POV :~ ROHAN

I wake up early, as per my usual routine, and go for a run around the sprawling wedding venue. I have to say, this wedding can empty half of the bank balance of a middle class man.

I don't understand why do people have to spend such an amount of money on wedding when they can't invest even half of their life on their own relationship with their spouse.

90 out of 100 people aren't loyal in their relationship with their spouse, even after their wedding, and let's not talk about before wedding. They probably sleep with the first girl they meet on street.

But it's the wedding of my bestfriend. I wish only good for him and his fiancee at the end of the day.

As I round a corner, I spot her sitting alone by the pool, a book placed in her lap.

Her. Sayesha.

I slow down, drinking in the sight of her in a tank top and shorts. 

To be honest, I'm not a good man. Not at all. And thus, I approach her, running shoes squeaking on the damp floor.

“Morning,” I greet, toweling off my sweat-soaked face. “You're up early.” I pause “Or maybe you didn't sleep at all?”

I add teasingly, nodding at the book.
Long Live the King by Khai Hara.
Interesting. The girl delves into dark romance.

She rolls her eyes and that shit reaction reaches directly to my length, “Keep dreaming.”

I know she doesn't want me to, but I laugh and take a seat beside her on the poolside, “Guilty,” I eye towards her book, “So, what are you reading? Something steamy?”

She finally looks up from the book and gazes into my eyes, “Why are you always after these steamy topics? You want a quick fuck? Go find someone else.”

Guts.

I lean back on my elbows, unapologetic. “First, I'm not 'after' anything. I am just making a conversation.”

My eyes flicks towards her chest and then I move it instantly towards her eyes, “Second, I'm not interested in someone else.”

She pauses for a second or two, clearly, thinking something in her mind, or looking up for yet another savage reply for me. An there it comes, “I think you should start apologzising first, rather than TRYING to make a conversation, donkey-head.”

I chuckle, “Apology? May I ask, why?”

She places her hand beside her thighs on the damp floor, leans back, and looks with a smirk, “For intruding last night, our party, remember, Mr. Gigolo.”

I smile, at her naiveness, and look at her hand, which has a ring on her ring finger, and it makes me think whether she is engaged or something, 

“Keep calling me that and one day I'll turn your teachings into a bittersweet truth, but in a very respectful way.”

My eyes flicks back to her face and I can see the tint of redness on her cheeks, but she does her best to hide it, “You dream a lot.”

“You argue a lot,” I reply back.

She rolls her eyes, focusing back on the book, “Talking of respect, I will think of having a conversation with you if you apologize!”

I like that.

I grin mischievously. “I should apologize, yeah right.”

I say, enjoying the way her smile widens, her eyes sparkling with laughter. I place a hand on my chest, feigning shock and I move closer to her, almost hovering over her, our faces inches apart from each other's, my voice lowering.

She tries to move back, but I mirror her movement, keeping the distance close.

“I'm so, so sorry.” I mock-apologize, my face inches from hers. “For crashing into your personal space last night.” My gaze flicks to her lips briefly, then back up. “And this morning.”

Our breath feels hot as she tries to step back. I follow, a predator toying with its prey.

“Forgiven?” I murmur, tilting my head slightly. The air between us is charged, the tension thick with unspoken words and acted upon urges. “Or do I need to make it up to you some other way?”

“R-Rohan, Pl—” she was about to speak when Priti barged in suddenly and looked at us with wide eyes, almost yelling, “What the hell is going on guys?”

I jerk back, breaking the intense moment. I turn to Priti, running a hand through my hair to compose myself. “Uh, nothing.” I shrug nonchalantly, stuffing my hands into my pockets. “Just talking.” I shoot you a quick glance, my expression unreadable.

She clearly trembles for a second or two, then brush her hair off her face, “H..” it's like she is unable understand what to say then she quickly grabs the opportunity, “—He was apologizing for last night.” Clever, indeed.

I nod in agreement, my face neutral. “Yep. All good now.” I say lightly, avoiding eye contact with her. Priti gives us a suspicious look, her arms crossed over her chest. “Uh-huh.” She says doubtfully.

Sayesha nods and immediately steps towards her.

I watch as she walk over to Priti, my jaw clenched. Once they're out of earshot, I turn to Dhruv, who's been quietly observing the scene with an amused expression. “Shut up.” I warn him lowly, knowing he's about to make some snide comment.

Dhruv says, “What the fuck happened to you dude? You seem to be whipped by her?”

