"Advik, leave me!" I tried to dig my heels into the tile, but he was stronger, always stronger, and my resistance only made his fingers bite deeper.

"Nope." He didn't even glance back. "Not happening. You better behave."

"I'll tell my father that you dropped me." My voice was climbing, cracking at the edges. "You don't have to worry. Let me do what I please."

But he wasn't listening. He never listened.

He was always like this — dominating, controlling, acting like he owned every piece of my life down to the air I breathed. And I was done. I was done being dragged. Done being his responsibility. Done.

While he hauled me toward the exit, I caught sight of his girlfriend.

She hurried over, heels clicking against the linoleum, confusion knitting her brows together. "Where are you going?"

"I'm going to drop her."

"Should I come too?" She smiled, hopeful, oblivious. "You can drop me home after."

I saw my opening. A crack of light in the wall of him.

"Yes, Advik." I twisted my wrist in his grip, not to break free but to turn, to face Sahil's direction. "Take her home. I'll come with Sahil."

I turned on my heel.

For one second — one clean, perfect second — my wrist was free. I took a step. Then another. My heart hammered with something that tasted like victory.

A hand closed around the back of my collar.

Not my wrist. Not my arm. My collar. His fingers hooked into the fabric at the nape of my neck, the seam pulling tight against my throat, and yanked.

I stumbled backward so hard my shoulder blades crashed into his chest. The diner tilted. The noise — the clatter of plates, the low murmur of conversations — seemed to drop away until all I could hear was his breathing, steady and controlled, right behind my ear.

"You're coming with me."

His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. It was a fact, spoken into the shell of my ear, and my body recognized it before my mind could argue.

Then he pointed toward his girlfriend, his free hand raising, one finger extended, his voice dropping to something sharp and final.

"I'll call my friend. He'll pick you up."

She opened her mouth to protest. He was already moving.

In the next second, I was in his car.

The leather was cold against the back of my thighs. My pulse was a trapped bird in my throat. The door shut with a sound that felt like a lock clicking into place, and then he was leaning across me, his arm brushing my waist as he reached for the seatbelt.

His face was so close I could see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes. I could feel his breath, warm and measured, against my cheek. Just a fraction closer and our lips would touch. My heart hammered against my ribs, wild and reckless, and I forgot about the collar. I forgot about the restaurant. I forgot about Sahil standing at the counter with his too-nice smile and his paid bill.

I only knew the heat of him. The smell of rain and something darker. The way his arm pressed against my stomach, pinning me to the seat without even trying.

But then I remembered.

He only thought of me as a sister.

The memory landed during the drive home, settling into my stomach like a stone dropped in deep water. I kept my mouth shut. My mind too. I was tired of the drama, exhausted from the push and pull of whatever this was between us — this thing that felt like hatred and gravity and something I refused to name. I just wanted my bed. My silence. My peace.

The whole ride was silent.

Not the comfortable kind. The kind that presses against your eardrums, thick and alive, filling the space between two people who have run out of safe things to say. The city lights blurred past the window — red, white, gold — smearing into streaks that matched the static in my head. Advik's hands stayed at ten and two on the wheel, his knuckles pale in the dashboard glow. He didn't look at me. Not once.

When we finally reached the flat, I had the door open before he'd killed the engine.

I stumbled out, fumbling for my keys, desperate to escape into my bedroom and bury myself under the covers until morning came and wiped this night away. My fingers found the lock. The key slid in. The door clicked open.

A hand closed around my upper arm.

He pulled me back toward him, his grip firm, his eyes burning into mine with something I couldn't name. Something that didn't match the coldness of the car ride. Something too hot, too sharp.

"I told you Sahil is no good for you." His voice was low, rough at the edges. "Couldn't you choose someone better?"

That angered me.

Every single time I tried to get close to someone, he said the same thing. You deserve better. He's not good enough. Choose someone else. He had been saying it since we were teenagers, and back then I'd believed him. I'd waited, stupid and hopeful, for him to finally look at me and say — I'm the better choice. I'm right here.

But he never did. And now? I didn't even know what I deserved anymore. I didn't know if I deserved anything at all.

"You say that for every fucking guy I like." My voice shook, but I tilted my chin up, meeting his eyes. "This time I'm not backing down. Whether Sahil is better for me or not, you don't have a say in this. And you should stay away from my business because I'm just your sister."

His eyes narrowed.

Confusion flickered across his face first — quick, there and gone. Then something darker. Something sharper. Something that looked almost like fury wrapped around a wound.

"You aren't my sister." He stepped closer, crowding me against the doorframe. "You don't have that much value."

The words hit like a slap I didn't see coming.

I felt the air leave my lungs, my chest caving in around the hollow space he had just carved open with ten syllables. My fingers went numb. The key in my hand felt too heavy, suddenly ridiculous.

"You're just a responsibility I've had to carry since childhood." His voice didn't rise. It didn't need to. Each word was perfectly enunciated, perfectly cruel. "Nothing more."