I told myself it didn't matter. One conversation. One night. Nothing more. That's how it should have been.
But the second time I saw him—it didn't feel like coincidence.
I was at my usual café, the quiet kind where nothing ever changed. Safe. Predictable. I sat by the window, a book open, though I hadn't read a word in minutes. Something felt off. Like I was being watched.
I looked up.
And there he was.
Sitting across the room like he had always been there.
Vihaan.
Our eyes met. Again. And just like before—he didn't look away.
He stood up and walked toward me like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"You come here often?" he asked.
I closed my book. "Does it matter?"
"It might."
"Why?"
"Because I don't like accidents," he said calmly. "And this doesn't feel like one."
"You're assuming again."
"And you're avoiding again."
His gaze didn't move. It was unsettling.
"You have a habit of showing up where I am," I said.
"Or maybe," he stepped closer, voice lower, "you have a habit of being where I choose to be."
"That sounds like control."
"It is."
No hesitation. No denial.
I stood up, needing distance, but it didn't help. He was still too close, too aware.
"You should stop this," I said.
"Stop what?"
"This… whatever this is."
"You still think this is something small," he murmured.
"I think it's unnecessary."
"Unnecessary things don't stay in your head."
My breath caught. I hated that he was right.
"Why me?" I asked before I could stop myself.
He paused, studying me like the answer mattered more than the question.
"Because you don't react."
"That's it?"
"It's part of it."
"What's the rest?"
He stepped closer again, just enough to make my thoughts blur.
"You'll figure it out."
"I'm not interested."
A lie.
"I didn't ask if you were," he said quietly. "Interest isn't always a choice."
Something shifted between us again. Something I couldn't explain.
"You should go," I said.
Not because I wanted him to—but because I knew I should.
"You'll see me again," he said.
"You're very sure."
"I don't say things I'm not sure about."
And then he stepped back. Finally. But it felt like he had taken something with him.
I watched him leave.
And for the first time—I didn't feel relieved.
I felt… unsettled.
Because deep down, I knew—
this wasn't random.
It wasn't harmless.
And it definitely wasn't over.
Because the second time we met wasn't an accident.
It was a decision.
And somehow—
I was already part of it.