Her Pov :

Everything felt heavy-my body, my head, even my heart. It was like waking up underwater. Everything blurred, muffled, unreal.

For a moment, I thought I was still in that dark place, lying on the cold floor with blood spilling out of me. But when I opened my eyes, it wasn't bathroom tiles anymore. It was a hospital bed. Clean sheets. Beeping machines. And then-I saw him.

Aarav.

He was sitting so close, his hand clamped around mine like letting go would mean losing me forever. His eyes were red and swollen, desperate, never leaving my face.

It hurt to see him like that. It hurt even more to know why.

Because of me.

Because of what I had done.

The memory came back in flashes-the blade, the blood, the silence after my scream. For a second, I thought it was over. No more pain, no more accusations, no more shame.

But now... I was here. Alive. And so was he. His forehead rested against my hand, his whole body shaking with sobs.

I could hear him whispering-begging, promising things I never thought I'd hear from him.

"I'll change," he choked out. "I won't hurt you again. No more forcing you. Just... come back."

Part of me wanted to cry. Part of me wanted to scream.

Because when you're as broken as I am, words don't mean much anymore. Promises sound like noise. Even his voice-the voice that once felt like home-sounded strange now. Too heavy. Too raw.

"One chance."

That's what he said. His eyes burned, his voice cracked, and his hands shook as they held my face.

Just one chance.

The words should have been simple. But they weren't. They were heavy-too heavy.

Because one chance wasn't just a chance. It meant opening the door to everything I'd tried so hard to lock away. It meant believing him, trusting him, letting him hold the very pieces of me he had already broken.

I wanted to scream at him-You don't get chances. Not after what you've done. Not after what you let happen to me.

But no words came out. Only tears.

Because when I looked at him, I didn't see the monster who had chained me, forced me, broken me. I saw the man on his knees, begging. I saw fear in his eyes, raw and real, like he couldn't breathe without me. Like my heartbeat was the only thing keeping him alive.

And it terrified me.

It terrified me because a part of me wanted to believe him. A part of me wanted to lean into his words and think-maybe this time. Maybe this promise. Maybe this man will protect me.

But another part of me knew better. Promises break. People change their faces, not their hearts. And Aarav's heart was obsessed, twisted, dangerous.

Still, when he whispered again, his voice ragged, "Just one chance, Siyara. Let me protect you. Let me fight for you," something in my chest tightened until I couldn't breathe. I couldn't even speak.

I hated him for everything. But I hated myself more-for wanting to say yes.

So I closed my eyes, hiding from his stare, and let out the weakest word I'd ever spoken:

"...Fine."

Not because I trusted him.

Not because I forgave him.

But because, in that moment, I didn't have the strength to fight anymore.

I didn't know if I could forgive him.

I didn't know if I could trust him.

For the first time in so long, someone was begging me to stay. Someone was crying for me to live.

I didn't know if it was love or obsession. I didn't know if it would ever be enough.

But it was the only thing that pulled me back.

And then Ananya burst in like a storm-laughing, teasing, tossing words around so easily that the heavy air in the room cracked open.

I had never seen anyone treat Aarav like that. She rolled her eyes at him, smirked at his anger, even dared to call my chocolate a "love affair." And Aarav-the man who could make me shiver with just one look-just stood there, glaring like a sulking child whose secrets had been spilled.

It was... unbelievable.

I wanted to laugh. I bit my lip to hold it back. But then Aarav snapped, his voice sharp, his glare dangerous.

"Ananya."

The way he said her name-it was the same tone that always made me shudder when it was mine.

But Ananya only giggled and ran.

The door closed behind her, and I couldn't stop it anymore. A laugh broke out of me. A real laugh. My chest ached with the effort, but it felt good-so good, like I'd stolen a breath of air after drowning too long.

For the first time in days, I felt human again.

And then... Aarav's eyes turned back to me.

I froze. His gaze had softened, but it still stripped me bare. He leaned closer, lips curving into something between a smirk and a warning.

"Laughing at me now, Siyara?" he murmured. "Careful. You'll pay for that."

The heat in his voice slid down my spine. My smile faltered. He always knew how to twist even the smallest moment into something that burned.

Part of me wanted to roll my eyes the way Ananya did. Part of me wanted to shove him back and say I wasn't afraid.

But the truth?

I was afraid. Not of his threat-

But of how much I felt when his eyes were on me.

He leaned in, his voice low and dangerous.

"Laugh all you want, Siyara. But remember... the next time you disobey me, you'll regret it."

My smile faded. The taste of chocolate still lingered on my lips, but his words lingered longer.

And I didn't know what scared me more-his threat... or the way some part of me almost wanted to test him again.

