Chapter 27 The Woman They Tried to Humble

After the library conversation, something subtle changed between them again.

Not distance.

Not closeness either.

Awareness.

Before, the tension between Ananya and Arjun had been built on uncertainty—careful emotional movement around truths neither fully acknowledged aloud. Now part of that uncertainty had disappeared.

Arjun knew she had loved him once.

Not the full story.

Not the rebirth.

But enough.

And unfortunately, knowing changed the way he looked at her.

The realization unsettled Ananya immediately.

Because there was grief in his gaze now sometimes. Regret. Carefulness sharpened by understanding instead of curiosity alone.

Worst of all—

she could feel herself softening toward him in response.

That terrified her.

So for several days, she deliberately reduced contact.

Not coldly.

Just enough to breathe properly again.

She answered messages later than usual. Declined two dinner invitations under the excuse of work. Buried herself inside consulting applications and interview preparation until exhaustion replaced emotional overthinking temporarily.

Objectively, it should have helped.

Instead, it only made her more aware of his absence.

The realization irritated her deeply.

“You’re miserable,” Rhea announced one afternoon while reviewing interview notes beside her in the campus café.

“I’m focused.”

“You’re emotionally constipated.”

“That phrase should be illegal.”

Rhea ignored her completely.

“You pulled away because things became real again.”

Ananya stared flatly across the table. “You enjoy attacking my mental stability far too much.”

“No,” Rhea corrected. “I enjoy watching you realize healthy feelings aren’t automatically manipulation.”

The words landed harder than expected.

Because part of Ananya still struggled believing that.

She had spent so long associating love with emotional imbalance that stability itself now felt suspicious.

Before she could answer, movement near the café entrance drew attention from several nearby students.

Three women entered laughing softly among themselves before slowing almost immediately after spotting Ananya.

Recognition flickered instantly across their expressions.

Ananya knew one of them vaguely—Priya Malhotra, socially connected through overlapping family circles and notorious for weaponizing politeness like a profession.

Wonderful.

Rhea noticed too.

“I already dislike this situation,” she muttered.

Unfortunately, she was correct.

The women approached after only brief hesitation.

“Ananya,” Priya greeted smoothly. “Congratulations on the presentation event. Everyone’s been talking about it.”

The compliment sounded pleasant enough.

Yet something beneath the tone sharpened instinctively against Ananya’s nerves.

“Thank you,” she replied calmly.

Priya smiled faintly before glancing around the café with performative curiosity.

“It’s impressive how quickly people started noticing you recently.”

There it was.

Not praise.

Implication.

Rhea visibly prepared for violence beside her.

Ananya remained composed.

“I worked hard for the presentation.”

“Oh, of course.” Priya laughed lightly. “I just meant… visibility matters too sometimes.”

The other women exchanged subtle smiles.

Something cold settled inside Ananya’s chest instantly.

Not insecurity.

Anger.

Because she recognized this tactic perfectly now.

Never insult directly.

Only imply enough that everyone understands the intended humiliation while preserving plausible innocence afterward.

Once upon a time, comments like these would have reduced her to silent self-doubt for days.

Now—

she was simply tired of women policing each other through cruelty disguised as sophistication.

“I agree,” Ananya said evenly. “That’s probably why people are finally noticing work they ignored before.”

The smile on Priya’s face faltered slightly.

Good.

Rhea looked delighted.

But Priya recovered quickly.

“Well,” she continued smoothly, “attention from someone like Arjun Rathore certainly helps.”

The surrounding café quieted subtly.

Not enough to appear obvious.

Enough.

Ananya looked directly at her.

And suddenly understood something important.

This wasn’t really about Arjun.

It never fully was.

This was about hierarchy.

Women like Priya had spent years comfortably secure within social structures where Omegas were expected to remain pleasant, modest, and emotionally dependent.

Ananya rejecting those expectations publicly had already made people uncomfortable.

Ananya succeeding independently afterward made them resentful.

Because it disrupted the balance they understood.

“I think,” Ananya said softly, “people give men too much credit for women’s accomplishments.”

