Chapter 1
Morning light streamed through the glass corridors of Westbridge University, New York, the campus already buzzing with life.
Students hurried past each other, coffee cups in hand, unfinished assignments and last-minute revisions filling the air with urgency.
And then—
Diya walked in.
Not rushed. Not distracted. Just… present.
Her heels clicked softly against the floor, her posture straight, confidence quiet but undeniable. A few students passing by lit up instantly.
“Good morning, ma’am!”
“Morning, Diya ma’am!”
This time—she smiled.
Not fully. Not warmly enough to be called soft. But enough.
“Good morning,” she replied, her tone calm, almost casual.
A girl jogged up beside her. “Ma’am, I tried your method for yesterday’s case study—and it actually worked!”
Diya glanced at her, a faint spark of interest in her eyes. “Tried or understood?”
The girl blinked. “...Understood?”
Diya raised an eyebrow.
The girl laughed nervously. “Okay, tried. I’ll understand it today.”
“That’s better,” Diya said, a hint of amusement in her voice. “Come to my cabin after class.”
The girl beamed. “Yes, ma’am!”
As Diya walked ahead, two professors standing near the faculty lounge watched her.
“She lets them get too comfortable,” one of them muttered.
“And still expects discipline,” the other added. “Doesn’t follow structure. Doesn’t follow rules.”
Diya heard them.
She didn’t react.
She never did.
—
Lecture Hall 3 was already half full when she entered. A few students waved slightly.
“Ma’am, you’re five minutes early today,” someone from the back called.
Diya placed her files down, glancing at the clock. “And you’re ten minutes unprepared.”
Laughter spread across the room.
She allowed it—for exactly two seconds.
Then—
“Alright. Enough.”
Silence.
Not forced.
Just… respected.
She turned to the board, writing in neat, precise strokes:
“Cognitive Behavior & Decision Making”
Turning back, she leaned lightly against the desk, folding her arms.
“Tell me something,” she began, her tone lighter than expected. “How many of you made a ‘perfectly logical’ decision this week?”
A few hands went up. A few unsure. Some didn’t move at all.
Diya nodded slowly. “Good. Now—how many of those decisions were actually influenced by emotion?”
No hands.
She smiled slightly.
“That’s what I thought.”
She walked between the rows now—not distant, not intimidating, but present. Observing. Engaging.
“You,” she pointed at a student. “Why did you choose your project topic?”
He hesitated. “Because it’s… interesting?”
“Or because your friend chose something harder and you didn’t want to struggle alone?”
The class burst into laughter.
The boy groaned. “Ma’am!”
Diya shrugged lightly, a playful glint in
her eyes. “Honesty improves grades.”
Moments like this—
This is why they loved her.
Because she didn’t just teach from books.
She understood them.
But—
That didn’t make her lenient.
As the class progressed, her tone shifted seamlessly.
“Assignment submission is on Friday,”
she said, closing her file. “Late
submissions won’t be accepted.”
A collective groan.
“Ma’am, just one day extension—”
“No.”
“Ma’am please—”
“No,” she repeated, firmer this time.
The playful air vanished instantly.
“Deadlines are not suggestions,” she added calmly.
And just like that—
They knew.
She might laugh with them.
But she wouldn’t bend for them.
—
As students gathered around her after class—asking doubts, joking, trying to get her attention—Diya answered each one patiently.
Engaged. Focused.
Alive in a way she never was outside these walls.
From across the corridor, the same professors watched again.
“She’s too involved,” one said.
“She’ll lose control eventually.”
Diya glanced up briefly, meeting their gaze.
This time—
she smiled.
Not friendly.
Not defensive.
Just… knowing.
Then she turned back to her students, as if nothing else mattered.
—
Because in here, she wasn’t cold.
She wasn’t distant.
She was in control.
But even control has its limits.
𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎
Somewhere in New Jersey (which is the closest state to New York),
Ryan startled awake, his breath catching as the sharp sound of glass shattering echoed through the silence.
For a second, he just lay there—still, listening.
His room was dark. Too dark.
He reached for his phone, the screen lighting up his face.
11:53 PM.
He exhaled, running a hand through his messy hair.
“Probably Bruno…” he muttered, already half-convinced it was his dog causing trouble again.
Without bothering to check, he dropped back onto the bed, pulling the blanket over himself.
