Chapter 17 The Things People Began to Assume

After that night outside the institute, Ananya became more careful.

Not distant.

Careful.

The distinction mattered.

She still met Arjun occasionally. They still exchanged messages, still drifted into conversations that lasted longer than intended, still found themselves slipping naturally into each other’s routines in small, almost imperceptible ways.

But now she monitored herself constantly.

Every moment of comfort.

Every instinctive expectation.

Every subtle emotional shift that threatened to place him back at the center of her world.

Because the frightening part was not that Arjun resembled the man who had once destroyed her.

It was that he didn’t.

That difference made lowering her guard feel dangerously reasonable.

And reasonable things were always harder to resist.

One evening, while reviewing documents in the institute library, Ananya realized she had been rereading the same paragraph for nearly ten minutes without absorbing a single word.

Her phone rested beside the open notebook near her elbow.

One unread message.

Running late. Don’t wait for dinner.

Simple.

Ordinary.

Yet her attention kept drifting toward it anyway.

The realization irritated her immediately.

Not because she cared whether he arrived late.

Because she had noticed at all.

Ananya closed the notebook sharply and leaned back in her chair, exhaling quietly through growing frustration.

Across from her, Rhea observed the reaction with poorly concealed amusement.

“You look like someone fighting a personal war.”

“I am.”

“That bad?”

“Yes.”

Rhea closed her laptop halfway. “Interesting. Usually people only look that conflicted when romance becomes involved.”

Ananya gave her a flat look.

“That isn’t helping.”

“Oh, so I’m correct.”

The certainty in her tone made Ananya regret speaking at all.

Rhea smiled faintly before softening slightly. “You know, most people would simply enjoy the attention instead of treating it like a psychological threat.”

“That’s because most people haven’t built entire versions of themselves around someone before.”

The answer arrived more sharply than intended.

Rhea’s expression shifted immediately.

Not offended.

Curious.

For a moment, silence stretched between them.

Then Rhea asked quietly, “Was it really that bad?”

Ananya looked down at the scattered papers in front of her.

How could she explain it?

The tragedy of loving someone slowly enough that you didn’t notice yourself disappearing while it happened?

The humiliation of giving endlessly and realizing too late that devotion could become dependency without either person acknowledging it openly?

The unbearable grief of understanding that someone could accept your love completely while never intending to return it equally?

No.

Some experiences became impossible to explain properly once survived.

“It changed me,” she said finally.

Rhea watched her carefully for several seconds before nodding slowly.

“That usually means yes.”

—

Outside the institute, however, the world had already begun constructing its own interpretation of events.

And society loved simple narratives.

An Omega rejects a prestigious Alpha publicly?

Scandalous.

The same Alpha continues seeking her company afterward?

Romantic.

People preferred that version immediately.

It transformed discomfort into entertainment, rebellion into courtship tension. Suddenly her earlier refusal no longer seemed threatening—it became part of a story others could understand comfortably again.

“They’re obviously interested in each other.”

“He wouldn’t continue meeting her otherwise.”

“Maybe the rejection only made him more determined.”

Ananya overheard variations of these conversations constantly now.

At family gatherings.

During social visits.

Even indirectly through her mother, who seemed increasingly unsure how to navigate the changing narrative surrounding her daughter.

The worst part was how quickly criticism softened once people suspected male approval remained involved.

That realization disgusted Ananya more deeply than the earlier judgment ever had.

One afternoon, while preparing tea in the kitchen, she heard two older relatives speaking quietly in the next room.

“She’s lucky he’s still paying attention after the embarrassment.”

“Yes, otherwise her reputation would already be ruined.”

The words settled coldly inside her chest.

Lucky.

As though her value depended entirely upon whether an Alpha continued choosing to acknowledge her.

Ananya stood motionless for several seconds afterward, fingers tightening faintly around the teacup in her hands.

Nothing had changed.

Not really.

People still interpreted her existence through the framework of male attention first and individual personhood second.

Only now the story had become socially acceptable again because Arjun’s interest softened the threat she represented.

For the first time in weeks, genuine anger stirred sharply inside her.

Not loud anger.

Something quieter.

Colder.

That evening, when Arjun messaged asking if she wanted to meet after work, she almost refused automatically.

Not because of him.

Because she suddenly hated what everyone else was turning this into.

In the end, she still went.

And perhaps that honesty frustrated her most of all.

—

They met at a rooftop café overlooking the city just after sunset.

The air carried traces of lingering heat from the day, softened now by evening wind moving between the surrounding buildings. Lights flickered gradually across the skyline as the city shifted from work into nightlife beneath them.

Arjun noticed her mood almost immediately.

“You’re quieter than usual.”

Ananya looked out across the city instead of answering.

After a moment, he asked, “Bad day?”

“Yes.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Normally, she would have said no.

Tonight, exhaustion lowered her defenses slightly.

“People have started changing their opinions about me again,” she said quietly.

“That sounds positive.”

“It isn’t.”

That drew his full attention.

Ananya wrapped both hands around the untouched cup in front of her, grounding herself briefly before continuing.

“They disliked me when they thought I rejected you permanently.” Her voice remained calm, but tension lingered beneath it now. “Now they’re becoming comfortable again because they think your attention validates me.”

Silence settled between them instantly.

Arjun’s expression hardened slightly.

Not toward her.

Toward the implication.

“They said that?”

“They didn’t need to.”

He looked away briefly toward the city lights, jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

For the first time since knowing him, Ananya saw unmistakable irritation surface beneath his restraint.

“That’s insulting.”

“Yes.”

The immediate agreement surprised him enough that he looked back at her again.

“I expected you to defend them.”

“Why?”

“Because you usually try to understand people.”

Ananya smiled faintly without humor.

“Understanding people and excusing them aren’t the same thing.”

Something in his expression shifted again at that.

Respect perhaps.

Or realization.

After a moment, Arjun said quietly, “You know I don’t see you that way.”

Ananya’s chest tightened painfully.

Dangerous.

Again.

Because she believed him.

And belief was always where ruin began.

“I know,” she replied softly.

The honesty of the answer affected him visibly.

Not dramatically.

But enough.

For several moments neither spoke.

Then Arjun leaned back slightly and asked, “Do you regret meeting me again?”

The question caught her off guard.

Not because she lacked an answer.

Because she had been trying not to ask herself the same thing already.

Ananya looked at him carefully across the table.

In another life, she had loved him blindly.

Now she saw him clearly.

Calm.

Thoughtful.

Emotionally restrained, yes—but not uncaring.

And perhaps the cruelest irony of all was this:

the version of him she once desperately imagined might actually exist now—

only after she no longer knew how to trust it safely.

“No,” she admitted at last.

The word left him visibly still.

Not triumphant.

Not relieved.

Simply attentive in a way that made her pulse feel suddenly too loud in the quiet evening air.

“But,” she continued before he could speak, “that doesn’t mean I’m not afraid of where this leads.”

The honesty lingered heavily between them.

Arjun’s gaze never left hers.

“And where do you think it leads?”

Ananya looked down briefly at the city glowing beneath the rooftop edge.

Memory answered before logic could.

Pain.

Humiliation.

Loss.

But another possibility existed now too.

One she feared almost equally.

Hope.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

For several seconds, neither moved.

Then, quietly enough that she almost missed it, Arjun said:

“I think I’d like the chance to find out.”