Chapter 1
Chapter 1: The Girl With Two Worlds
Mornings always felt the same to Vandita.
Not peaceful. Not rushed. Just… predictable.
She stared at the ceiling for a few seconds after waking up, listening to the faint clink of utensils in the kitchen and the soft rustle of newspaper pages turning.
Another day. Another routine. Another version of herself to play.
With a quiet sigh, she got out of bed and made her way through her morning routine, already bracing for what waited outside her room.
The moment she stepped into the living room, it happened.
Her father looked up from his newspaper—
—and there it was.
That look.
Sharp. Disapproving. Cold.
Vandita paused for just a second.
Then she lowered her gaze.
“You woke up late again,” he said, his voice firm, edged with irritation.
She wasn’t late.
She just wasn’t the one he waited for.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” she replied softly, moving toward the dining table.
That was all it ever took.
No explanation. No defense. Just acceptance.
She sat down and began eating.
Each bite felt mechanical.
The air was heavy—suffocating in a way she had long grown used to.
From the kitchen, her mother watched quietly—hands busy, ears attentive.
She heard everything.
She always did.
And yet—
she said nothing.
Footsteps echoed from the staircase.
Her younger sister appeared, still sleepy, rubbing her eyes.
The shift in the room was immediate.
“Good morning, beta,” their father said, his voice softening instantly. “Did you sleep well? Come, sit. Eat something.”
Vandita didn’t look up.
But she heard it all.
The concern.
The affection.
The difference.
She had learned not to expect any of it for herself.
Her grip tightened slightly around the spoon—
before she forced herself to relax.
Finishing her breakfast, she stood, picked up her bag, and adjusted the strap on her shoulder.
“I’m leaving.”
No one stopped her.
---
The moment Vandita stepped onto the college campus—
something inside her shifted.
The weight lifted.
Her shoulders relaxed.
Her steps grew lighter.
And just like that—
the quiet, obedient girl disappeared.
“VANDITAAA!”
Two voices rang out before she was nearly crushed in a hug.
“There you are!” one of her friends exclaimed. “We thought you ditched us again!”
Vandita laughed—
a real laugh this time, bright and effortless.
“As if I’d miss your nonsense,” she shot back.
With them, she was different.
Alive.
They walked through the corridors together, talking over each other, laughing too loudly, earning a few annoyed glances—
and ignoring every single one.
Classes passed.
A free period followed.
And they happily wasted it doing absolutely nothing productive.
Just stories.
Teasing.
Chaos.
The kind she never allowed herself at home.
Eventually, they headed down the hallway, still laughing.
Still loud.
Still free.
And that’s when it happened.
Vandita turned the corner too quickly—
—and walked straight into something solid.
The impact knocked the breath out of her as she stumbled back and hit the floor.
Pain shot through her ankle.
“Shit—” she muttered, wincing as she pushed herself up.
For a moment—
no one moved.
Then she looked up.
And everything stilled.
He stood there.
Tall. Composed. Completely unmoved.
Curly brown hair, slightly damp, with a few strands falling across his forehead.
It softened his features—
but not enough.
Not really.
His green eyes were sharp.
Not just annoyed—
observant.
Like he noticed everything and judged silently.
His clothes were simple.
But the way he carried himself—controlled, precise—made him feel out of place in the chaos around him.
Like he didn’t belong here.
Like he didn’t try to.
Vandita quickly stood, brushing off her clothes, ignoring the sting in her ankle.
“I’m really sorry, I didn’t see—”
“Stop.”
His voice wasn’t loud.
But it cut through everything.
She blinked.
His gaze dropped briefly—
to her ankle.
A second longer than necessary.
Then it was gone.
“Watch where you’re going,” he said, tone flat. Detached. “Not everyone has time for carelessness.”
No concern.
No softness.
Just control.
Something about that made it worse.
Vandita frowned. “Excuse me?”
He exhaled slowly, as if already done with the conversation.
“This place,” he muttered, glancing around at the noisy corridor, “no awareness. No boundaries.”
His eyes returned to her.
“And no sense of distance.”
That did it.
“Oh, I’m sorry—what?” she shot back. “Did you just blame me entirely for that?”
He didn’t answer immediately.
He just watched her.
That silence—
calculated, dismissive—
felt more insulting than words.
“You walked into me,” he said finally. “Own it.”
Vandita let out a short, incredulous laugh.
“Wow. You’re unbelievable.”
Her friends shifted nervously behind her.
But she didn’t care anymore.
“You think the world revolves around you or something?”
“You were standing in the middle of the hallway like a wall!”
A few students nearby had started watching.
Whispers spread quickly.
But he didn’t react to them.
Only to her.
“You’re loud,” he said, almost like an observation.
“And you’re insufferable,” she fired back instantly. “And for your information, I don’t care who you are—”
“I know,” he interrupted.
That made her pause.
For the first time—
something shifted in his expression.
Not anger.
Not ego.
Something quieter.
“People who don’t know usually speak the loudest,” he added.
It didn’t sound like an insult.
It sounded like something he believed.
Something he had learned.
Vandita stared at him—
thrown off for a second.
But her irritation won.
“Yeah? Then maybe you should try listening for once,” she snapped.
Silence settled again.
His friends exchanged glances.
This wasn’t normal.
He should have ended this by now.
But he didn’t.
Instead, he tilted his head slightly—
studying her.
Not her words.
Her reaction.
Her refusal to back down.
“Next time,” he said calmly, stepping aside, “look ahead.”
Not a warning.
Not an apology.
Just a statement.
Vandita clenched her jaw.
Resisting the urge to say more.
“Next time,” she shot back, limping slightly as she walked past him, “don’t act like a human traffic cone.”
Her friends hurried after her, whispering in panic.
The corridor erupted the moment she left.
---
He didn’t react immediately.
Didn’t turn.
Didn’t speak.
Only after a few seconds—
did he glance back.
Just once.
In the direction she had gone.
His friend let out a low whistle.
“That girl just—”
“I know,” he said quietly.
But there was no irritation in his voice.
Only something faint.
Something unfamiliar.
Most people looked at him—
and adjusted themselves.
She hadn’t.
That should have meant nothing.
But it didn’t.
His gaze lingered for a second longer than necessary—
before he finally looked away.
His expression settled back into calm detachment.
Still—
something about her stayed.
And for the first time in a long while—
someone hadn’t felt… replaceable.
“…interesting,” he murmured.
