CHAPTER TWO

N I T Y A     K H U R A N A

It's only been a week since I returned home, and somehow I'm already drowning.

Not in rest.

Not in peace.

But in rishtas.

"Look at this boy, Nitya!" My mother waves her phone in my face like it's the holy grail. "He is in the navy!" My mom thrust her phone in my face for the sixth time this morning.

I groan into the cushion, refusing to look up. "Mumma, please. I haven't even unpacked properly."

She doesn't listen. She never does when she's on a marriage mission. "You are twenty-eight now. You can't keep dodging this forever. You think boys your age wait around."

"And it's been a week," she snaps, tapping the phone screen like it would make me suddenly accept a stranger as my soulmate. "You said you needed a break. Not a retirement."

My head throbbed. I had left behind 36-hour hospital shifts hoping for a bit of peace. Instead, I have stepped into the battlefield of matrimonial mayhem. Well, I should have known what I was getting myself into. This isn't the first time.

Ever since the moment I turned twenty-two, it's been this way. It's risthas after risthas.

The ringtone cut through her rant.

Aarav.

"Thank God," I mutter and quickly pick up. "Aarav! Save me. She is on a rampage."

His laughter on the other end was immediate. "Already? Damn, I thought Aunty would at least give you two weeks."

"I overestimated her restraint," I said, dragging myself out of the couch and heading to the balcony.

"How's it been otherwise? Still weird being back?"

"Extremely. The house feels smaller. The sky feels lower."

I contemplated asking about Anirudh bhaiya, and why is he back in Greater Noida but decided against it.

There is a small pause before Aarav asks, "You okay?"

"Not really," I admit, rubbing my forehead. "I didn't sign up to come home and be auctioned off like a vegetable."

He hums. "You know you can always come hide at my place."

"Tempting." As if and get myself in trouble with that bully of mine.

After the call, I linger by the balcony door. The sunlight hits the family photo frames on the wall, and eyes wander to the window of Anirudh Bhaiya room.

The curtains are parted and his window is open, giving me a clear view of his room, filled with books in every corner.

Suddenly he appears in my line of vision shirtless with only a towel wrapped around his torso and another over his damp head.

Before he could notice me, I walked back into the living room where Mumma was already scrolling through another biodata.

"I don't want to get married," I said softly but firmly, I hold my breath already dreading her reaction.

She freezes. Then looks up. "What?"

"I'm not ready. Maybe not ever. I don't want this. Not like this."

Her lips tighten, and her eyes burn with the weight of unspoken dreams. "You think I'm doing this for fun? Do you think marriage is a joke? Do you know how people talk when a girl your age isn't married yet? Everyone's moving forward and you... you just want to rest?!"

"I just want to live on my terms, Amma."

"You're being selfish," she raises her voice.

That word stings more than it should have. All my life I have been nothing but selfish. But I don't cry. Not this time.

Without another word, I turn around and walk to my room, change into jeans and a kurta, tie my hair up, and text Ishita — a friend from med school who now works nearby.

Me: "You free? I need air."

She replies in seconds: "Always. Cafeteria in 30?"

I grab my bag step out, and close the door behind me—hoping that the one I am opening leads to something better.

Maybe not love.

But maybe... a bit of understanding.

The air outside is heavy. The sun burns. No auto in sight. I look at my phone it's at 20%. I groan.

I glance around hoping — then regretting it.

Suddenly a black car slows down beside me. The window rolls down.

"Get in."

Anirudh Saxena.

Tall. Silent. Brooding. My best friend's older brother and my tormentor from school.

"I'm fine," I say stiffly.

"You don't look it." He doesn't smile.

He never smiles. Not anymore.

The road behind him is empty. I sigh. Pride would cost me a heatstroke.

I get in.

The interior smells of leather and restraint.

The door clicks shut beside me, and for a second, I felt the air change. The car is too quiet. Too cold. Him—too close.

He doesn't look at me. His eyes are on the road, hands on the wheel, jaw set like stone.

He drove like he did everything else- with unsettling calm. No music. No small talk. Just the hum of the engine and the unspoken weight of the past. That giant scent of his cologne—clean, expensive, infuriatingly comforting.

My fingers curl around my clothes.

I keep my eyes training out the window, trying not to breathe too deeply. Trying not to remember how, back in school, he once called me "dimwit" the mocking laughter still lingers in my dreams.

Now he says nothing.

Only once I glance at him and instantly, regret it.

His profile is calm but sharp. His forearms flex with each turn of the wheel, veins raising, wristwatch gleaming under the slanting sun, reminding me of the moment I saw him bare-chested in his room just a few minutes ago.

I look away quickly but not quickly enough.

"What?" His voice is low. Not amused. Just curious. Quietly observing.

"Nothing." I shift in my seat.

Another beat of silence passes and I mentally pray for the hospital to arrive quickly.

A soft chuckle escapes him, deep and brief. Not playful. Just knowing.

We pull up to the hospital gate.

My hand reaches for the door.

"Nitya."

His voice was still low—but this time, there was something underneath it. Not softness. Not harshness. Something unreadable.

"I'll pick you up."

I hesitate—one second too long—then step out, the sound of the closing door louder than it should have been.

Ishita looks up from her coffee, her eyes sparkling with mischief almost hiding the black circles and the tired look on her face.

"So..how's life after Dr. Nitya Khurana conquered the MS?" she asks, teasing.

I give her a small smile but it doesn't reach my eyes.

"Still the same. Except I don't have a book of skeletons anymore."

"I can imagine. You're practically the expert on bones now."

"Please, don't. I still haven't figured out how to deal with my own, let alone someone else's."

Ipshita hums in understanding sipping her coffee.

"I am being tormented by rishtas and if that wasn't enough Anirudh bhaiya has come back from Mumbai," I inform Ipshita.

Ipshita raises her eyebrows, unfazed.

"What if maybe he likes you?"

My eyes widened in disbelief, followed by a short laugh.

"Please. There wasn't a day in my teenage life when he didn't humiliate me or make fun of me. No. That man doesn't like me. He torments me."

Ipshita shrugs, her expression unreadable.

"I mean what's what TV drama tells us."

"You should stop watching those stupid dramas." I point out to her, the thought of Anirudh bhaiya liking me makes my stomach twist.

The evening air has grown heavier. As I walk back from the hospital, my phone dies—just my luck.

Ipshita's hospital is located in a very secluded part of the city mainly because this area is still developing.

I had barely gotten two steps down the street on the main highway when I felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Three men were following me, walking a little too close.

I pick up my pace, but so do they. The sound of their shoes hitting the pavement seems too loud in the quiet street.

One of them whistles and my breath gets caught in my throat. I turned around a corner, then another having no idea where I was heading towards.

But they are still there, following me.

I could hear their voices now, lewd comments, the way they were laughing at me. My heart pounded in my chest.

"Arre janeman. Kaha ja Rahi ho?" One of them calls, his voice dripping with malice.

(Sweetheart. Where are you going?)

My hands shake. I try to walk faster, but they close in.

"I'm fine," I whisper to myself, but it isn't convincing even to myself.

I glance around. No one in sight. The street is empty.

What do I do?

I almost turn back but quickly stop myself. They are too close now. Tears start to form in my eyes, blurring my vision.

A wave of panic hits me, and my throat tightens.