Silence returned.
Almost.
—
A minute later—
Voices.
Faint. Muffled. Like someone whispering
just outside his room.
Ryan’s eyes snapped open again.
This time, he frowned.
Everyone in the house had gone to sleep hours ago.
Slowly, he pushed the blanket aside and sat up, his senses sharpening. The air felt… off.
“Okay, that’s not Bruno,” he murmured.
He stood up, walking toward the door and stepping out into the hallway.
Pitch black.
The kind that made everything feel unfamiliar.
He paused at the top of the stairs, his gaze scanning the darkness below.
And then—
A shadow moved.
Fast.
Ryan stiffened.
“Who’s there?” he called out, his voice steady—but only just.
No response.
The silence that followed felt heavier than before.
He swallowed, gripping the railing as he slowly made his way downstairs, each step quieter than the last.
His heartbeat picked up.
He reached the bottom—
And that’s when he saw her.
A girl.
Long hair cascading down her back,
wearing a white dress.
Running.
Straight through the hallway.
Ryan froze.
“W–who is that?” he stammered, his confidence cracking for the first time.
The girl disappeared into one of the rooms.
For a second, he just stood there, debating his life choices.
Then—
“Hell no… but also… what if—”
Curiosity won.
It always did.
He walked toward the door slowly, his hand hesitating over the handle.
“This is how people die in movies,” he muttered under his breath.
Still—
He opened it.
—
Suddenly—
The lights flashed on.
“AHHHH!”
Ryan jumped back, nearly tripping over himself.
“🎉 HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOU! 🎉”
The room exploded with noise.
Confetti popped. People cheered. Music blasted out of nowhere.
Ryan blinked rapidly, trying to process what just happened.
His entire family stood there, laughing.
And his friends—
absolute idiots.
Right in the middle of it all stood the
“ghost.”
Long hair. White dress.
Grinning like a maniac.
Ryan squinted.
“…Arav?”
The “ghost” flipped the fake hair dramatically. “Did you like my entry?”
Ryan stared at him for a full two seconds.
Then—
“You idiot!” he shouted, grabbing the nearest pillow and throwing it straight at his face.
The room burst into laughter.
“I almost died!”
“That was the plan!” Arav shot back, dodging another pillow. “Emotional damage before cake!”
Ryan ran a hand through his hair, still trying to calm his heartbeat.
“You dressed like a horror movie extra for this?”
“Excuse me,” Arav said, offended. “I’m the main character.”
Ryan let out a breath, shaking his head—but a smile broke through anyway.
Only his friends would do something this ridiculous.
Only his family would enjoy it this much.
And only in moments like this—
he almost forgot everything else.
—
Almost.
𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎
“Mumma, I told you—I don’t want to get married right now.”
Diya balanced her phone between her ear and shoulder as she opened the fridge, pulling out a pack of cheese. Her movements were precise, almost mechanical—the only sign of irritation being the slight tightness in her jaw.
From the other end of the call, her mother’s voice rose instantly.
“You’ve been saying that for years! I know you, Diya. You’re never going to say yes on your own. And now you’re already 28!”
Diya shut the fridge a little harder than necessary.
“Mumma, please…” she exhaled, closing her eyes for a second. “I just got back from work. I’m tired. Can you not start this again?”
“Oh, so now I’m irritating you?” her mother Kavitha snapped. “Fine then. I won’t call you again.”
Diya let out a small, dry laugh.
Same line. Every time.
“Okay, fine,” she said flatly, already reaching for the bread. “Then I’m cutting the call.”
And before her mother could respond—
She ended it.
Silence filled the apartment instantly.
Diya stood there for a moment, phone still in her hand, staring at nothing in particular.
Then she sighed, tossing it onto the counter.
“Emotional blackmail,” she muttered under her breath.
Grabbing a knife, she started making a sandwich, her movements sharp but controlled. The quiet of her apartment wrapped around her again—something
she usually liked.
Something she needed.
New York had given her space.
Freedom.
Distance.
From expectations. From questions. From this.
Her parents still lived back in India—Mumbai, a city that never stopped asking, never stopped deciding things for you.
Here—
No one told her what to do.
No one interfered.
And that’s exactly how she wanted it.
Or at least—
That’s what she told herself.
Her phone buzzed again on the counter.
Diya didn’t look at it immediately.
