"his darkness, my desire"

The night was no longer quiet.

Ananya stood on the edge of Aadvik's dimly lit balcony, staring into the hollow city lights below. The wind tangled her hair, but she didn't care. Her lips were trembling—not from cold, but from the emotions clashing inside her chest like crashing waves. Her eyes were red. Not from tears, but from holding them back for too long.

Behind her, Aadvik stood leaning against the doorframe, silently watching her. The man who once found thrill in breaking her was now unsettled by the silence she offered him.

"You didn't eat," he said, voice low, unreadable.

Ananya didn't respond.

He stepped closer. "Are you trying to punish me by starving yourself?"

She finally turned. "Why would I punish someone who clearly enjoys pain?"

The words hit like venom. Aadvik's jaw tensed. Her voice wasn't loud, but it was sharp—laced with the bitterness of betrayal, of humiliation, of longing. She had loved him so desperately… and he had made her feel like a fool.

He stepped closer until only inches separated them. "You think I enjoyed what happened that night?" he said. "I warned you, Ananya. I told you not to fall for me."

"But you let me fall anyway," she whispered. "You caught me just enough to keep me hanging, then let me crash."

Her voice cracked. She looked away, ashamed of her tears. But Aadvik gently held her chin and forced her to meet his eyes.

"I don't know how to love the way you do," he admitted, his voice low and broken. "I only know how to ruin. And you… you're too soft for my darkness."

"Then why did you let me in?" she asked, eyes glistening. "Why did you kiss me like you meant it? Why did you make me feel like I was different?"

Aadvik didn't answer immediately. His hand moved from her chin to her waist, pulling her closer—too close. His breath fanned her lips. "Because you are different," he said. "And that terrifies me."

Her heart twisted.

He leaned down and kissed her—not with lust, not with dominance, but with desperation. Like a man trying to silence the chaos inside him. She wanted to resist, but her hands betrayed her, clinging to his shirt, needing the very thing that had broken her.

They stayed like that—two souls addicted to the very thing that was destroying them.

But this time, when they pulled apart, it wasn't over.

"I can't keep doing this, Aadvik," she whispered. "I'm losing myself."

His expression hardened again, like a switch flipping. "Then leave," he said coldly, stepping back.

Her throat tightened. "You're really good at pushing people away, aren't you?"

"I'm better at surviving," he replied, voice like stone. "You should learn it too."

She stared at him for a long moment before walking away. Her steps echoed through his apartment like a goodbye he never asked for, but would regret forever.

And for the first time in years, Aadvik stood there, alone in his luxury apartment, feeling something he never let himself feel.

Emptiness.

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