Meera's POV
I held the note for a long time.
Too long.
My mother called again.
Coffee getting cold.
I stuffed the paper into my drawer.
Under my clothes.
Hidden.
Like the secret it was.
Like the stranger who left it.
---
Breakfast was normal.
Amma complaining about the vegetable vendor.
Appa reading the newspaper.
Karthik fighting with his phone.
Normal.
Everything normal.
Except me.
I sat there.
Eating idli.
Drinking coffee.
Smiling at the right moments.
But my mind was elsewhere.
On the window.
On the touch.
On the words.
*I was here. I will always come. Wait for me.*
Who writes like that?
Who leaves notes in the middle of the night?
Who touches a sleeping girl like she's precious?
Only one person came to mind.
But it couldn't be him.
He was thousands of miles away.
In another country.
Another world.
Another life.
---
"You're quiet today, kanna."
Amma's voice.
Concerned.
I looked up.
Smiled.
"Just tired. Didn't sleep well."
"Nightmares?"
"Something like that."
She patted my hand.
Warm.
Comforting.
"Rest today. No need to help. Just rest."
I nodded.
Grateful.
Guilty.
Because the nightmares weren't nightmares.
They were something else.
Something I couldn't explain.
Something I didn't understand.
---
I went back to my room after breakfast.
Closed the door.
Locked it.
Pulled the note from my drawer.
Read it again.
And again.
And again.
The handwriting was familiar.
The kind of familiar that made my chest ache.
But I couldn't place it.
Couldn't connect it.
Couldn't admit what my heart already knew.
I touched my hip.
Where I had dreamed of fingers.
The skin still tingled.
Impossible.
Dreams don't leave marks.
Dreams don't make your body remember.
---
I thought about the past weeks.
The healing.
The forgetting.
The becoming myself again.
I had been doing so well.
Not thinking about him.
Not missing him.
Not wanting him.
And now this.
A stranger in the night.
A touch that felt like his.
A note that sounded like him.
Was it him?
Could it be him?
Would he really cross an ocean just to watch me sleep?
Yes.
The answer came immediately.
Yes, he would.
He was that obsessed.
That devoted.
That insane.
---
But why leave a note?
Why not wake me?
Why not demand to see me?
Why not do what he always did?
Take.
Control.
Possess.
Because he was trying.
Trying to be different.
Trying to be patient.
Trying to earn me instead of take me.
The realization hit hard.
He was here.
In Chennai.
Somewhere in this city.
Watching.
Waiting.
Loving me from the shadows.
And I didn't know how to feel about that.
---
The day passed strangely.
I helped Amma with lunch.
Went to the market with her.
Bought vegetables.
Argued with vendors.
Normal things.
But every few minutes, I looked around.
Searching.
For what?
For him?
For a stranger?
For eyes I knew watching me?
I didn't see anyone.
Just Chennai.
Just crowds.
Just life.
But I felt him.
Everywhere.
In the wind.
In the warmth.
In the beating of my heart.
---
That night, I couldn't sleep.
Lay awake.
Staring at the ceiling.
Listening.
For what?
Footsteps?
Breathing?
The creak of a window?
Nothing.
Just the sounds of night.
Cicadas.
Distant traffic.
Neighbor's TV.
I must have fallen asleep eventually.
Because I dreamed again.
---
In the dream, I was in my room.
Same bed.
Same sheets.
Same half saree.
But I wasn't alone.
Someone was there.
In the corner.
Shadows hiding him.
I couldn't see his face.
Couldn't see anything.
Just presence.
Just warmth.
Just knowing.
He moved closer.
Slow.
Patient.
Giving me time to wake.
To run.
To scream.
I didn't.
I lay there.
Heart racing.
Breath quick.
Waiting.
---
He reached the bed.
Stood over me.
Still shadowed.
Still hidden.
His hand reached out.
Touched my hair.
Gentle.
Reverent.
Familiar.
I should have been terrified.
Should have screamed.
Should have fought.
But my body knew him.
My skin remembered.
My heart recognized what my eyes couldn't see.
He stroked my hair.
Slow.
Loving.
Like I was precious.
Like I was everything.
Then his fingers traced my face.
Forehead.
Eyebrows.
Cheekbones.
Lips.
Learning me again.
Memorizing me again.
Claiming me again.
---
I wanted to speak.
Wanted to ask who he was.
Wanted to confirm what I already knew.
But my voice wouldn't work.
My body wouldn't move.
I was trapped in that space between dreaming and waking.
Where everything feels real but nothing can be proven.
He leaned closer.
His breath on my face.
Warm.
Familiar.
His lips touched my forehead.
Soft.
Brief.
Reverent.
Then my eyelids.
Each one.
Gentle kisses that made my heart ache.
Then my cheeks.
My nose.
The corner of my mouth.
So close.
So close to my lips.
But he stopped.
Pulled back.
Looked at me.
Even in shadow, I felt his eyes.
Burning.
Loving.
Wanting.
---
"I love you, little star."
Whispered.
So soft I almost didn't hear.
"But I'll wait until you're ready to say it back."
He stood.
Moved away.
Back to the shadows.
Back to the corner.
Back to wherever he came from.
I tried to follow.
Tried to get up.
Tried to call his name.
But my body wouldn't move.
Wouldn't cooperate.
Wouldn't let me go to him.
And then I woke up.
---
Sunlight.
Birds.
Morning sounds.
I sat up fast.
Heart pounding.
Eyes searching.
Room empty.
Window closed.
No one here.
Just me.
Just another dream.
Or was it?
I looked down at myself.
Half saree shifted again.
More skin exposed.
And on my pillow.
A small flower.
Jasmine.
Fresh.
Fragrant.
Placed there while I slept.
---
I picked it up.
Held it to my nose.
Breathed in.
It smelled like him.
How?
How did a flower smell like him?
Because he touched it.
Because he left it.
Because he was here.
Really here.
Not a dream.
Not imagination.
Real.
I ran to the window.
Threw it open.
Looked down at the street.
Crowded.
Normal.
Nothing.
But something caught my eye.
Across the road.
Under a tree.
A figure.
Tall.
Dark.
Watching.
Our eyes met.
For just a moment.
Just a breath.
Then he turned.
Walked away.
Disappeared into the crowd.
Gone.
Like he was never there.
---
I knew that walk.
Knew that shape.
Knew that shadow.
Ethan.
It was Ethan.
He was here.
In Chennai.
Watching me.
Touching me.
Leaving flowers on my pillow.
I should be furious.
Should be terrified.
Should call the police.
Should tell my family.
Should do something.
Anything.
But instead, I held the jasmine to my chest.
Pressed it over my heart.
Where his lips had been in my dream.
Where his touch still lingered.
And I smiled.
Really smiled.
For the first time in weeks.
Because he came.
Because he crossed oceans for me.
Because he was waiting.
Patient.
Loving.
Mine.
Even if I wasn't ready to admit it.
Even if I was still scared.
Still confused.
Still healing.
He was here.
Waiting.
Always waiting.
For me.
---
I didn't tell anyone.
Couldn't.
How do you explain that your monster crossed an ocean to watch you sleep?
How do you explain that part of you is glad?
How do you explain that you're starting to understand?
Starting to feel.
Starting to maybe, just maybe, love him back?
I kept the flower.
Pressed it in my diary.
Hidden.
Like the note.
Like the secret.
Like him.
And every night after that, I left my window slightly open.
Just in case.
Just in case he came back.
Just in case I was brave enough to wake up next time.
Just in case.
Because somewhere in the shadows of Chennai, a monster waited.
And somewhere in my heart, I was starting to wait too.