Simri hesitated for just a second before putting on the helmet, her fingers brushing against Arjun’s as she took it from him, and that small, ordinary touch felt strangely grounding, almost like an anchor trying to pull her back into a world that made sense, a world where things followed rules and people didn’t return from the past just because they refused to let go, and yet even as she climbed onto the bike behind him, she could feel it—that other presence, that quiet shadow that moved when she moved, that watched when she looked away, and when the engine started and the vibration hummed beneath her, she instinctively wrapped her hands around Arjun’s waist, her grip light at first, hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure she was allowed to hold onto something real while something unreal still claimed her from behind.
The city blurred around them as they rode, wind brushing against her face, the noise of traffic filling her ears, and for a few moments—just a few—Simri almost felt normal again, like everything that had happened in her room was just a dream she hadn’t fully woken up from, but then she felt it again, a chill that didn’t belong to the air, a presence too close, too familiar, and her breath caught slightly as a voice, low and soft, brushed against her ear even through the noise.
“Is this how you hold him?”
Her grip tightened unconsciously around Arjun.
“Does it feel different?” Kabir’s voice continued, almost curious, almost mocking, but underneath it there was something else—something darker, something that twisted around her heart.
Simri shut her eyes for a moment, trying to ignore it, trying to focus on the road ahead, on the steady rhythm of the bike, on Arjun’s warmth beneath her hands, but it was impossible to ignore Kabir now, not after remembering, not after feeling him become real, and the worst part was—he wasn’t wrong to be there.
Because a part of her still belonged to him.
—
They stopped near a quiet café, the kind of place Simri liked—small, not too crowded, with soft music playing in the background and sunlight filtering through large windows, and as she stepped off the bike, she took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, trying to separate the two worlds she was now living in, but when she turned slightly, just for a second—Kabir was there.
Standing a few steps away.
Watching.
Always watching.
Arjun didn’t notice.
Of course he didn’t.
“Come on,” Arjun said with a smile, gesturing toward the entrance, and Simri nodded, forcing herself to move forward, to act normal, to pretend that nothing had changed, even though everything had.
They sat by the window, sunlight falling gently across the table, and Arjun started talking—about random things, about college, about something funny that had happened the day before—and Simri tried to listen, she really did, but her mind kept drifting, splitting in two directions, one part trying to stay present, to respond, to smile, while the other part was painfully aware of Kabir sitting across from her, in the empty chair that no one else could see.
“You’re quiet today,” Arjun said suddenly, his voice softer now, more observant.
Simri blinked. “Hm? No, I’m listening.”
Arjun tilted his head slightly, studying her. “You don’t look like you are.”
She opened her mouth to respond—but stopped.
Because Kabir leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his hand, his eyes fixed on her in a way that made her chest tighten.
“Tell him,” Kabir whispered. “Tell him about me.”
Simri’s fingers curled slightly on the table.
“I just… didn’t sleep well,” she said again, repeating the same excuse, even though it felt weaker every time.
Arjun didn’t look convinced.
Instead, he leaned forward a little, lowering his voice. “Did something happen?”
Simri hesitated.
Kabir’s gaze didn’t leave her.
“Say it,” he murmured again, his voice softer this time, almost coaxing.
But she couldn’t.
How could she?
How do you tell someone that a boy who died in your past life is now standing right in front of you, watching every move you make, whispering in your ear like he never left?
“I’m fine,” she said quietly.
Kabir leaned back in his chair, a faint smile playing on his lips—but there was no warmth in it.
“Liar.”
—
After some time, Arjun suggested they take a walk, and Simri agreed, needing the fresh air, needing something—anything—to clear her head, and as they walked down the quiet street, side by side, there was a comfortable silence between them, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words, and slowly, almost without realizing it, Simri started to relax just a little.
Until—
Arjun reached for her hand.
It was a simple gesture.
Gentle.
Careful.
As if he was giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.
Simri froze.
Her eyes dropped to their hands.
Warm.
Real.
Safe.
But at the same time—
A sudden, sharp chill wrapped around her other wrist.
Invisible.
But firm.
Her breath hitched.
Kabir.
“You don’t get to hold her like that,” Kabir’s voice came, low and dangerous, right beside her.
Simri’s hand trembled slightly in Arjun’s grasp.
“Hey,” Arjun said softly, noticing. “Are you okay?”
She nodded quickly, but her heart was racing now, caught between two touches—one she could see, and one she couldn’t escape.
Kabir’s grip tightened just slightly.
Not enough to hurt.
But enough to remind her.
“Choose carefully,” he whispered.
Simri closed her eyes for a brief second.
Because she knew—
This wasn’t just a love story anymore.
This was a war.
And she was standing right in the middle of it.
