Unwanted Bodyguard

By Thursday, Meera had developed a new survival skill: the Aarav Radar.

Step one: enter a room. Step two: scan corners, shadows, and doorways. Step three: spot him. Because he was always there.

And sure enough, there he was again, leaning against the notice board outside her lecture hall.

“Morning, Joshi,” Aarav said smoothly as students streamed around them. His voice was calm, but his eyes were sharp, tracking her every move.

Meera rolled her eyes. “Do you live in this building now? Or is stalking just your new hobby?”

“Protecting,” he corrected, pushing off the wall and falling into step beside her. “You’re careless. Someone has to look out for you.”

Meera let out a short laugh. “From what? Rogue textbooks? Killer pigeons? I’m fine on my own, thanks.”

He didn’t respond, only gave her that infuriating half-smile. The kind that said he knew something she didn’t.

---

The first real incident happened that afternoon.

Meera was in the café with Priya, sipping iced coffee when a group of seniors walked in. One of them, Karan—a tall guy with a flirtatious grin—made a beeline for their table.

“Meera, right?” he asked smoothly, leaning on her chair. “I saw your photography work in the magazine. Impressive. Maybe you could take my picture sometime? I promise, no noodles involved.”

Priya snorted into her drink. Meera chuckled, about to reply, when a shadow fell across the table.

Aarav.

His hand came down on Karan’s shoulder, firm and heavy. “She’s busy,” Aarav said, his voice low and edged with steel. “With me.”

Karan blinked, confused. “Uh… we were just talking.”

“Now you’re done,” Aarav snapped, squeezing his shoulder once before letting go.

The café went silent for a moment. Karan muttered something under his breath and walked away, glaring. Priya’s jaw dropped, her straw frozen halfway to her mouth.

Meera, however, was fuming. She stood, facing Aarav squarely. “What the hell was that?”

“Protecting you,” he repeated calmly, as if it were obvious.

“From what? A guy asking me about photography? You can’t just—” She stopped, realizing everyone was watching. Lowering her voice, she hissed, “You don’t own me, Malhotra.”

For a flicker of a second, his eyes darkened. Something primal flared there before he smoothed it over with his usual composure.

“You’re right,” he said softly, leaning just close enough that only she could hear. “But you’ll realize soon enough—you belong to me whether you admit it or not.”

Meera’s breath caught. His tone wasn’t playful. It wasn’t even angry. It was a promise.

---

That night, she called Priya.

“He’s insane,” Meera whispered, pacing her room. “He scared off Karan like some mafia boss.”

Priya laughed nervously. “I mean… it was kind of hot?”

“Hot? Priya! He’s suffocating me.”

“Well,” Priya said thoughtfully, “maybe he just likes you. Some guys… express it differently.”

“Differently? He nearly crushed Karan’s shoulder! If that’s flirting, I’m dead.”

But even as she ranted, a treacherous part of her remembered the way Aarav had leaned in, his voice possessive and low. You belong to me.

Her chest tightened. She should have been furious. She was furious.

So why did her heart race every time she thought about it?

---

The next morning, as she left her hostel, she found Aarav waiting by the gate. He didn’t ask permission. He simply took her bag from her hand, slung it over his shoulder, and said:

“I’ll walk you to class.”

Meera opened her mouth to argue. Then she caught the look in his eyes—dark, steady, unyielding.

And for reasons she didn’t understand, she didn’t fight him.

Not that day.

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