The days after the promise felt different.
Nia tried to convince herself it had been heat-of-the-moment, nothing more. A slip of the tongue.
But Vikram carried it like scripture.
He was everywhere.
Not by accident this time.
When she walked into her favorite bookstore, he was leaning against the poetry section, reading Neruda.
When she left a lecture, he was waiting outside with coffee, as though he'd timed her schedule down to the minute.
When she stayed up late, restless, her phone lit up with his name before she even thought to call.
"You're suffocating me," she told him one evening, arms crossed as she stood in her kitchen.
Vikram didn't flinch. He leaned against the counter, unbothered. "Or I'm making sure you can breathe."
"By controlling every step I take?"
His lips twitched, just a ghost of a smile. "By never letting you fall."
She hated the way her stomach flipped at that. "I don't need saving."
His gaze locked onto hers, heavy and unyielding. "You don't get to decide that anymore."
Her pulse stumbled. "Excuse me?"
"You made me a promise, Nia." He stepped closer, every word deliberate. "You said you'd never let me go. And I take promises seriously."
Her throat tightened. She wanted to scream, to tell him he was twisting her words. But some part of her—dark, buried—wanted him to twist them. To hold her against her own will.
She shoved past him, pacing the room to break the spell. "You're insane."
Vikram followed, slow, predatory, voice low enough to make her skin prickle.
"Maybe. But if madness is the price for keeping you, I'll pay it gladly."
Her chest heaved. "What if I leave?"
"You won't." He said it simply, with absolute certainty.
She laughed bitterly. "And if I do?"
For the first time, something flickered in his eyes—a flash of desperation beneath the calm. His jaw tightened, his voice rough.
"Then I'll find you."
The words shouldn't have thrilled her. But they did.
And that terrified her more than anything.