She already knew who it was.
After a few seconds, she picked it up anyway.
A message.
Mumma: “We’re not forcing you. Just meet him once.”
Diya stared at the screen, her expression unreadable.
Then she locked the phone.
Ignored it.
And took a bite of her sandwich.
As if that ended the conversation.
As if it didn’t plant something she’d eventually have to face.
Because Diya didn’t believe in love.
But she also knew—
Some decisions in life…
don’t wait forever.
___
“Ring… ring…”
Diya leaned back against the couch, her eyes fixed on the TV while she absentmindedly munched on the sandwich she had just made.
The phone kept ringing.
She reached for it lazily—
And paused.
Dad.
Sanjay Verma
A small, almost invisible smile touched her lips.
Her emotional support.
The one person who didn’t push… but still understood.
He wasn’t expressive. Never had been.
But she knew—
He cared. A lot.
She picked up the call.
“Hello?”
“How are you, beta? Are you back?”
His voice was calm, steady—the kind that always grounded her.
“Yeah, Dad,” she said, shifting slightly on the couch. “I just got back. I’m eating.”
“Hmm…”
A brief pause.
Then—
“You argued with your mom, huh?”
Diya let out a quiet breath, leaning her head back.
“Dad… it was Mom,” she said, her tone soft but tired. “You know I’ve already told her—I don’t want to get married right now.”
On the other end, he sighed.
Not annoyed.
Just… worried.
“Beta, I know.” His voice lowered slightly. “But as your parents, we also get tense.”
Diya didn’t respond immediately.
She just listened.
“We keep thinking… who will be there for you after us?” he continued. “Your sister will always be there, yes. But she has her own family now. Her own responsibilities.”
The words didn’t sound like pressure.
They sounded like fear.
That made it harder.
Diya stared at the half-eaten sandwich in her hand, her appetite fading.
“Dad…” she spoke quietly, “I’m fine. I’ve been handling everything alone for years now.”
“I know you have,” he replied gently.
“That’s what worries me more.”
That made her pause.
Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The distance between New York and Mumbai felt… real.
Heavy.
“We’re not forcing you, beta,” he added after a second. “Just… don’t close the door completely.”
Diya closed her eyes briefly.
He always said things like this.
Never demanding.
Never emotional.
But always—
Right where it hurt the most.
“I’ll think about it,” she said finally, her voice quieter than before.
It wasn’t a yes.
But it wasn’t a no either.
And he understood that.
“Hmm… okay,” he said softly. “Eat properly. Don’t skip meals.”
A faint smile returned to her lips.
“Yeah, Dad.”
“Take care.”
“You too.”
The call ended.
—
Diya placed her phone down slowly, staring at nothing.
The apartment felt quieter now.
Different.
She leaned back, exhaling deeply.
For the first time that night—
her thoughts weren’t clear.
Because this wasn’t just about marriage.
It was about expectations.
About loneliness.
About a future she wasn’t ready to imagine.
Her phone lit up again.
A message.
From her mother.
“The boy’s family is asking for your answer.”
Diya stared at the screen, her expression unreadable.
Then—
she locked the phone.
But this time—
She didn’t ignore it completely.
Because somewhere deep down—
even she knew—
Some decisions don’t stay optional forever.
𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎𒊹︎︎︎
Morning sunlight poured into the dining room of the Khanna house in New Jersey, the table already filled with food—and tension.
“Ask him,” Neha Khanna whispered, nudging her husband’s arm.
Rohit Khanna sighed under his breath but nodded, glancing at his son sitting across the table.
Ryan.
Casually scrolling through his phone, completely uninterested in the world around him.
Rohit cleared his throat.
That was enough to grab everyone’s attention.
“Ryan… how is work?”
Ryan didn’t look up immediately.
“Working on a project, Papa,” he replied, eyes still glued to his screen.
A pause.
Rohit exchanged a look with Neha before speaking again.
“Ryan… you’re 30 now. Aren’t you planning to get settled?”
Ryan finally looked up, his expression flat. “I’m already settled, Papa.”
Rohit hesitated. “Not that. I mean… marriage.”
A faint irritation flickered across Ryan’s face.
“Papa, we already talked about this, right?”
“Yes, we did, but—”
“But what?” Neha cut in sharply, her patience snapping. “Are you still living in the memories of your ex-girlfriend?”
