Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Advik
“You’re... I’m sorry, Advik, but are you comparing your predicament with... wanting to sneeze? Is that right?”
Dr. Reza’s voice holds no judgment, just quiet confirmation. But the absurdity of it almost makes me laugh.
Because, yeah. That’s exactly what it feels like.
Like I’ve been stuck on the edge of something for decades. A cycle. Building, twitching, right there—but never quite getting the release.
It’s been three days since I told Greesha everything. Since she walked out of my office with that finality in her voice. Since I heard the soft click of the door.
She’s been distant since. Understandably.
That day, I couldn’t sit still. I had this gnawing urge to say more. To explain it better. As if stringing the perfect combination of words together would unlock some miracle in her mind. Make her understand. Forgive me.
But three days later, I know better. I think.
That urge was never about her.
It was about me.
About trying to earn a pardon I hadn’t earned. I wanted relief from my own guilt. Not her pain. It was a selfish kind of retribution—dressed up like confession. And realizing that... made things quieter.
Not easier. But quieter.
Now, I don’t feel like I’m spiraling. I feel edgy, yes—but like I’m on the edge of something worth climbing. Like I finally found a foothold. Because I wanted to absolve myself and confirm my failure. That I tried with Greesha and... failed. So I could get in that cycle again.
For so long, I hinged my purpose of giving up, on her. On her death. On Khushi’s death. And Khushi Joshi’s death.
Then my purpose of living, on Greesha’s survival.
My entire existence swung between extremes: mourning people... then measuring my worth through how much I couldn’t save them.
But it was never about them.
Not fully.
It was about me. About trying to stay relevant by being useful.
If I couldn’t save Khushi, maybe I could save Aarohi. If I couldn’t save Aarohi, maybe I could make up for it by never failing Greesha. So when I failed her and she died, I couldn’t save anything.
But that’s the thing about savior complexes—
You don’t save people. You just bleed all over them and call it... success.
So when Aarohi was heartbroken again at Vikram’s wedding, I took the damn bait. I fell back into the stupid pattern, thinking maybe this time I’ll get it right. But I failed because I wasn’t needed.
And then I latched on to saving Khushi Joshi. She died too. I couldn’t save another person who I was meant to save. And my delusions came full circle.
Another Khushi. Another failure. Another life I couldn’t protect.
And I felt useless. Like the purpose that I’d created for myself after failing my sister was... for nothing. Because I fail every fucking time. So I... gave up.
But now, I get it. I was never meant to save everyone.
So finally, finally, I’m focused on one person:
Me.
Yesterday, I started something small. Something that no one told me to do.
I’ve started running in the mornings. At 6 a.m. No music. No agenda. Just me and the road.
It’s the only time I let my mind focus on myself.
And somehow, it helps. Like with every step, I’m outrunning the reflex to attach my usability to someone else. Like I’m training for a life where I don’t need to be someone’s hero just to feel whole. Like I can feel the body I’m meant to actually save—with every ache and grunt.
I want to be the kind of man who never lets the people he loves down—not because he saves them, but because he stands beside them. With an Advik who is strong enough to bear it.
So yes, I’ve been wanting to sneeze for years. And for the first time in my life, I think I finally did.
I’m not forcing a cycle of wanting that irritant out—that urge to save someone. I’ve done it because it’s not that no one needs me. It’s because I need me.
And I’m breathing again.
??????
“Stop that!”
Aadya snaps, cutting through the silence like a whip.
I glance over, still fiddling with the knot of my tie for the fifth time in the last ten minutes. I’ve worn suits around her before—plenty of times—but this is the first time she’s ever snapped about it.
“Stop what?” I ask, adjusting in my seat. The leather creaks under me as the car rolls toward Mehul Bedi’s warehouse facility.
There’s not much for us to do today other than show up and let him play leader. But apparently, he needed the whole squad here for this little power trip.
Well, almost the whole squad.
Dev opted out, of course. No shock there—he wants nothing to do with Mehul, and honestly, I don’t blame him. Two GenVault tech members are tailing us in a separate car, but this one’s just me, Aadya, and our driver. Vir is with Mehul.
“You’re being annoying with the tie,” she mutters, eyes on the road ahead. “Just leave it. You’re making it worse.”
“Fine,” I exhale and let my hands drop. I hadn’t even realized I was doing it so obsessively. But now that she’s pointed it out, I realize—yeah, I do this when I’m anxious.
It’s the little things you think no one notices.
Until she does.
Of course she does.
Except—she never pointed it out before.
Greesha didn’t.
I stare down at the half-done knot and decide to leave it. Crooked. Uneven. Good enough.
We pull up. I get out the moment the car stops.
And I try not to check the tie again.
We stop a short distance from the main warehouse, and I immediately notice something’s off.
