The morning was gentle, wrapped in soft sunlight and quiet breeze, yet something about it felt strangely heavy to Tithi. She walked through the garden the way she did every day, following the same path, the same turns, the same rhythm she had learned with her grandmother years ago. Usually, this walk calmed her. Today, it didn’t. Today, her body felt tense in a way she could not explain.

She slowed near the tall bougainvillea arch and touched a leaf absent-mindedly. The garden looked exactly the same, the caretaker sweeping fallen petals, two elderly men discussing politics under a bench, children running around the swings. There was nothing unusual here. But the uneasy feeling inside her wouldn’t settle.

She pressed her lips together, trying to understand the discomfort spreading through her chest. Maybe it’s just the heat… or maybe I’m tired, she thought, but even she didn’t believe it. For the first time in many days, she decided to return early. She turned toward the exit gate and stepped onto the quiet lane outside. The moment she did, the uneasy sensation sharpened into something stronger.

She felt watched.

Her breath tightened, and she looked over her shoulder. The lane was empty. Completely still.

A stray dog slept beneath a parked car. The old security guard sat on his chair, half-asleep. The wind brushed against the trees, scattering a few dried leaves.

There was no one behind her. Yet the feeling didn’t go away.

Tithi frowned slightly, shook her head, and continued walking, but now her senses were sharper, more alert. Every few steps she paused and glanced back. Each time, she found the same thing: nothing.

No footsteps.

No shadow.

No movement.

But her instincts kept whispering that she was not alone.

She wasn’t wrong.

A few meters behind her, well hidden by thick trees and high hedges, Yashwant Shekhawat watched her with a cold, unreadable intensity. He stood half in the shade, half in the weak morning light, his tall frame still as a statue. His eyes never left her for even a second.

He hadn’t come here by accident. He had come for her.

The girl who had defeated him yesterday in front of everyone.

The girl who had smiled… smiled after taking the ball from his hands.

The girl who had said so casually, “You make this mistake.”

He had never forgotten a loss. He had never forgiven one either. Last night, sleep had refused to come. The match replayed in his mind endlessly the moves, the mistakes, her confidence. His pride, usually unshakeable, had cracked for the first time in years.

So he came to the garden today, waiting.

Waiting to see her again.

Waiting to understand why she got under his skin.

Waiting to erase the unsettling weight she had left inside him.

And when he saw her arrive that morning, something inside him reacted instantly. He almost stepped forward. Almost spoke. Almost confronted her. But he didn’t. Instead, he watched quietly from a distance, trying to study her the same way she had studied him on the court.

When she left the garden early, he followed her without thinking. His steps moved on their own, driven by a mix of pride, anger, and something he didn’t want to name. He didn’t try to frighten her. He didn’t plan to talk to her. He simply wanted to be close enough to understand her to see the girl who had dared to beat him.

But then she suddenly stopped.

His breath paused. He pressed himself against the side of a large tree, hidden by shadows.

Tithi turned around, scanning the quiet lane with sharp, focused eyes.

A strange satisfaction flickered through him when he saw the tension on her face. She had sensed him, even if she couldn’t see him. She stood still for a moment, then continued walking, her shoulders tighter than before. Yashwant followed again, silently. Every step he took, his thoughts tangled deeper.

She defeated me… she actually defeated me.

No one does that.

No one even comes close.

He remembered her stealing the ball, the precision of her aim, the steady confidence in her posture. Every detail irritated him and impressed him in equal measure. He hated that contradiction. He hated that she made him feel anything at all.

I will win next time, he told himself firmly.

I will take back what she stole, my victory. My pride.

But the truth he refused to admit was this:

It wasn’t only the match.

It was her smile afterward.

Simple... Calm... Completely unbothered.

That smile haunted him more than the loss.

He wanted to wipe it away.

He wanted her to feel the sting he had felt.

He wanted to break that quiet confidence.

Not because she hurt him.

But because she wasn’t supposed to hurt him at all.

Tithi pushed open the small iron gate and stepped inside the compound with the relief of someone who had finally reached safety. The garden outside the house looked the same as she remembered, neatly trimmed bushes, the large neem tree that gave shade to half the yard, and the row of clay pots her father had arranged years ago. Even though she had only been back in the city for a short while, the sight of this house still felt like home.

She walked briskly toward the front door, trying to shake off the strange discomfort she had felt throughout the walk. It wasn’t fear exactly, just an odd intuition she couldn’t explain like someone’s gaze brushing the back of her neck again and again. Twice she had turned around, expecting to see someone behind her, but the street had been empty.

What she did not know was that someone had been there. Hidden in the shadow of the tall garden wall, Yashwant stood completely still, his eyes fixed on her as she entered the property. For a moment, he couldn’t breathe. He hadn’t expected this hadn’t even imagined it.

He had followed her impulsively, driven by a bruised ego and a burning curiosity to see the girl who had beaten him on the court. He just wanted to look at her once more, understand what had gone wrong, quiet the fire inside him. But the moment he read the nameplate beside the gate, his entire body went still.

GAUTAM SHARMA

His mind struggled to process what he was seeing.

This was Gautam’s house.

His closest friend.

His brother-in-everything-but-blood.

And the girl who had beaten him?

The one who had walked inside without hesitation?

She was entering Gautam’s home.

A wave of confusion hit him sharply, and for once in his controlled, disciplined life, he had no explanation for what he was witnessing. He stepped closer, staring at the shut gate as if it would give him answers.

What is she doing here?

How does she know Gautam?

His thoughts kept colliding. He replayed every second of the match in his head the way she had moved, the way she had smiled after scoring, the steady confidence in her eyes. Nothing about her had hinted that she was connected to his best friend. And yet here she was… walking into his house like she belonged there.

He pressed his lips together, the muscles in his jaw tightening as confusion and annoyance tangled inside him. He wasn’t angry at her. He wasn’t angry at Gautam. He was angry at himself for following her, for losing, for letting a single girl shake his calm.

He waited a few seconds longer, staring at the closed door she had disappeared behind, trying to piece together a logic that didn’t exist.

Finally, he took a step back from the gate, running a hand through his hair in frustration.

This situation didn’t make sense. Nothing about today made sense. And the more he tried to understand it, the more unsettled he felt. He turned away sharply, walking down the street with long, hurried strides. His thoughts kept circling around the same point:

Who is she to Gautam?

And why didn’t he know?

For the first time in a long time, Yashwant Shekhawat felt thrown off balance. Not by defeat. Not by anger. But in truth he had not expected it at all. And as he walked away, one thing became painfully clear.

This girl was not going to leave his mind easily.