9

Author's pov

Inaya sat on the bed, staring at the ceiling. She had tried everything running, even fighting but nothing worked. Escaping from here was impossible, and she was finally starting to accept that. It was exhausting, and she didn't have the energy to keep trying.

But something confused her.

Why was she trying to understand Aryan now?

After everything he had done to her, why was she even thinking about him? Maybe it was because, deep down, he cared for her in a way no one else ever had. But that thought made her even more frustrated.

She was lost in these confusing emotions when a knock on the door pulled her out of her thoughts. A few seconds later, Aryan stepped inside.

She glanced at him once but quickly looked away, acting like his presence didn't matter.

Aryan smiled at her and reached for her hand. "Come."

"Where?" she asked, not making an effort to move.

"I want to show you something," he said.

"I don't want to see it," she replied coldly. "Go see it yourself."

Aryan let out a small chuckle, but his eyes held something serious. "Do you want me to take you there smoothly, or should I just drag you?"

That was it.

Before she could even think, she raised her hand and slapped him.

The sound echoed in the room, but Aryan only smiled.

Without saying another word, he simply gestured for her to follow him. And despite herself, she did.

They walked in silence for a while, the tension still lingering between them. Then, suddenly, Aryan stopped.

Inaya frowned and looked ahead.

Her breath hitched.

Right in front of her was a massive ground a perfectly laid-out cricket field, freshly made. The green grass stretched endlessly, the pitch looked brand new, and right in the center was a proper cricket setup.

She turned to Aryan, shocked. "You did all this?"

He nodded, watching her reaction carefully.

Without thinking, Inaya ran toward the field, her arms spreading out like a bird finally breaking free from its cage. She didn't stop until she reached the middle of the ground, where she finally sat down, running her fingers over the fresh soil.

Memories flooded her. The matches, the cheers, the rush of adrenaline. She had pushed all of it away because of him.

Aryan walked closer, his voice softer than before. "I know you stopped playing cricket because of me," he said. "I know you missed the Champions Trophy. Fans are still waiting for you. Your team tried calling you so many times. But now, they've announced your replacement." He sighed. "I called them and told them you're still recovering from an injury."

Inaya's head snapped up. Without warning, she slapped him again.

But this time, her voice cracked when she spoke. "Thank you."

Aryan let out a small laugh, rubbing his cheek. "You have a bat, ball, and stumps here. You can start practicing whenever you want."

She didn't respond immediately. She just looked around, still overwhelmed. Then, after a moment, she hesitantly asked, "Can I get pads?"

Aryan met her gaze, a knowing smile forming on his lips. "Of course, Inaya," he said. "Don't be shy to ask for what you need."

And with that, he turned and walked away, leaving her alone with the thing she had loved the most.

■

Inaya sat down to have dinner, finally feeling a little lighter after everything that had happened. Just as she was about to take a bite, Aryan walked in.

She looked up and frowned.

He was holding a pack of sanitary pads.

Her eyes narrowed. "Are you having periods?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aryan blinked at her, then looked at what he was holding. "No, you asked, so I brought them."

Inaya stared at him for a few seconds, trying to process his words. Then it clicked.

She facepalmed. "I asked for thigh pads and knee pads for practice, Aryan!"

Aryan's eyes widened in realization. "Oh..."

Before he could say another word, Inaya grabbed the cricket bat lying near her chair and jumped up.

"I'm going to kill you!" she shouted, charging at him.

Aryan's survival instincts kicked in immediately. "Shit!" He turned and bolted out of the room.

She ran after him.

He ran faster.

She picked up speed.

He dodged past a chair.

She leaped over it.

At last, she got close enough and swung the bat at him with full force.

The bat broke in half against his back.

Aryan barely flinched. He stopped running and turned to face her, completely unharmed.

"If you plan to hit me like this," he said, smirking, "there won't be enough bats to break me."

Inaya stared at the broken bat in her hand. Then she stared at him.

And then, completely frustrated, she threw the remaining half of the bat at him.

Aryan laughed, dodging it effortlessly. "I'll get you your cricket pads now," he teased. "You go eat."

"Too late," she muttered, sitting back down. "I lost my appetite."

Aryan grinned, sitting across from her. "Good. More food for me."

Inaya shot him a glare. "Eat quietly before I use the dining table as my next weapon."

■

After dinner, Aryan finally handed her phone back to her after so many days. It felt strange to hold it again, as if it didn't belong to her anymore. She hesitated for a moment before unlocking it, a sense of unease creeping into her chest. The screen lit up, and within seconds, she was hit with an overwhelming flood of notifications.

Then came the memes. Social media had turned her absence into a trending topic. Some posts were lighthearted jokes, others were dramatic, questioning if she had vanished into thin air. There were even conspiracy theories, fans guessing everything from a secret marriage to a hidden injury that no one knew about.

