It had been two days.
Two days since Manik found her in that abandoned music room.Two days since she looked at him not with fear or fire — but something real.Something he couldn't stop thinking about.
And now?
She was avoiding him.
At the Library
He watched from the corner as she scanned through sheets of classical compositions.Not a glance in his direction.Not a twitch.
Just… ignoring him.
And damn if it didn't annoy him more than open defiance.
"Is this a new strategy?" he muttered as he slid into the seat across from her.
"No," she said, not looking up. "It's the same one. I just don't care."
"You cared enough to answer."
She paused.
Looked up slowly.
"What do you want, Manik?"
He hated how she said his name. Like it meant nothing to her. Like he wasn't the storm and stage everyone else bowed to.
"You're hiding something," he said. "That day in the room... it wasn't just music."
"And?"
"And I don't like puzzles I can't solve."
Nandini gave a small smile. The kind that didn't reach her eyes.
"Then maybe stop treating people like problems."
For a moment, he couldn't speak.
He wanted to snap. Wanted to smirk. Wanted to lean in and tear down her little wall with one sentence.
Instead, he stood and walked away.
But his mind didn't.
That Night – Fab 5 Lounge
Cabir tossed a soda at him. "You're brooding. That's dangerous."
Manik caught it without blinking. "What do you know about her?"
"Nandini? Not much. Small town. Music freak. Violin prodigy. Has a mute brother."
That made Manik pause.
"Mute?"
"Yeah. Trauma thing, I think. Rumor is… they lost their parents in a legal mess. The guy hasn't spoken since."
The bottle in Manik's hand suddenly felt heavier.
"Where did you hear that?"
"Hostel gossip. Why?"
But Manik didn't answer.
Because now… it made sense.The pain in her music.The silence in her eyes.
And for the first time in years, he felt something foreign in his chest.
Guilt.
Meanwhile – Nandini's Hostel
She was standing at the window when she heard it.
A sound.
Not a knock. Not a voice.
A melody.
Someone was playing a slow, haunting version of the tune she had played in the abandoned room.
She stepped out.
No one was there.Just a phone on the stairwell.
She picked it up. Pressed play.
Her own music. Played… differently. Heavier. Deeper. As if someone had heard the pain inside it — and answered.
And the sender?
Just one letter."M."
Her fingers trembled.
She didn't know whether to cry, scream, or go after him.
But one thing was certain — Manik Malhotra had just touched a part of her soul that wasn't ready to be seen.