2

Aryan's pov

I was reading a book and suddenly my eyes fell on a line which says about family and love. I hate reading all those quotes. Every time I see one, I just skip it. Why? Because all of it is fake. None of it feels real to me. Not when I've grown up knowing the opposite. People talk about family like it's supposed to mean safety, love, and support, but for me? It was nothing but pain.

Family is something people cherish, something they hold close to their hearts. But for me, it's the exact opposite. I hate the word itself. Not because I wanted to, but because they made me feel this way.

They hated me first. For no reason, without explanation. Just the way I existed seemed to be a problem for them.

But no matter what I did, their hatred remained the same. So eventually, I stopped trying.

People say family is everything. That no matter what happens, they are the ones who will stand by your side. But what if your

I still remember when my own mother told me I was a mistake. Her words weren't angry, they were cold like it was just a fact to her. "You weren't supposed to be born." That's what she said. It's something you never forget, you know?

And my dad? He wasn't any better. He never cared about me. He barely even looked at me unless it was to scold me or remind me of how much I disappointed him. Then there was my stepmother, my dad's first wife. She treated me like trash, like I didn't belong in the family at all. She made it clear I wasn't worth her time.

You'd think that maybe, just maybe, someone in the family would care. But no. They were all the same. They looked at me like I was nothing but a burden.

I can't forget one night, one of the worst. I got into a fight with my stepbrother. It wasn't even that serious, but they all sided with him. They didn't care what happened or why. They just blamed me. Their punishment? They made me sleep outside. In the rain.

I still remember sitting out there, shivering and drenched, wondering what I had done to deserve this. The next day, I woke up sick burning with fever. And you know what they did? Nothing. Not a single one of them checked on me or even asked if I was okay. They just acted like I didn't exist.

That's just one story. There are so many more, but I don't like thinking about them. They're like scars I've learned to live with, but they still hurt if I touch them.

When people talk about family being everything, I just laugh. What do they know? For me, family was nothing but a constant reminder of how worthless I was to them.

Love? That's another joke. I've never known love. Not real love. All I've ever seen of it was fake, toxic, or used as a weapon. So yeah, when I see those perfect quotes about family or love, all I can think is: That's not real. Not for me, anyway.

But you know what? I've survived it all. Maybe I don't have those happy family memories, but I'm still here. I've made it this far on my own, and I'm strong because of it. I don't need their love. I've already learned to live without it.

That's when my thoughts stopped, when I heard pilot's voice crackled over the intercom. "Sir, we are about to land."

I gave a small nod, my mind elsewhere. It had been years since I had been here, far away from everyone and everything. I hadn't planned on returning anytime soon, but sometimes circumstances leave you no choice.

One of our companies is sponsoring this year's Women's IPL. The cricket board insisted on my presence, which left me with no option but to come.

To be honest, I don't know a thing about cricket. I've never understood it, nor have I ever tried to. It's just not my thing. But I knew what was expected of me. I would show up, smile for the cameras, make a quick public appearance, sit through a few minutes of the event, and leave as soon as possible.

As soon as I stepped out of the plane, my eyes fell on a whole line of cars waiting for me. Guards stood alert around them, scanning the surroundings like hawks. One of the drivers hurried to open the door of the nearest car, and I slid inside without a word.

My personal assistant, seated in the front, wasted no time launching into his briefing. "Sir, first, you'll have to attend the cricket match, and after that, there's a meeting scheduled with the team officials."

He kept going, listing out every detail of my day, but his voice faded into the background. I wasn't paying attention. Why would I? I didn't want to be here in the first place. Socializing wasn't my thing, and watching a cricket match? Absolutely not. But here I was, forcing myself to go through the motions for the sake of appearances.

This... this wasn't me. The Aryan Raizada I know, the real me, disappeared years ago. Consumed by a darkness I've embraced, I've learned to live in the shadows. My secrets are buried deep, and trust me, you don't want to dig them up. A few people tried and I killed them.

I am not the kind of man anyone should want to be around. People are scared about me. Beneath this carefully constructed façade of politeness and charm lies the truth, a monster. A man who wears a forced smile and plays a pookie role for the world to see, but in reality? I am something far worse.

After a few minutes, we arrived at the cricket stadium. Honestly, I didn't expect much. I thought the place would be half-empty because, well, it's women's cricket. I had assumed there wouldn't be enough people interested in this match.

But the scene at the entrance left me speechless. The area was packed with people thousands of them. Fans crowded every inch of space, and I spotted "Tickets Sold Out" signs hanging around.

I blinked in disbelief. "Are all these people really here to watch a women's match?" I asked my PA, unable to hide my surprise.

He smirked slightly before replying, "Sir, these days women's cricket is no less popular than men's. But, if I'm being honest, a lot of them also come to see the beautiful cricketers."

I scoffed at his response but didn't say anything more. Instead, I turned and walked toward the side entrance leading into the stadium, avoiding the main crowd. Inside, I was greeted by a few officials, exchanged the usual pleasantries, and followed the protocol. Soon, I was escorted to my seat.

It wasn't long before the match began, and the whole stadium erupted in cheers. The sound was deafening, unlike anything I had expected. The energy in the air was electric. I couldn't deny it anymore this wasn't just some small event. This was something far bigger than I had imagined.

The match had started, but I wasn't interested. Cricket wasn't my thing, and I wasn't about to pretend otherwise. I slid my sunglasses on, leaned back in my chair, and closed my eyes. With my shades covering my face, no one would realize I wasn't watching. Perfect.

