Chapter 11
ELEVEN
Advik
I’m running.
I don’t know where exactly—just who I’m running after.
She disappeared the moment she stepped out of the Serenity Room, and I stood there like an idiot. Frozen. Like my brain had to reboot just to accept she was real.
But once it clicked?
I bolted.
Straight through the lobby.
Scanned the main exit. Nothing.
“Fuck.”
I ran again, heart pounding like I was in a goddamn shootout. Not because I was scared—because if she vanished again, I wouldn’t survive it.
And I have one question. Just one.
Back through the halls. Around the side lot. The entrance I’d originally come through.
And there—
Helmet in hand, strides like liquid steel—there she was.
Aadya.
Greesha?
Whatever name she wanted to wear like armor now.
She was heading toward the parking row. And then I saw it.
A bike.
A black-and-red beast wedged between two sedans like it didn’t give a shit about personal space.
??????
“Oh my god, Advik, I can’t,” she giggled, clutching my arm as I pointed at my brand-new motorcycle.
“I don’t fucking trust your skills!”
“I promise you won’t fall, baby. I won’t let you,” I murmured into her neck, dropping a kiss on her scrunched nose.
“Don’t you dare go over 60 km/h.”
She climbed on anyway, tentative and adorable. I followed, laughing, the memory of her smile warming my chest.
“You ready?” I asked, throwing a glance back at her.
“Maybe... Vik, maybe I should ride it?” she said, half-joking.
I laughed. Her? Riding with my 80 kg ass on the back? “Baby, your scooty skills don’t count here.”
She giggled. “Yeah... I guess.”
??????
Except now—she wasn’t giggling.
And she was riding.
Helmet in hand. That damn machine already hers before she even straddled it.
Behenchod.
I never taught her to ride. I never thought she could. Did I even know her?
“Gr—Aadya!” I fumble and call out, breath catching.
She turns. Tilts her head, acknowledging me like I’m a mildly interesting speck in her peripheral vision.
I reach her just as she’s chucking her keys out.
“Vikram?” I ask, breathless. “Is that...”
She frowns, but somehow understands my broken one-word question. That I want to share this with Vikram.
“Just not about the undercover stuff.”
I nod. Watch her slide the helmet on, all sleek and calm.
She climbs the bike like she was born on it.
The damn thing belongs to her.
I look at her and know—
She could’ve taught me how to ride.
And I’d laughed at her scooty like a dumbass.
She backs out clean, no hesitation. Gives me a nod.
And in the next breath—
She’s gone.
The bike roars to life.
Tears down the drive like death doesn’t scare her.
Like I don’t scare her.
And I stand there, hands on my knees, breath ragged.
Watching the woman I thought I knew vanish into the street.
Again.
??????
“I told you he doesn’t like that weird-ass raita of yours!” Ishika groans, eyeing my barely touched bowl like it offended her family.
I raise a brow at my brother. “You made this?”
He scoffs. “Bro, how do you eat banana in your raita? Banana, man. It’s supposed to have onions. Tomatoes. You’re a menace.”
I huff a laugh. Whatever. I like it.
She used to make it. Sweet banana raita. Weird, yeah. But hers. Greesha had this habit of turning the oddest things into comfort food. She lived in the kitchen. For me.
Fuck.
And now Vikram is trying to perfect it for my sake.
“It’s not even fully sweet,” I mutter. “It’s salty and sweet. It’s a masterpiece, okay?”
“Eat what we made, you asshole!” he snaps, but it’s playful.
Which means he’s been watching me. Reading my moods.
And yeah... I’ve been different lately.
Lighter. Looser.
Almost like I’m breathing again.
Because knowing the love of your life isn’t dead will do that to you.
My therapist says I shouldn’t hinge my emotional well-being on one fact.
Well, fuck that.
I will.
She didn’t die thinking I was a bastard.
She’s alive. I have time. Not to win her back—I’m not that delusional.
But I can make sure she knows.
That I love her.
That she’s not second to me. Then she can rest well finding someone who puts her first. Besides me.
Dinner ends. Ishika shuffles off to bed—pregnancy’s been knocking her flat these days—and Vikram keeps throwing me side-eyes like he’s waiting for a moment.
He gets it. Something’s shifted.
We’re camped on the couch, PlayStation controllers in hand. After the FIFA game ends and I toss mine aside, he doesn’t even pretend to wait.
He stares.
“What is it?” he asks, voice raw. “I’m scared, Viko. You seem... exactly like how you were before...”
My stomach plummets. My eyes widen at his insinuation. Fuck. Was this how I’d been before I swallowed those stupid pills? Fucking hell.
“No, no, no,” I rush out. “Vicky, I swear—I’m not going there again.”
His shoulders drop—barely. He doesn’t believe me yet.
“You sure?” he whispers. “Because I can help. I’ll always help. Just... please...”
His voice breaks. And it guts me.