I shifted under his stare, quickly wiping my mouth with the back of my hand, as if I could erase the proof. But Aarav didn't move.

He leaned in slowly, planting one hand on the headboard above me, trapping me in place. His shadow fell over my face, closing off what little space I had left.

"Wiping won't help," he murmured, his voice low, his eyes locked on my lips. "I can still see it."

My breath caught. "Aarav-"

Before I could finish, his thumb tilted my chin upward, gentle but firm. His eyes didn't waver. They burned straight through me.

"You disobeyed me again," he whispered, every word heavy, deliberate. "And now you're tempting me."

My pulse hammered in my throat. I wanted to protest, to say it was just chocolate, nothing more-but under his stare, the words died.

His thumb brushed the corner of my mouth, catching the faint smear. He paused, then raised it to his lips and tasted it. Slow. Unhurried. Never breaking eye contact.

I froze, breath shallow, chest rising too fast. The air between us grew thick, charged-like it belonged only to him.

He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear.

"Sweet," he murmured, dark and low, sending a shiver racing down my spine. "But not sweeter than you."

My fingers gripped the blanket tighter. My lashes trembled. "Aarav..." My voice broke, shaking with everything I couldn't say.

He didn't move back. His lips hovered dangerously close, his presence consuming me whole.

"Next time, Siyara..." his mouth brushed against my jaw, "...I'll taste it directly."

My heart thudded so hard it hurt. I turned my face slightly, trying to escape-but it only brought me closer.

His hand slid from my chin to my jaw, holding me there. His thumb traced the curve of my lower lip, slow, deliberate, making every nerve in me tighten.

"You drive me insane," he said, his voice rough, unsteady. "Even like this-weak, stubborn, stained with chocolate. And still, I can't stop."

I squeezed my eyes shut, breath trapped in my chest. "Please... don't..." The words slipped out, fragile, trembling. I didn't even know what I meant-don't come closer, or don't let go.

His lips brushed my temple, lingering, his voice low and certain, almost a vow.

"You can fight me, Siyara. Hate me. Curse me. But you'll never escape me. Not in this life."

The chocolate was gone.

But his words stayed-burning hotter than anything else.

--------

The hospital room was too white. Too quiet.

I hated the silence-it gave my mind too much space to replay everything, over and over again.

The door creaked open. For a moment, I braced myself for Aarav's shadow. But instead-

"Areh, beti." His mother's voice filled the room, warm and trembling. She hurried to my bedside, her dupatta slipping from her head in her rush. Her hands closed around mine before I could pull away. "Don't you ever do this again. Do you hear me? Do you know how my heart nearly stopped yesterday?"

My throat tightened. What could I say? That I hadn't wanted to live? That, in that moment, the darkness had felt easier than all of this?

I only managed a faint nod.

From the corner, his father cleared his throat, his voice stiff. "You... you frightened us all. But you must understand, Siyara-this family has rules. You cannot... you cannot shame us like this."

Shame. The word sank like a stone in my chest. I lowered my gaze, unable to meet his eyes.

Before I could retreat further into myself, another voice broke through-firm and steady.

"Beti," Shaila ji's voice trembled, her stick tapping softly against the floor as she reached for my hand. Her grip was weak but desperate, as though she feared I might slip away.

"Don't do this again, beti, I'm so scared... promise me you won't ever do this again. You are my strength, my child. This family needs you. I need you. Promise me you'll stay with us."

Tears stung my eyes. Her touch was grounding, reminding me that maybe I wasn't as worthless as I'd begun to believe.

"Areh, Dadi," Ananya chimed in, leaning against the wall with an exaggerated pout. "You're making it sound like a Bollywood scene. Bhabhi is a fighter-she'll be fine. Right, bhabhi?"

Her playful wink pulled a small smile from me. Weak, shaky-but real.

"I don't know if I'm a fighter," I whispered, "but... I'll try."

Ananya's grin widened. "That's all we want. And don't worry, I'll make sure bhai doesn't torture you too much. He already acts like a jailer."

A laugh almost slipped out, but it came out closer to a choked breath. Aarav's mother stroked my hair gently, her voice soft. "He loves too fiercely. Sometimes that love burns. But you-you're strong enough to bear it."

Her words pressed heavy on my chest. Strong enough? I didn't feel strong. Not at all.

But as I looked at them-his mother's tear-streaked face, his father's stiff silence, his grandmother's steady eyes, Ananya's teasing smile-

For the first time, I felt something

shift. The weight of belonging. Not full acceptance, not full trust-but a tie. An entanglement.

And somehow, that was scarier than the chains of loneliness I had worn all my life.