I scowl at him, my expression dark. “Shove off.” I mutter, pushing past him to grab a bottle of water from the fridge inside. I twist off the cap and take a long swig, trying to cool down and calm my racing heart. “She's... complicated case, I guess.”

“Complicated huh, then why were you getting close to her?”

I glower at him, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand. “Mind your own business.”

The thing is, even I'm unaware why am I reacting this way all of a sudden in the proximity of some human who has XX chromosome and is technically — harmful for my system.

I take another drink, avoiding his curious gaze. After a moment, I sigh, my shoulders slumping. “I don't know, okay? She just...”

He smirks, “Just, what, HOT and SEXY?”

I don't know why but I get angry at his comment and yell, “Don't Dhruv. Don't you dare put your eyes on her.”

Dhruv smirks and I'm jealous. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut. I'm jealous of the mere idea of Dhruv, or any other guy, looking at her, let alone touching her, when I don't even know her completely. I take a deep breath, trying to calm myself.

I pin him with a hard look, my voice low and dangerous. “I'm serious, Dhruv.” I warn, my jaw clenched. “She's off-limits to you.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, his grin widening. “Alright, alright.” Then he laughs, as always.

I turn away, my expression stormy.

“Jealous, so soon? you just met her yesterday.”

My grip tightens on the water bottle, the plastic crinkling. “I know.” I mutter darkly. “It's... ridiculous. I barely know her. But...” I pause, running a hand through my hair in frustration. “There's just something about her... that I'm unable to decipher at all.”

He chuckles and stands up to his complete height, “I will leave you alone to think upon that now.”

I nod my head, because I've no other choice, do I?

He leaves me alone after that and somehow just somehow I know that she is going to be the main character in my life.

My phone rings, pulling me out of the thoughts of the new damage in my life — Sayesha Arora.

My phone's screen displays the name of my sister, Sanya.

I recieve it, smiling, “Hi Di, how are you?”

“THAT'S SO RUDE OF YOU, ROHAN. YOU ARE IN INDIA AND YOU DIDN'T EVEN CARE TO INFORM US?”

I move the phone away from my ears immediately because it sounds like my elder sister is all ready to take my ability to hear.

“Relax, Di!! Relax.”

“No. Tell me when are you coming home to meet us?”

I sigh.

It's odd, how I try to avoid my family every now and then because of one person who ruined my family's entire life.

My father? He doesn't deserve that — to be called as a father. I, my sister and my mother were left abandoned by him when I was a kid, A KID. My father left us when I was just a kid. One day he was there, and the next, he was gone. No explanations, no goodbyes. My mother, she... she was never the same. She spent most of her days lost in thoughts of him, staring at old photos like he might walk back through the door any moment. But he never did.

I guess it was easier for her to mourn the man who left than to see the son who stayed. There was no one to look after me or my sister, it was just us against the world. 

I never got what other parents give to their child. Love. Care. None of that.

I had to grow up faster than any kid should.

It's unlikely for someone to say this way about their own self, but I faced that, and I'm glad to confess that I grew up all upon myself.

No one ever tucked me in at night or asked how my day was. I figured things out on my own because no one was there to teach me.

I worked any job I could find—newspaper delivery, washing dishes, even stocking shelves late at night when all the other kids were asleep in their beds. I’d wake up at the crack of dawn and work before school, then stay up all night studying. I didn’t have a choice; it was the only way out. I saved every penny I earned, not because I was frugal but because it was the only way we could survive.

Most days, I was exhausted, barely holding it together, but I promised myself I’d make something of my life. I wanted to be someone my sister could look up to, someone my father could never break again. Medicine was my escape, my salvation. I knew that if I could make it, if I could become a doctor, then maybe... just maybe, I’d finally be enough. But it wasn’t easy. No scholarships, no handouts—just endless nights of studying, hustling, and fighting to keep my head above water.

I fought tooth and nail to get where I am. Every success was a step away from the boy who was left behind. And now, here I am.

A doctor.

But the scars? They don’t go away. No matter how far you run or how much you achieve, they’re always there, reminding you of where you came from.

I became a doctor, but it was never really about saving others. It was about saving myself.

Patients say doctors are their God, but no, in my case, they're my God. This profession is my worship.

“Please, Rohan. You know my wedding is not to far, I want to spend some time with my brother too,” My sister says, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I shake my head, and hum, “I will be there, tomorrow morning, after the wedding.”

I'll have to prepare myself, to face my mother, my house, which haunts me to my deepest soul.