And then there were the messages.

Her inbox was flooded hundreds, maybe even thousands of texts. Missed calls, emails, voice messages. Her phone had been ringing for days, and she had never even known. Most of the messages were people she had never even spoken to sports analysts, journalists, sponsors, fans.

She felt a lump rise in her throat as she opened the chat with her teammates.

"Where are you?"

"Why aren't you picking up?"

"We need you."

"Are you okay? Just send a message, anything."

"We miss you. Come back."

There were voice notes too, some from her captain, others from close friends on the team.

She had always known how much cricket meant to her. But seeing the messages, the posts, the way people had been waiting for her return it reminded her just how much she meant to the sport. There were videos of fans outside stadiums, holding up signs with her name, hoping she would play again. Comments under old matches, people talking about her best performances, saying they missed watching her on the field.

It was all too much.

She gripped the phone tighter, her chest aching. She had been gone for too long.

■

Inaya sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the messages on her phone. The words blurred in front of her eyes as her mind raced, struggling to process everything. A heavy sigh escaped her lips. It was too much to digest all at once.

Just then, the door creaked open. Aryan walked in, a glass of whiskey in his hand. Clear signs that he had been drinking for a while. He took slow, lazy steps toward her, his expression unreadable.

Stopping just a few feet away, he raised his glass slightly and said, "I want a divorce from you, Ms. Inaya Singh."

Inaya blinked at him, her lips twitching into a smirk. "Oh, here we go again," she mumbled under her breath.

She knew Aryan too well. He always became dramatic after a few drinks. This wasn't the first time he had come up with something ridiculous in his drunken state.

Shaking her head, she stood up and walked toward him. "Mr. Aryan bevda Raizada, we are not married. So tell me, how exactly do you plan on divorcing me?" she asked, arms crossed.

Aryan frowned as if genuinely confused by her words. He swayed slightly, his grip tightening around the glass. "Yeah... we're not married," he muttered. His eyes darkened as he stepped closer. "But why?" His voice was softer now, almost vulnerable. "Why aren't we married yet, Inaya?"

She opened her mouth to reply, but before she could, he grabbed her wrist and pulled her close, pressing her against the wall.

Inaya gasped at the sudden movement, her heart skipping a beat. The whiskey in his breath mixed with his usual cologne, surrounding her.

"You love me," he murmured, his grip firm yet not hurting her. His eyes bore into hers, searching for something. "I know you do. Then why? Why do we still have this stupid distance between us?"

Inaya swallowed, her fingers curling into fists. "Aryan, you're drunk. Let's talk about this when"

"I don't want to talk later," he interrupted, his voice rough with frustration. "I want to know now, Inaya. What's stopping us?"

She let out a deep breath, trying to keep her voice calm. "You, Aryan. You are stopping us."

He frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means," she said, tilting her head slightly, "that every time you get drunk, you say things like this. But in the morning? You pretend like none of it ever happened."

Aryan opened his mouth, then closed it. His grip on her wrist loosened slightly.

"You're only this honest when you have alcohol in your system," she continued, her voice softer now. "And I'm not going to build my life around words you won't even remember tomorrow."

Aryan looked at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he said nothing. Then, without warning, he stepped back, running a hand through his hair.

"I remember everything," he muttered under his breath.

Inaya shook her head with a small, sad smile. "Then prove it when you're sober."

With that, she gently took the glass from his hand, placed it on the bedside table, and turned away.

Inaya stood there, arms crossed tightly over her chest, trying to keep her breathing steady.

She knew that look. It was dangerous. It made her pulse quicken, made her knees feel unsteady.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" she asked, forcing her voice to stay even.

"Because I'm trying to figure out how much longer you're going to lie to yourself."

Her brows knitted together. "Lie about what?"

His lips curled slightly, but there was no humor in his smirk this time. "About wanting me."

A sharp breath left her lips before she could stop it.

"I don't"

"Yes, you do," he murmured, tilting his head, watching her every reaction like a predator closing in on his prey. "You can say whatever you want, but your body tells me the truth."

She clenched her fists at her sides, refusing to let him see just how much he was affecting her. "You're imagining things."

Aryan let out a low chuckle, shaking his head. "Oh, princess... then tell me why you're still standing here."

"If you hated me the way you claim," he continued, his voice deep and slow, every word sinking under her skin, "you would have walked away by now."

Inaya opened her mouth to argue, but nothing came out.

His voice dipped to a whisper. "Tell me you don't think about me at night."

Her breath hitched.

"Tell me you don't wonder how it would feel..." His fingers barely, barely brushed against the back of her hand, sending a shiver through her body. "...if I kissed you right now."

Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure he could hear it.

His smirk faded, his eyes darkening with something more intense, more raw. "Tell me you don't want this, Inaya. Say it, and I'll stop."

The words were right there, on the tip of her tongue. She could push him away. She should push him away.

But she didn't.

Instead, she let out a shaky breath. "You're insufferable."

Aryan chuckled, his lips mere inches from hers. "And yet... you're still here."

Her resolve cracked, and before she could stop herself, she whispered, "Then stop talking and kiss me already."

Something snapped in Aryan's eyes.

He didn't waste another second.

His hands gripped her waist, pulling her flush against him as his lips crashed onto hers, hungry, desperate, like he had been waiting for this.

He kissed her like he was proving a point, like he wanted to erase every last doubt she had about wanting him.

And damn it, he was succeeding.

Inaya melted into him, every ounce of resistance slipping away as she kissed him back just as fiercely. She didn't care about hating him.

All she cared about was this. The fire, the heat, the way he consumed her like she was the only thing that mattered.

And in that moment, she didn't want him to stop.

Inaya barely had time to process what was happening. One moment, Aryan's lips were on hers, pulling her into something she wasn't sure she could escape. The next

BANG!

A gunshot rang through the room, loud and sharp, cutting through the air like a blade.

Before she could even react, the glass beside them shattered into pieces, the shards spraying across the floor. The sudden explosion of sound sent her heart hammering against her ribs.

Before she could think, before she could move, Aryan was already pulling her down.

His grip was firm as he dragged her with him, his body shielding hers as they crouched behind the couch. She could feel the tension in his muscles, the way his breathing was controlled but heavy. He was ready for whatever was coming next.

Her pulse was racing. "Aryan" she started, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Stay down," he said, his voice low, firm. There was no hesitation in his tone, only sharp focus.

Footsteps echoed in the room.

Slow. Deliberate.

And then

The door burst open.

A figure stepped inside. Tall, dressed in black, face partially hidden. A gun was raised in their hand.

Inaya felt her stomach drop.

The moment stretched, unbearably tense.

And then

BANG!

A second gunshot tore through the air.

Her eyes widened as she saw the bullet coming fast, deadly, straight towards her.

Her body locked up. She couldn't move, couldn't breathe. It was as if time itself had frozen.

But Aryan didn't freeze.

He moved.

Quick. Instinctive. Without a second of hesitation.

Before she could even understand what was happening, he stepped in front of her.

CRACK!

The sound of the bullet hitting flesh made her stomach lurch.

Aryan let out a harsh breath, his body jerking back slightly from the impact. His hand immediately flew to his arm, gripping the spot where the bullet had hit.

Blood.

Dark, spreading fast across the sleeve of his shirt.

Her throat tightened.

"Aryan!" she gasped, reaching for him, panic lacing her voice.

He winced but didn't let her pull him away. Instead, even with the pain, even while bleeding, he did the one thing he always did.

He pulled her behind him.

Shielding her.

Protecting her.

"Stay behind me."

Even now.

Even with a bullet in his arm.

His only instinct was to keep her safe.

But then, suddenly

A noise outside. Footsteps. Voices approaching.

The intruder froze for a second before cursing under his breath. He turned on his heel and sprinted toward the door.

"Aryan, he's getting away!" Inaya said, but Aryan didn't move.

He just watched as the man disappeared, the door swinging shut behind him.

"Aryan!" She grabbed him, trying to steady him, but he just let out a small, shaky laugh.

"Damn... that hurts more than I thought." He said.

"Hurts? Hurts?!" She looked at him like he was insane. "You got shot and you're acting like you just stubbed your toe!"

He gave her a weak smirk. "Well, technically, it's just my arm. Could've been worse."

"Are you serious right now?"

He winced as she tried to move his hand away from the wound. Blood was still dripping down his fingers.

"Inaya," he said softly, noticing the way her hands trembled. "Relax, it's not that bad."

"Not that bad? Not that bad?!" She was shaking with frustration. "You're bleeding all over the place, Aryan! Sit down before you fall down."

He let out a small sigh, finally letting her guide him to the couch. She quickly grabbed the first thing she could find a piece of his already-ruined shirt and pressed it against the wound.

Aryan hissed at the contact, his muscles tensing. "Damn, woman. Are you treating my wound or trying to kill me?"

Inaya glared at him. "If I wanted to kill you, I'd let you bleed out."

He chuckled. "That's fair."

She pressed harder, making him groan in pain. "Ow, okay easy, princess"

"Shut up and stay still," she muttered.

For a moment, he just watched her. Her face was twisted in concentration, but beneath the frustration, he could see it the worry.

His smirk faded slightly.