The table went silent.
Ryan’s jaw tightened.
“Mumma, please…” he said, his tone controlled but warning.
“Oh, don’t ‘Mumma please’ me,” she continued. “Look at your brother. He had an arranged marriage—and he’s happy. We waited for you to find someone. You didn’t. So now, we are deciding.”
Ryan let out a quiet, humorless laugh.
Of course.
No choice.
No discussion.
Just a decision.
“Okay then,” he said, pushing his chair back. “Do whatever you want.”
And just like that—
He walked away.
The sound of his footsteps echoed down the hallway, leaving behind a heavy silence.
—
“What are you all staring at?” Neha snapped, turning to the rest of the table. “Eat.”
Her gaze fell on the twins.
“Finish your food.”
“Mumma, I don’t like this,” one of them muttered, disgustingly looking at his plate.
“Your opinion doesn’t matter. Eat it.”
Across the table, Arav leaned slightly toward his twin brother Arun, lowering his voice.
“Shut your mouth if you don’t want to get thrown out,” he whispered.
Arun immediately straightened, silently eating.
—
From upstairs, a door slammed shut.
Ryan ran a hand through his hair, pacing inside his room.
Marriage.
Again.
Always the same conversation.
Always the same ending.
His eyes drifted to the drawer near his bed.
He hesitated.
Then opened it.
Inside—
An old photograph.
Five years of memories captured in a single frame.
His expression hardened instantly.
With a sharp movement, he shut the drawer.
“Not again,” he muttered.
But no matter how much he tried—
The past wasn’t done with him.
And now—
Neither was his future.
___
After a while, the door creaked open.
Ryan didn’t need to turn to know who it was.
Only one person walked in without knocking.
His father.
Rohit stepped inside quietly, closing the door behind him. For a moment, he didn’t speak—just observed his son.
Ryan pushed himself up from the bed and sat down, elbows resting on his knees, staring at the floor.
Silence filled the room.
But it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It never was with him.
Because Rohit wasn’t just his father.
He was… his safe place.
The only one who had seen him break.
The only one who had held him together.
Ryan still remembered that night—the breakup, the way everything collapsed at once. And how he had ended up sitting on the floor, holding onto his father like a child, unable to stop the tears.
He never cried in front of anyone.
But with him—
He didn’t have to pretend.
“Are you okay?” Rohit asked gently.
Ryan didn’t reply.
Didn’t even look up.
Rohit took a step closer. “Ryan… life is unpredictable. But believe me, it happens for a reason.”
Still silence.
“If you didn’t get what you asked for,” he continued softly, “it’s because God has something better planned for you.”
Ryan let out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair.
“Papa… I’m trying,” he admitted, his voice low. “But it’s not easy.”
“I know,” Rohit said.
Then after a pause—
“But trying doesn’t mean smiling in front of everyone and then going back to old memories when you’re alone.”
That made Ryan look up.
“Forgetting doesn’t happen on its own,” Rohit added. “You have to let yourself move forward. You have to make space for something new.”
Ryan leaned back slightly, his jaw
tightening.
He knew his father was right.
That’s what made it harder.
Rohit hesitated for a second before speaking again.
“There’s something else…”
Ryan already knew where this was going.
“We’ve received a proposal.”
Ryan let out a short, humorless laugh, looking away.
“So you guys already decided?”
“No,” Rohit replied calmly. “Not like that.”
Ryan stayed silent.
“A proposal came,” Rohit continued.
“Your mumma and I… we liked the family.”
That word.
Liked.
As if it was that simple.
Ryan shook his head slightly, a faint smile that didn’t reach his eyes.
“And what about me?”
Rohit didn’t answer immediately.
Instead, he sat down beside him.
“We’re not forcing you,” he said quietly.
“But at least… don’t reject it without even looking.”
Ryan exhaled slowly, staring at the wall ahead.
A part of him wanted to refuse.
Immediately.
Completely.
But another part—
The tired part—
didn’t have the energy to fight anymore.
“What’s her name?” he asked finally, his voice almost neutral.
Rohit’s expression softened just a little.
“Diya.”
Ryan repeated it silently in his head.
Diya.
A stranger.
A new beginning—
Or just another mistake.
He didn’t know yet.
But something about this time—
felt different.
And he wasn’t sure if that was a good thing.
_____________________________________