Silence.

Sharp this time.

Priya’s expression cooled visibly.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“No?” Ananya tilted her head slightly. “Then maybe choose your words more carefully.”

Rhea nearly choked trying not to laugh.

The surrounding atmosphere tightened immediately.

One of the women beside Priya spoke up with thin politeness.

“You’ve changed a lot recently.”

There was accusation inside the sentence.

Ananya heard it clearly.

And for the first time in her life—

she no longer felt guilty for it.

“Yes,” she answered simply.

The directness unsettled them more than defensiveness would have.

Priya’s smile disappeared completely now.

“You know,” she said quietly, “people are starting to think you enjoy humiliating others.”

The statement almost stunned Ananya briefly.

Humiliating others?

Because she stopped accepting humiliation quietly herself?

The realization revealed everything.

Women who tolerated disrespect gracefully were called elegant.

Women who answered it directly became arrogant.

Something inside her hardened completely.

“I think,” Ananya said calmly, “people become uncomfortable when women stop apologizing for existing confidently.”

The café fell fully silent nearby.

Even Priya seemed caught off guard by the answer.

For several long seconds, nobody spoke.

Then another voice entered evenly from behind them.

“She’s right.”

Ananya froze.

Arjun.

Of course.

He stood near the café entrance, expression calm but unmistakably cold beneath the surface now. Several people nearby visibly straightened at his arrival.

Priya recovered first with visible effort.

“We were only talking.”

“I heard enough.”

His tone remained controlled.

That almost made it worse.

Because everyone present understood immediately that he was angry.

Real anger.

Not mild social discomfort.

Arjun approached slowly until stopping beside Ananya’s table.

Not behind her.

Beside her.

Intentional again.

Always intentional now.

“You seem very interested,” he said evenly to Priya, “in reducing Ananya’s work to whoever happens to stand beside her.”

The directness hit like a slap.

Priya’s composure cracked slightly.

“That isn’t fair.”

“No,” Arjun replied calmly. “It isn’t.”

The silence afterward felt suffocating.

Because unlike before—

this was not private support inside emotionally ambiguous situations.

This was public alignment.

Clear enough that nobody could reinterpret it comfortably afterward.

Ananya’s pulse felt uneven suddenly.

Not from embarrassment.

Because every time Arjun chose her openly like this, trusting him became harder not to do.

Priya finally forced a strained smile.

“I think this conversation became unnecessarily dramatic.”

Then she turned and left quickly with the others following close behind.

The moment they disappeared from the café, normal noise gradually returned around them.

Rhea looked between Ananya and Arjun once before standing abruptly.

“I’m leaving before this becomes emotionally devastating to witness.”

“Coward,” Ananya muttered automatically.

“Correct.”

Then she escaped immediately.

Traitor.

Silence settled between Ananya and Arjun afterward.

Heavy.

Complicated.

He looked down at her carefully.

“You alright?”

The gentleness nearly undid her.

Again.

Always again.

“I was handling it.”

“I know.”

The immediate agreement surprised her.

“Then why intervene?”

Arjun remained quiet for a moment before answering.

“Because you shouldn’t have to defend your right to be respected every time you enter a room.”

The words struck painfully deep.

Because once upon a time—

that fight had exhausted her completely.

Ananya looked down briefly at the table.

“You keep doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Choosing me publicly.”

Silence.

Then, quietly:

“Yes.”

Her chest tightened sharply.

No hesitation.

No denial.

Just honesty.

Arjun pulled out the chair opposite her slowly before sitting down.

For several moments, he simply looked at her.

Then he asked softly:

“Does it scare you because you think I’ll stop eventually?”

The accuracy stole her breath.

Because yes.

Part of her still waited constantly for inconsistency.

For change.

For proof that this version of him would disappear too once emotions became inconvenient.

Ananya swallowed carefully before answering.

“Yes.”

The vulnerability in the word lingered exposed between them.

Arjun’s expression softened almost painfully.

And suddenly she realized something terrifying:

she was no longer afraid only of loving him.

She was afraid of needing him too.