Ahar's POV
Baby?
The word echoed in my head far longer than it ever should have.
Baby.
I stood there, rooted to the spot, watching her walk away—her back straight, her steps steady, composed on the outside while I could sense how shaken she truly was on the inside. It was in the way her shoulders stiffened, in the slight rush of her pace, as if she needed distance before her emotions caught up with her.
My jaw tightened instinctively, a reaction I didn’t bother controlling.
Whose baby?
Main hoon baby!!
The thought was ridiculous.
Irrational.
Completely unnecessary.
And yet… it refused to leave.
She hadn’t even looked at me properly when she said it. Her voice had softened—not for me, but for whoever was on the other end of the call. Still, something about the way she said that word felt personal. Intimate. As if whoever that baby was mattered to her deeply.
And that irritated me more than it should have.
I shifted slightly, my fingers curling into a fist by my side. Why did it bother me so much? I didn’t even know her name. I didn’t know where she was from, what she did, or why her presence had unsettled me in a way nothing had in years.
Why was she so hesitant with me?
She hadn’t been rude. Not even cold. Just… guarded. Careful. Like someone who had learned—through experience—that the world didn’t treat softness kindly.
The moment replayed in my head without permission.
The way she had collided into me.
The instinctive way I’d caught her before she could fall.
The brief shock in her eyes before something else replaced it—fear, maybe, or confusion.
And then that silence.
God.
I let out a slow breath, grounding myself.
I’m sorry, I didn’t look. I had almost said again. But the truth was—I had been looking. Just not where I was walking.
And when I finally looked at her, I couldn’t look away.
She was beautiful.
There was no point denying it. But not loud and beautiful. Not attention-seeking, beautiful. She didn’t carry herself like someone who wanted the world staring at her. She was the kind of beautiful that made you pause, the kind that made you wonder what kind of story lived behind those eyes.
Which led to a dangerous, unwanted question.
If she is this beautiful… why would I look at someone else?
I shook my head sharply.
“Shut up, Ahar,” I muttered under my breath.
This was stupid.
I wasn’t a teenager anymore. I didn’t get possessive over strangers. I didn’t get jealous over a single word spoken to someone else. I had long outgrown these impulses.
Or so I thought.
Whether that baby is a girl or a boy—
I’m her baby.
The thought came uninvited. Unfiltered. Dangerous.
I scoffed quietly, irritated with myself. Get a grip.
This wasn’t who I was. I didn’t claim people. I didn’t assume ownership. Life had taught me—mercilessly—that attachment always came with a cost. And I had paid that price enough times for one lifetime.
Still… something deep inside me stirred.
And it didn’t feel temporary.
As she walked away, weaving through the crowd with quiet purpose, something heavy settled in my chest. I didn’t like the feeling. It was unfamiliar—unease mixed with curiosity, interest tangled with irritation.
I hated unfinished things.
And she felt unfinished.
Why does it feel wrong to let her go like this?
I watched her until she disappeared completely, swallowed by the noise of students, voices, and movement. Only then did I realize how the space felt without her presence.
Too quiet.
I glanced at my watch. I was already running behind schedule. Akshat would be waiting. The principal would expect me. There were emails to respond to, collaborations to review, responsibilities neatly stacked in my mind like files that never truly closed.
And yet, my thoughts refused to move forward.
They stayed with her.
With the way her voice had trembled for just a second before she masked it.
With the way she avoided prolonged eye contact.
With the contradiction of how easily she’d said baby while standing in front of me, like someone who trusted no one.
Something didn’t add up.
I turned toward my car, my footsteps measured and controlled, authority written into each step. From the outside, I looked the same as always—calm, composed, untouched.
Inside, restlessness churned.
As soon as I sat behind the wheel, I pulled out my phone.
Akshat.
Of course. If anyone could get me details within hours, it was him—my best friend, my constant headache, and my most reliable source of information.
I didn’t call him immediately.
Instead, I leaned back against the seat, staring ahead as the engine idled. I didn’t know why I hesitated. Maybe because a part of me knew that once I took this step, things wouldn’t stay simple.
And simplicity was something I valued.
But curiosity had always been my weakness.
“I’ll find out who she is,” I said quietly to myself.
Not because I wanted something.
Not because I needed answers.
Just because I refused to leave a question unanswered.
I unlocked my phone and typed a message.
Akshat. Need details. A girl from the government college today. Form submission area. Kurti. Jhumkas. Green eyes.
I paused.
Then added—
Urgent.
I sent the message and tossed the phone onto the passenger seat. The car finally moved.
As I drove away from the college, the city blurred past my windows—traffic, horns, people rushing through their lives. But my mind stayed behind.
With her.
I didn’t know her name.
I didn’t know her story.
But I knew one thing with absolute certainty—
She wasn’t just a passing moment.
And whatever this was…
It had already begun.
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