Maaya’s POV

It was almost 11:00 PM when Maaya finally turned the key in the rusted lock of her apartment door. The familiar creak echoed through the tiny room—barely bigger than a storeroom—and greeted her with silence.

Her shoulders ached. Her feet throbbed. And her stomach... had been growling since the end of her café shift.

She kicked off her flats, her uniform apron still creased around her waist. A half-burnt tube light flickered above her as she walked over to the tiny kitchen corner. She opened the cupboard, almost out of habit, even though she knew what she’d find.

Nothing.

No milk. No rice. No biscuits. Only a single piece of dry bread, slightly hard on the edges. She sighed and grabbed it, biting it slowly—fighting the nausea rising in her throat.

Rent was due. Her pay had been delayed again. And the scholarship barely covered tuition.

She pulled her knees to her chest on the mattress that served as both her bed and her study space. Her eyes fluttered shut in exhaustion—

Ping.

Her phone buzzed.

She frowned.

Nobody ever texted her. No messages. No missed calls. Her phone only lit up for balance warnings or online class alerts.

But this...

Shaurya Shekhawat:
Hey Maaya. Shaurya here, from final year.
Hope you remember me?

Her heart thudded in her chest.

She stared at the screen, fingers frozen above the keypad.

Of course, she remembered.
How could she forget?

He had spoken to her today—for the first time ever. Smiled. Sat with her. Asked for her number.

Now he was texting her?

Maaya:
Yes… I remember. Hello.

Her message looked too short. Too stiff. She panicked and added a second message.

Maaya:
Hope you’re doing well.

Her thumb hovered, unsure. Should she ask why he texted? No, that would sound too eager.

But before she could spiral further, another message came.

Shaurya:
I meant it when I said I can help you study. You seem focused. That’s rare.
Can we meet at the college canteen tomorrow after class? Just for a quick chat.

She read it twice.

The canteen?
Shaurya Shekhawat wanted to meet her. Again?

Her brain said danger, but her heart—long starved of kindness—whispered maybe.

Maybe this was finally someone reaching out.
Maybe she didn’t have to be invisible anymore.

She placed her phone on the floor beside her pillow and lay down, staring at the ceiling, her eyes wide open in the dark.

She didn’t know what had changed. Or why.

But something in her world had shifted.

And it terrified her.

Shaurya’s POV

The music in the club pulsed like a heartbeat—fast, shallow, and fake.

Shaurya leaned back against the leather couch, phone in hand, the blue glow of the screen reflecting off his sharp features. His drink rested beside him, untouched.

He stared at Maaya’s last message. “Hope you’re doing well.”

He chuckled under his breath. “So polite. So predictable.”

He replied, thumb moving smoothly across the screen, already knowing what he’d say. Casual. Easy. Controlled.

He hit send and tossed the phone onto the table.

Dev, sitting across from him, watched silently.

Rishaan leaned in, grinning like a devil on a sugar high.

“So?” he asked, nudging him. “How’s the charity case?”

Shaurya picked up his glass, swirling the amber liquid. “Hooked already.”

“You’re kidding.”

“One text and she’s ready to meet.” He smirked. “She probably thinks I’m her guardian angel.”

Rishaan burst into laughter.

Dev didn’t. His face was tight.

Shaurya downed the drink in one shot, the burn in his throat matching the emptiness in his chest.

He leaned forward and said in a low, cutting voice:

“Girls like her… they cling to the first person who notices them. It’s pathetic.”

Dev flinched. “That’s enough, Shaurya.”

But Shaurya just smiled—a smile that had no warmth left.

“Relax, Dev. It’s just a game.”

And yet, as he leaned back into the noise and neon, something deep inside him stirred. A strange weight in his chest.

He didn’t like it.

So he poured another drink and drowned it down, hoping to silence whatever part of him had almost hesitated before hitting send.

He saw it as a game.
She saw it as a beginning.

And when those two collide... someone always breaks.