♡ ANVITHA ♡
My phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen lighting up in the darkness of my room. I know it's him before I even look. There's a certain kind of arrogance that radiates from his messages-like he owns the very air I breathe.
I swipe the screen, and there it is. The first message.
Ryan :
Do you still feel me inside you, your tight cunt clenching around my fingers?
My breath catches for a second, heat flickering low in my belly. He's relentless, always pushing, always trying to get under my skin. I roll my eyes, but my fingers are already typing before my brain catches up.
Me:
Oh, I remember. Mostly because you left before you finished the job. Is running away your signature move, or just with me?
I hit send, satisfaction curling in my chest. I won't let him see how his words affect me. Not tonight.
Another message appears almost instantly.
Him:
I can't forget the way your walls strangled me-so desperate, so hungry. I saw it in your eyes, Anvitha. You were begging for more , you want more and more .
I snort, tossing my phone onto the pillow. He makes it sound like I'm the one who lost control, but he's the one who walked away. Still, his words replay in my mind, vivid and electric. I can't deny the memory of his touch, the way my body betrayed me.
I type back, fingers flying with practiced confidence.
Me:
You must have a vivid imagination. My eyes were rolling because your ego takes up more space than your fingers ever could.
A wicked thrill runs through me as I watch the three little dots appear-he's typing. He always bites back.
Him:
Tell me, did you touch yourself after I left you hot and aching? Did you imagine it was me, my hands, my mouth, my cock?
A shiver runs down my spine. I hate how easily he gets to me, how my mind flashes with images I try to bury. I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing.
Me:
Please. I have better toys and higher standards. But thanks for the reminder-I'll be sure to finish what you couldn't.
My heart is pounding now, a wild, reckless rhythm. I can almost feel his frustration through the screen, the way he wants to push me further, to break through my defenses.
Him:
You want me to fuck you, don't you? You want to be owned, to be taken, to be ruined by me. Only me .One day, I will. And when that day comes, you won't see it coming. I promise , baby.
I pause, staring at the words. There's a dangerous promise in them, something dark and thrilling. Part of me wants to throw the phone across the room, to block his number and erase him from my life. But another part-the part I hate-wants to see what he'll do next.
And I want to know that how he will do that by tieing me with rope or without it. By blindfold me so everything that will come be a surprise or remain a thrill. Against the wall or on the floor.
On couch or bed .
I don't know but I do want to know .
Because even by thinking about it I can feel a certain kind of ache or a feeling between my thighs which is so unfamiliar to me because no one , I mean no one had that kind of effect on me that Ryan Raichand has.
But he doesn't need to know that I feel .
I take a deep breath, steadying myself.
Me:
Bold words for someone who can't even finish what he start . Ruin me? Raichand, you'd be lucky to survive me.
My body is tense, every nerve alive with anticipation and defiance. I don't want him to know how much power he has over me, how his words echo in my mind long after the screen goes dark.
He doesn't stop.
Him:
I still fantasize about it-about fucking you, about making you mine in every possible way. About taking you, owning you, until you forget anyone else ever touched you.
I close my eyes, letting the words wash over me. I hate that they make my breath hitch, that my body remembers every second, every touch. But I won't let him win. Not tonight.
Me:
Dream on. You're not the first to want me, and you won't be the last. But if you want to be unforgettable, you'll have to do a hell of a lot better than just talk.
I toss the phone aside, refusing to let him see how much I'm shaking. I stare at the ceiling, trying to slow my racing heart. I tell myself I'm in control, that I'm not the one begging for more.
But as the silence settles, I wonder who I'm really trying to convince-him, or myself.
Him:
Don't bother pretending. I know every man who looks at you, every number in your phone. None of them matter. You're mine, Anvitha. You just haven't accepted it yet.
The audacity of this man .
I scoff, but my fingers tremble. Possessive bastard. I type back, forcing my reply to sound as cold as I wish I felt.
Me:
You sound delusional. I don't belong to anyone, least of all you.
But even as I hit send, my heart is pounding. There's a twisted thrill in his obsession, a dangerous edge that makes my skin prickle. I hate that I want to see what he'll say next.
Him:
Keep telling yourself that. But you let me in, didn't you? You let me touch you, ruin you. You think you can erase me with someone else? Go ahead and try. I'll make sure they regret it.
A chill runs down my spine. Is he watching me? How much does he know? I want to laugh it off, but the threat feels real. He's not just playing games-he means every word.
Me:
Are you threatening me now? Or just desperate for attention?
I try to sound brave, but my pulse is racing. I can almost feel his eyes on me, even through the screen.
