

"And yet you're here."

He didn't answer. Just looked at me with those dark, nervous eyes, exactly like he had against that conference room wall, but this time there was something different in them—something that looked remarkably like hope.

We sat there for hours, picking at bar food and sharing drinks, trading smiles that felt heavier with every minute. The tension between us was shifting, softening into something almost comfortable. We talked about everything and nothing—work, childhood dreams, favorite books—each conversation peeling back another layer of the reserved man I'd only admired from afar.

Then suddenly, a girl walked up and hugged him from the side, her arms wrapping around his shoulders like they belonged there.

My evening was officially ruined.

I felt it instantly—that hot, sharp twist in my chest that I recognized as jealousy, ugly and unwelcome. He never let anyone close. I had watched him shrink away from colleagues, from strangers, from everyone who tried to breach his carefully constructed boundaries. So why was she clinging to him like she had every right?

I clenched my fingers around my glass so hard my knuckles turned white. If she moved even an inch closer to him, I was sure I would break it, shards of glass and my composure shattering simultaneously.

He looked startled, his body stiffening in her arms before he gently pulled back, creating distance between them with subtle movements that spoke volumes.

"Riya, what are you doing here?" he asked, his voice carrying a note of something I couldn't quite identify—annoyance, perhaps, or discomfort.

She pouted, still holding his arm, her long nails painted a bright red that contrasted sharply with the dark fabric of his shirt.

"I told you I was busy tonight," he added, his voice firmer now.

I didn't look away. I couldn't. My grip on the glass tightened as I waited to see whose side he would choose, whose company he preferred for the evening—mine or hers.

He said his goodbye to her, his words polite but firm, and turned. The second his eyes met mine, he froze. My anger was written all over my face, impossible to miss even in the dim lighting of the bar. He swallowed hard, got up, and went to the restroom. I followed him, waited outside, my heart pounding with a mixture of rage and fear.

As soon as he came outside, I pushed him against the wall, the impact harder than I intended.

"You are mine," I said, my voice low and intense. "I don't like seeing you with another woman."

"I didn't mean to," he stammered, his eyes wide with surprise.

"I am telling you Vedansh, today you have to choose," I continued, my voice shaking with emotion. "I am not saying that you have to like me, but you have to tell me certainly that you don't like me, and I will stop pursuing you."

He looked dead in my eyes and grabbed my waist, his touch sending sparks through my body despite my anger.

"Don't worry Miss Aahana, I won't touch anyone."