Just as I was drifting off, the crowd suddenly erupted into a roar. The sound jolted me awake, and I reluctantly opened my eyes. My gaze shifted to the field, and that's when I saw her, a player who couldn't be more than half my height had just sent the ball into the stands.

I sat up straighter, intrigued despite myself. Who was she? I took off my sunglasses, wanting a clearer view. Look at her size, I thought. How is she hitting like that? Through her helmet, I could see her eyes sharp, focused. Out of curiosity, I discreetly zoomed in on her face with my phone. Her eyes. Gosh, those eyes. They're so pretty. But why do I care?

Then she removed her helmet, letting her face come into full view. I froze for a moment, my breath catching in my throat. She was beautiful. No, she was stunning. But again, why did I care? I watched as she pulled a rubber band off her wrist and quickly tied her hair back into a ponytail. Her movements were so effortless, yet so graceful. She had this aura about her that made it impossible to look away.

Before I could stop myself, I turned to my PA, who was standing beside me. "Who is she?" I asked, my voice almost betraying the curiosity I didn't want to admit.

He glanced at me and replied, "Her? Sir, her name is Inaya Singh."

"Inaya," I murmured, letting the name roll off my tongue. It had a certain ring to it. A dangerous ring.

Inaya. That name... it would sound so good whispered in the dark. Maybe even moaned. But why do I care?

A few minutes later, my PA leaned in and asked, "Sir, shall we move?"

I frowned. "Why?"

He seemed confused for a moment, then replied, "You said you'd only stay for a few minutes, and we have meetings to attend."

For a second, I considered it. That was the plan, after all show up, make an appearance, and leave. But before I knew it, the words left my mouth. "Cancel all of them. I'll stay and watch this match."

He blinked, clearly taken aback by my sudden change of heart. "As you wish, sir," he said with a nod before stepping back.

As the game continued, I sat there, wondering why I'd said that. This wasn't me. I didn't care about cricket. I didn't care about any of this. But my eyes kept drifting back to the field, specifically to her.

There was something about the way she moved. I didn't understand why I was so drawn to her, but I couldn't look away. For the first time in years, I ignored the questions swirling in my mind and simply let myself watch.

She was playing so well, dominating the field with ease and confidence. But my mind? My mind was doing a completely different job. Against my will or maybe not so much against it, it started giving me images of her in my bed.

The way she moved, the way she tied her hair, the way those fierce eyes focused on the game... My thoughts kept spiraling into places they shouldn't. And the worst part? I didn't even mind.

But I shook my head, trying to snap out of it. What was wrong with me? I was here to watch a cricket match, not let my imagination run wild. I forced myself to stop thinking about her like that and focused back on the game. At least, I tried to.

I told my PA to gather any information he could find about her. It only took a few moments before he handed me a piece of paper, and I scanned it quickly.

Name: Inaya Singh

Occupation: Cricketer

Age: 22

22? I blinked, staring at the number as if it might change. 22. She was a full decade younger than me.

It felt strange, almost unreal. Ten years, what was I even thinking? She was still so young, barely out of her teens, and here I was, a man who's lived through far more than I cared to count.

But something about her kept pulling me in. Maybe it was her confidence, her strength on the field. Or maybe it was just the way she looked at me, the way she asked if I was okay.

I didn't know. But that number, her age, stuck with me more than I cared to admit.

■

By the end of the match, her team had won, thanks to her incredible batting. She was unstoppable on the field, and I couldn't help but feel a strange sense of pride, as though I had something to do with it.

Well, cricket suddenly seemed a lot more interesting now. Not because of the game itself, of course, but because of her. She made it impossible not to notice, not to care.

Once the celebrations started on the field, I decided it was time to leave. There was no point lingering around. I had meetings waiting for me back at the hotel. With one last glance at the stadium and a fleeting thought of her, I walked out, heading to the car. But somehow, her name, Inaya, kept playing in my mind the entire ride back.

I came back to the hotel, my mind still clouded by the events of the day. I needed to clear my head, so I headed straight to the bar. The dim lights and the quiet hum of the place offered a strange kind of peace. I sat alone, swirling the wine in my glass, trying to drown out everything in my head.

But then, from behind me, I felt a hand land on my shoulder. It wasn't the touch that bothered me, it was the mere fact that someone dared to lay their hand on me. Before I could even process the intrusion, something inside me snapped. Without thinking, I swung around and hit him. How dare he touch me?

He grunted as he fell back, looking surprised, but the moment didn't last long. His gang, all gathered in the bar, started rushing towards me, their eyes full of fury. But I wasn't about to let them get the upper hand. I fought back, landing blows that sent them reeling. They were no match for me, and I couldn't understand how anyone would even think they could step in front of me like this.

Suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my hand. One of them had smashed a glass bottle against it. The sting was immediate, and blood began to pour from the wound. But before I could react, the group scattered, running away like cowards. I gritted my teeth, holding my hand tightly to try and stop the bleeding, and stumbled out of the bar.

As I stepped outside, I collided with someone, the impact jolting me out of my thoughts. I looked up to see who it was, and my eyes met hers. She looked at me with genuine concern, and then she asked the one question no one had ever bothered to ask me before:

"Are you okay?"

For a moment, I froze, my chest tightening. No one had ever asked me that. not in this way, not with that kind of care. I think this is how "care" sounds. It took everything in me to hold myself together. I wasn't used to this kind of attention, especially not from someone like her.

To be continued

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