Him:
I'm warning you. I don't share. And I don't lose. If you run, I'll find you. If you lie, I'll know. You're not the first to test me, but you'll be the last.
My stomach twists. There's a part of me that wants to scream, to tell him he doesn't scare me. But another part-the part I hate-wants to see how far he'll go for me. How much he'll risk. How much he'll burn.
Me:
You really think fear is going to work on me? You're not as scary as you think.
I try to convince myself as much as him. But I can't deny the heat simmering beneath my skin, the way his words make me feel hunted and wanted all at once.
Him:
Fear? No. I want you to understand. No one will ever want you the way I do. No one will ever know you the way I do. You can fight me, hate me, curse my name-but you'll still come back. You always do.
I swallow hard. He's right, in a way that makes me furious. I do come back. I always answer. I always let him in, even when I swear I won't.
Me:
You're so sure of yourself. Maybe you should be worried I'll find someone who makes me forget you ever existed.
It's a lie. I know it. He probably does too.
Him:
Try. I'd love to see you try. But know this-every time you let someone else touch you, I'll be there. In your head. In your bed. You'll never forget me, Anvitha. I'll make sure of it. And then what I will do to that man is your responsibility.
His words crawl under my skin, leaving a mark no one else can see. I hate him for it. I hate myself for loving the way he obsesses over me.
Me:
You're insane.
Him:
Insane for you. And I'd burn the world to keep you. Don't test me.
I stare at the screen, my breath shallow, my body tense. I should be terrified. Maybe I am. But I'm also alive in a way I haven't felt in years-like every nerve is on fire, every heartbeat a dare.
He's dangerous. He's wrong for me in every possible way.
And I can't look away.
The audacity. The cruelty. The truth of it.
I should block him.
I should throw this phone into the goddamn pool.
But instead...
I typed.
Anvitha:
Did you type that with your right hand or the one that was under my shirt?
Send.
My heart thundered in my chest. A twisted thrill surged in my veins.
Buzz.
Ryan:
I knew you'd answer. Always so feisty when you're trying to hide how much you want me.
Anvitha:
Keep dreaming, Raichand. If you were so unforgettable, I wouldn't have taken a cold shower after you left.
Buzz.
Ryan:
Cold showers don't erase me , baby . Nothing does. I'm under your skin, wildfire. Admit it.
I closed my eyes for a second. Wildfire. The name he whispered like sin.
Pause.
But don't confuse lust with weakness. I'll enjoy breaking you down just as much as you enjoy touching me.
Silence.
And then-
Ryan:
You want to break me, baby? You'll have to kneel first. And when you do, I'll make sure you scream my name loud enough your daddy hears it.
Goddamn him.
I gritted my teeth. My body responded to him like it belonged to him - traitorous and hot.
But my mind?
Oh, that still belonged to me.
Anvitha:
Enjoy your little fantasy. Because next time, I won't be under you.
I'll be over you. With a knife at your throat and a grin on my lips.
Tossed the phone aside.
And this time, when I closed my eyes - the war between hate and desire didn't end.
It escalated.
Before I could process more, my phone rang.
Karan (Incoming Call)
I straightened my back and swiped to answer.
"Karan," I said, my tone sharp.
"Miss Ramaswamy," he replied calmly, his voice crisp and businesslike. "We need to talk. I've found something."
I exhaled slowly. "Go on."
There was a pause. "This isn't something I'd want to explain over the phone. I've emailed you a secure link with files.
I froze. "Is it about me or about Ryan?"
"Both."
My stomach dropped.
"What does that mean?"
Another pause.
"Let's just say the Raichand family isn't exactly what it looks like from the outside. And neither is yours."
My throat went dry.
"What are you talking about?"
"I suggest you look through the files first. Especially the medical records... and the incident logs from when you were seventeen."
Seventeen.
That was the year my life split down the middle. The year I started forgetting things. The year the pills began.
"You were very... protected," he added. "Too protected. Covered up in ways that usually only apply to political assets or witnesses under federal care."
My heart thundered.
He hesitated again. "Whatever you think you know about your life... don't believe all of it. There are shadows behind shadows. And Raichand? He's not your biggest problem."
Click.
The line went dead.
He doesn't need to tell me that.
But his word -'Raichand isn't your biggest problem' .
What does he meant by that. Does that mean I have bigger problem that Ryan.
It can be possible because Ryan is visible infront of me I can see him and his actions but not the problem who is hiding behind the shadow.
The file isn't loud. It doesn't scream when I open it. But it echoes.
Every line punches like a whisper I buried years ago.