Tears rush up my throat so fast I have to bite down on my lip.
“I’m okay,” I croak. “I’m better than okay. I promise.”
He still doesn’t buy it. His frown deepens. “So... something did happen.”
I exhale like it’s the first full breath I’ve taken in days.
“Yeah,” I say, swallowing the lump rising in my throat. “Something happened.”
Vikram doesn’t speak. He waits. Like he knows I’m winding up for something awful. Or unbelievable. Maybe both.
“I... saw someone.”
I shift forward, elbows on my knees, fingers locked so tight they’re white. “Someone I never thought I’d see again.”
Vikram leans in. “Who?”
I close my eyes for a moment.
“Greesha.”
He blinks and scoffs in disbelief. “I’m sorry... what?”
I nod once, sharp. “She’s alive, Vicky.”
“No, she’s—” he stops, eyes narrowing. “What?”
“She’s alive. I saw her. At the GenVault client meeting. After the pitch. She came in. And I froze. I—fuck, I thought I was hallucinating. But I wasn’t. She’s real. She’s alive.”
Vikram just stares. “That’s not—no. No, Advik. What the hell are you talking about?”
“I saw her,” I insist. “Spoke to her. Touched her.”
He goes quiet, too quiet.
I force the rest out. “She goes by Aadya now. Says Greesha Das is dead. Changed her name. Changed everything.”
Vikram exhales like I just confessed to murder. “That’s... not what normal people do, Viko.”
“She’s not—” I hesitate. Then drop my voice. “She didn’t have a normal life.”
He lifts his brows, challenging me.
“She grew up in an orphanage, Vicky. She never had anyone. No records. No roots. That name meant something to me, not her.”
Silence. His mouth presses into a hard line.
“So she changed it and ghosted you for three years? That’s supposed to be okay?”
“No,” I whisper. “It’s not. But she had her reasons. I gave her those reasons.”
His voice sharpens. “Reasons that led to you nearly ending your life?”
I flinch. The air thickens around us.
He swears under his breath. “I’m sorry. I just..
. I know you fucked up with her. She’s probably hurt.
But I’m... scared, man. You’re smiling again.
You ate my horrible banana raita. You look like you’re floating.
And I’m standing here wondering if this ends with me calling an ambulance again. I’m... scared, Viko.”
“I won’t,” I say quickly. “I’m seeing Dr. Reza twice a week. I’m taking my meds. I swear I’m not going back to that place.”
“But she’s back.” His eyes bore into me. “What are you gonna do, Viko? Try to get her back?”
I go still.
The question should be easy. It used to be all I dreamed of.
But now?
“No,” I say, voice shredded. “I don’t deserve that. I don’t even deserve the opportunity.”
He looks at me like I just punched myself in the chest.
I smile. Barely.
“She made a choice. And I’m... I’m just grateful she’s still breathing somewhere on this planet.”
Vikram nods slowly, jaw tight. “Okay. Then tell me how to help.”
And for once, I don’t dodge it.
“Just be here,” I murmur. “Remind me who I am when I forget.”
Vikram’s hand clasps my shoulder, firm and grounding. I let it. Because I need to.
Because I don’t know how much longer I can carry the weight of almost having her again.
Of knowing she’s out there, breathing the same air—but no longer mine.
His grip tightens. “You’re my brother,” he says, voice low but iron-strong. Fierce.
“You’re Advik Sharma. You’re the man who’ll walk through hell barefoot for someone else, but trip over your own goddamn shoelaces when it comes to taking care of yourself.”
He pauses. His breath hitches.
“You’re selfless to the point of being stupid. You make mistakes but you own up to them. You love harder than anyone I’ve ever met. And right now?”
His voice breaks slightly.
“Right now, I just need you to cry. Please, Viko. Just cry. Because your smiles—” He swallows, his voice shaky. “They hide you too well. They always have. And I can’t... I’m not smart enough to differentiate.”
I look at him, his eyes red-rimmed and brimming.
He’s still scared. And I don’t blame him.
“I’m not hiding, Vicky. I promise.”
The words come out softer than I mean them to. “I’m just... overwhelmed. I won’t go there again. I won’t.”
But even as I say it, a bitter edge curls around my tongue. Not because I’m lying.
Because I know how little weight those words carry to someone who’s already watched me fall apart once.
A part of me feels... angry. No, not angry—just tired.
Tired of constantly proving that I’m still here. Still functioning. Still trying.
But then I remember how Vikram had sat next to my hospital bed, head bowed, whispering to Ishika that they should’ve seen it.
How they played back every conversation, every moment, searching for the cracks they missed.
That night is seared into me. It’s the reason I don’t snap now.
Because no matter how strong I feel today, I know what it cost them to carry me out of that darkness.
And maybe that’s the most gutting part of all this.
That even now, even after surviving it, I still sound like I’m only trying to convince them I’m okay.
And worse... like I’m trying to convince myself.