Dhruv had never feared his own mind before.

He feared it now.

All night, the image of Juhi’s face kept surfacing—

her calm smile, her poised movements, the effortless confidence she carried without knowing its effect on him.

He hated how she lingered in his thoughts.

How the memory of her voice settled into his blood.

He had met her once.

Once was all it took.

He sat in the dim living room, pretending to read, the glow of a single lamp stretching shadows across the walls. The house was quiet; Rhea had gone to bed early.

He hoped the silence would help.

It didn’t.

He kept seeing Juhi standing in the doorway earlier, sunlight on her hair, eyes curious and unguarded.

She had looked at him with the simplicity of someone meeting her mother’s fiancé for the first time.

And he had looked at her with—

He shut the thought down.

Hard.

It was wrong.

It was dangerous.

He should have been able to control it.

He couldn’t.

Footsteps padded softly from the hallway.

He stiffened.

Juhi appeared at the edge of the room, wearing a loose sweater, her hair tied up casually. She didn’t notice the way his breath hitched. She didn’t see the turmoil burning under his calm expression.

She gave him a warm, ordinary smile.

“Couldn’t sleep?” she asked.

Her tone was polite, friendly, unaware of the storm she had walked into.

Dhruv nodded, forcing his voice steady.

“Too much work on my mind.”

Juhi sat down across from him—the same seat as earlier—but this time she carried none of the tension, none of the heat he remembered. She just looked tired.

“My sleep schedule is still messed up from travel,” she said lightly.

“Mind if I sit here for a bit?”

No.

Yes.

He didn’t know anymore.

His voice betrayed nothing. “Of course.”

Juhi stretched her legs slightly, settling comfortably, completely oblivious to the effect her presence had on him. She rubbed her eyes once, yawning softly.

Dhruv looked away immediately.

He couldn’t risk letting her see the hunger in his gaze.

She would misunderstand.

Or rather—she would understand too clearly.

“Mom told me a lot about you,” Juhi said, breaking the silence.

“You’re very important to her.”

The words should have soothed him.

They didn’t.

Because the moment she mentioned Rhea, something twisted in him—guilt, heat, something darker tangled into one. He should think of Rhea, anchor himself in their relationship.

But all he could feel was the steady pulse of want he’d tried to suppress.

Juhi continued casually, unaware:

“I’m glad she found someone reliable. She deserves that.”

Dhruv exhaled, relieved at the innocence of her tone—

no double meaning, no awareness, no suspicion.

She didn’t know.

She didn’t see anything.

She wasn’t thinking about him at all, not the way he was thinking about her.

And that should have made it easier.

Instead, it made the desire coil deeper—because her calmness made his turmoil feel even more monstrous.

He forced a nod.

“She does.”

A small, tired smile touched her lips.

“I’m still figuring you out,” she admitted.

“You’re very quiet. Hard to read.”

Dhruv’s pulse thudded painfully.

If she only knew.

If she could see the darkness clawing at him now—

But she couldn’t.

She didn’t.

She remained gentle and open, treating him like any normal adult in her life.

“Get some rest,” Dhruv said quickly, almost too sharply.

“You need it.”

Juhi blinked, surprised by his tone, but nodded.

“Goodnight, Dhruv.”

She left as lightly as she had come, her footsteps fading down the hall.

The moment she disappeared, the tightness in his chest snapped.

He pressed a hand against his mouth, breath shaking—

not from fear of her,

but fear of himself.

She had no idea what he felt.

She had given him nothing, done nothing.

And maybe that was the worst part—

His desire was entirely his own.

Dark.

Unspoken.

And growing.