Patient Name: Anvitha Ramaswamy. Age: 18.
Diagnosis: Major Depressive Episode. Disassociation. Sudden Emotional Detachment.
My eyes blur-not because the screen is too bright or the words are small. They blur because some part of me remembers the feeling even if the memory is lost in fog.
I remember waking up to walls that felt like they were closing in. I remember sobbing on the bathroom floor, muffling the sound so Avantika wouldn't hear. I remember scratching at my arms because it made the numbness go away. Briefly.
The report goes on, clinical and cold:
> Subject exhibits signs of emotional instability triggered by an unknown incident. Recurring nightmares. Panic attacks. Disassociation with peers and family members. Temporary aversion to male physical contact.
I scroll further. My fingers tremble.
> Initial treatment administered: Sedatives. Cognitive-behavioral therapy. Advised: Minimal social interaction. Monitored rest. Limited emotional stimulation.
And then I see it. The line that punches the air out of my lungs:
> File sealed under direct order of Mr. Devraj Ramaswamy. Patient unaware of full diagnosis.
He sealed it.
He knew. He knew everything. And yet... I remember none of it.
Or maybe I wasn't meant to.
I clutch the edge of the desk, pressing my palm so hard against the wooden surface that the grain bites into my skin. My body's tense, shoulders drawn tight, spine straight like a rod.
I should be angry.
But what I feel is deeper. Darker. It's betrayal with a side of silence. It's pain that doesn't bleed.
I close the report.
My phone buzzes.
Unknown Number:
But I know it's him.
Ryan: Still searching, wildfire? Still digging for things that burn?
Another buzz.
Ryan: You looked beautiful broken. Like you were made to shatter and rearrange.
He knows.
He always knows.
I clench the phone until the edge digs into my palm.
This time I don't reply. This time, I don't feed the monster.
I close everything, but the weight of the report sits heavy in my chest.
Because maybe the real mystery isn't what happened to me. Maybe it's why I've never asked before.
And what else-what worse-is still waiting to be unsealed.
I rose from the couch and paced, arms clutching my torso like I was holding myself together, afraid I'd spill out and leave a trail of blood and memories no one would bother cleaning.
There was something so fundamentally cruel about being erased from your own story.
They let me grow up believing I was cold by nature-untouched, unfazed. But maybe that wasn't nature. Maybe it was trauma with a pretty bow on it.
What if I wasn't always this calculated? What if I was... soft? Loving?
What if someone tore that out of me?
My mind raced back to the white pills.
Were they just mood stabilizers? Or were they memory suppressants too?
No wonder I couldn't remember anything before 18 with clarity. My life before then was fogged over, like it had been dipped in acid and reassembled into a version they could control.
Was that why I never questioned why I didn't cry at funerals? Or why I couldn't look my mother Avantika in the eye without feeling like I might throw up?
The truth was violent.
And worse... it was silent.
Until now.
-----------
I sat on the floor, back against my bed, trying to make sense of myself.
Ryan's words echoed in my skull:
> You obey Devraj like a puppet. But will that respect stay when he does things you hate ?
Now I understood what he meant.
He knew.
Of course, he knew. He probably had this file before I did.
That bastard.
He wasn't digging into me just out of lust or curiosity.
He was piecing me back together.
But for what?
To protect me?
Or to use me?
And why-why the fuck-did I still want his hands on me after everything?
I hated this. I hated how he saw me more clearly than I saw myself.
He saw my shadows. And he didn't look away.
He leaned in.
He fucking kissed them.
----------
The door creaked.
Rhea peeked inside, sleepy-eyed. "Akka? You okay?"
I inhaled sharply, blinking back the tears.
"Yeah," I lied.
She padded across the floor in her pink bunny slippers and dropped beside me. Her warmth burned against my frozen skin.
"You don't look okay," she said, resting her head on my shoulder.
I didn't answer.
What would I even say?
That her big sister once shattered so badly the doctors thought she'd never piece herself together again?
That I'd been doped up and dragged through my own hell, only to forget it like a bad dream?
That her Appa-the same man who taught her how to fight for your self-helped erase me?
No.
Not yet.
I wrapped my arm around her and kissed the top of her head. "Go back to sleep, Rhea. I'll be fine."
She might be feels scared that is why she is here.
"I love you, you know?" she mumbled.
That shattered me more than the report ever could.
"I love you too," I whispered.
And for the first time in a long, long time...
I meant it.
Because Rhea is most precious person I ever have and I will do anything for her even if that hurt me . Because having her is like you have everything.
She is my sister.
Someone I can truly say family.

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