Aadya—who had been sitting next to me in the car the whole way—slips out the opposite door and takes a completely different path around the outer perimeter of the facility. Her gait is smooth, casual. But there’s intent in every step.
By the time I make it inside with my two colleagues, we’re greeted by Vir and Mehul already waiting in the glass-paneled lobby.
And Aadya?
She appears two minutes later... from a different corridor entirely. Not a trace of the car ride on her. Not even a glance in my direction. Like she wasn’t beside me for thirty silent minutes.
Vir throws her a quick nod, but Mehul’s the one who greets us with that familiar silk-slick voice.
“Welcome, gentlemen—and lady,” he purrs, his smile just shy of polite. “It’s good to have you at the heart of Sitara’s future. I thought... a little visibility into our company’s newer tech products might make you feel more invested.”
He spreads his arms like a host preparing for a royal feast.
“We’re very proud of our growth this quarter. So proud,” he says, turning slightly—too slightly—toward Aadya. His voice stays smooth, but I catch it. That microsecond of sharpness. The blink-and-you-miss-it flick of his eyes in her direction.
She doesn’t notice. She’s looking away for threats, maybe.
But I do.
And something about it makes my stomach knot.
I don’t like this.
The tour begins. The facility is vast—steel scaffolding, automated lifts, crates marked with codes only their backend team would understand. The space echoes. Sounds bounce. People split. His assistants are dotting off with my GenVault team members, giving them guided walk-throughs.
Vir stays a few paces behind, casually scanning, eyes narrowed.
And Mehul sidles up next to me.
“So,” he begins lightly, his hands behind his back. “I really like the latest GenVault interface.”
“Really? Which part?” I reply, keeping my tone just as pleasant. Neutral. Uncommitted.
“Oh, the AI categorization especially. Very smooth. I like how it tags everything by probable security risk even before we audit. Very efficient.”
I nod once. He’s not wrong. We only rolled that out a few weeks ago.
“You’ve been doing good work, Sharma. Smart. Useful.”
It’s the tone that sticks. Maybe even the words. I glance sideways and catch the smirk that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“But not everyone is like you, are they?” he continues. “Some... aren’t so useful.”
I freeze.
There’s no confusion about what he means.
The shift is subtle. But my instincts flare. Every nerve in my spine tightens like it’s waiting for impact.
“My security person,” he says after a beat. “That Aadya. I find her... curious. I think she might have it out for GenVault.”
Mehul laughs it off but my instincts are yelling.
I force a shrug. “I don’t know much about her. What do you mean?”
“Hmm,” he hums, like he doesn’t believe me. “You know I almost got shot a week ago? She didn’t even stop it. I doubt she’s good.”
My head snaps up at him. What? Was Greesha there? Fuck. I stare at him in disbelief.
But his gaze slides somewhere else.
Not toward me.
Over my shoulder.
I follow it.
And I see her.
Greesha’s at the far end of the warehouse now. Walking slowly, arms crossed, her eyes scanning the machinery. Just another perimeter check. Just another shadow on the move.
But my breath halts.
There’s a red dot hovering on her chest.
I fucking see it.
Then her shoulder.
Then her neck.
Moving. Wavering. Tracking. Adjusting.
She’s still walking—so it’s off by inches. But it’s following her.
I blink hard, hoping I’m wrong. But no. My instincts scream. It’s not a smudge. It’s laser-targeted. A scope. Someone. Somewhere. Watching her. Targeting her.
Fuck. Fuck.
I whirl subtly, checking the height beams, vents, rafters—no obvious shooter. No movement. No raised alert from the guards. Nothing in the comms. No chaos.
Because no one sees it. No one but me. Vir is watching Mehul and he doesn’t even see my panic.
And then—just as I start moving—Mehul claps his hands.
“Everyone! Over here—come take a look at this baby,” he calls, gesturing toward a new machine unit he’s clearly too excited about.
Most of the group turns and walks over.
Except her.
She stops walking.
Right there. In the middle of an open strip between shelving units. Her back mostly to me. Her frame still.
The perfect unmoving target. And I see the dot is stabilizing.
Fuck, no.
Everything in my body moves before thought catches up. I sprint. Full throttle. My mind flooding—not with tactics. Not with logic.
Just her.
I won’t lose her again.
Not to this. Not to someone else’s bullet. Not when I just got a piece of her back.
My steps slam against the metal floor. I see her head tilt, like she’s sensing something. She turns—eyes wide when she sees me running.
I shout something. Maybe her name. Maybe nothing at all.
Then—
CRACK.
The shot echoes through the warehouse, muffled, almost mute.
Everything slows.
I see her flinch, just slightly. I’m already there. My body in front of hers.
I see her eyes—terrified. Unblinking. Staring at me with panic I wish I could take away.
Then—pain hits.
It’s hot. It’s white. It steals everything.
My body locks.
And I drop.