"Hey," he said, his voice quieter now. "I'm okay."

She didn't answer.

Aryan's expression shifted.

For a man who loved to tease, he suddenly wasn't smiling anymore.

His eyes softened as he reached up ignoring the pain in his arm and gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" he murmured.

He was still here.

Inaya's hands were still shaking when Aryan groaned. His face was pale, his breathing uneven, and his entire sleeve was soaked in blood.

She swallowed hard, trying to push down the panic rising in her chest.

"Inaya," Aryan muttered, his voice strained. "First aid kit. Now."

Her eyes darted to his wound. "But"

"Now."

His tone left no room for argument.

Without wasting another second, she got up and rushed toward the bathroom. Her heart pounded as she searched frantically, throwing open cabinets and drawers. Finally, her hands landed on the first aid box.

She grabbed it and ran back to him.

Aryan was leaning back against the couch, his head tilted slightly, his jaw clenched in pain. Blood was still dripping down his arm, staining the cushion beneath him.

"Okay, I got it," she said quickly, kneeling beside him.

He let out a shaky breath. "Good. Now listen to me carefully."

She nodded.

"You need to take the bullet out," he said.

Her entire body went stiff.

"What?" she whispered, her eyes widening.

"The bullet, Inaya," Aryan repeated, his voice hoarse but firm. "You have to remove it."

Her stomach twisted. "I, I don't know how to do that!"

He met her gaze, his own steady despite the pain he was in. "I'll guide you through it."

She shook her head quickly. "No, no, I, I can't, what if I hurt you more?"

Aryan let out a weak chuckle. "Hate to break it to you, but it already hurts like hell. You're not going to make it worse."

She hesitated, still unsure, but he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. "Inaya. Trust me. You can do this."

Her throat tightened.

Could she?

She took a deep breath and nodded. "Okay. What do I do?"

Aryan exhaled slowly. "First, clean the wound."

Her hands trembled as she opened the first aid kit, pulling out the antiseptic wipes. Carefully, she dabbed at the wound, trying not to flinch every time he sucked in a sharp breath.

"Sorry," she whispered.

He forced a smirk. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"Shut up, Aryan."

He let out a low chuckle but winced immediately after.

Once she finished cleaning around the wound, she looked at him again, her pulse racing.

"Now what?"

"There's a pair of tweezers in there," he murmured. "Take them out."

Her fingers fumbled through the kit until she found them. They felt too small, too fragile for what she was about to do.

Her palms were sweaty.

"Now," Aryan said, his voice softer now. "You need to reach in and get the bullet out."

Her breath hitched. "Aryan..."

"You can do it," he reassured her. "Just be quick."

Her entire body felt like it was on fire as she slowly brought the tweezers closer to the wound.

Her hands trembled.

Aryan's breathing grew heavier.

Inaya's stomach twisted as she carefully, carefully inserted the tweezers into the wound.

Aryan let out a sharp, strangled groan, his body going rigid.

She froze.

"I'm hurting you," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Just, keep going," he ground out. "Don't stop."

Her hands were sweating, but she forced herself to keep moving.

She could feel the tweezers scraping against something solid. The bullet.

She bit her lip. "I think I, "

"Pull it out," Aryan rasped.

Inaya sucked in a deep breath and, as quickly as she could, she tightened the tweezers around the bullet and pulled.

Aryan let out a sharp, pained groan, his head falling back against the couch. His breathing was ragged, his entire body tensed.

And then

The bullet was out.

Inaya stared at the small, bloody piece of metal in the tweezers, her entire body shaking.

"I got it," she whispered, almost in disbelief. "I got it."

Aryan let out a slow, shaky breath. His face was covered in sweat, but he still managed a weak smirk.

"Knew you could do it," he murmured.

She swallowed hard, her throat tightening. "You're crazy, you know that?"

"Mm," he hummed, his eyes half-lidded. "But you still listen to me."

She glared at him, but her hands didn't stop moving as she grabbed the disinfectant and pressed it to his wound.

Aryan groaned, but this time, he didn't complain.

She wrapped the bandage around his arm, securing it tightly, making sure he wasn't losing any more blood.

Finally, when she was done, she sat back on her heels, exhaling shakily.

Her entire body was still trembling.

Her heart did a weird little flip, but she ignored it.

"Get some rest," she muttered, getting up.

But before she could move away, Aryan stopped her.

"Inaya," he said.

She looked at him.

His grip tightened slightly. "Stay."

She hesitated.

Then, with a small sigh, she sat down beside him on the couch.

And for the first time that night, she finally let herself breathe.

To be continued

Any guesses about who the intruder was?

So guys how's the chapter?

Do vote. Comment and let me know your review.

The story will end in few more chapters. Need happy ending or sad ending?