CHAPTER -11: Pressure Point

The rooftop was quiet.

Too quiet.

Ayan leaned against the cold railing, the wind tugging at his collar like impatient fingers. He had come up here to breathe—away from the chatter, the lights, the eyes.

But he wasn't alone.

The sound of footsteps broke the silence, soft but deliberate. A presence that didn't need to announce itself.

He didn't turn.

> "You really need a new hobby, Ren."

Kairo stopped a few feet away. His voice was calm—too calm.

> "Maybe I've already found one."

Ayan exhaled slowly, his grip on the railing tightening.

> "Congratulations. Now go obsess over something else."

> "Can't."

The word was simple. Heavy. Like an anchor dropped into deep water.

Ayan turned his head, eyes like storm glass.

> "Why?"

Kairo's gaze didn't waver. His voice was quiet, stripped bare of teasing.

> "Because every time I look away, I want to look back."

The wind howled between them, sharp and cold.

Ayan's pulse slammed once, hard—but his expression stayed carved from ice.

> "Sounds like a you problem."

Kairo took a step closer—not enough to touch, but enough for heat to bloom between them like an unspoken sin.

> "It is. And I'm not asking you to fix it."

His tone softened, but there was something relentless beneath it.

"I just want to know why you keep pretending you don't feel anything."

Ayan's jaw clenched. His heart beat against his ribs like it wanted out, but his voice came out smooth, deadly.

> "Because unlike you, I don't make a hobby out of chasing things I'll never have."

The words hit like a knife. Kairo flinched—but only for a fraction of a second. Then he smiled. Not warm. Not playful. Something smaller. Meaner.

> "Maybe. Or maybe you're scared because you want me to catch you."

Ayan laughed.

Low. Sharp. The sound of glass cracking.

> "Keep dreaming, Ren."

He walked past him, every step deliberate, his scent buried so deep even the wind couldn't drag it out.

But Kairo didn't move.

Didn't stop staring at the place where Ayan's shadow lingered like smoke.

And for the first time, his obsession didn't feel like a game anymore.

It felt like a storm—and he was already in the eye of it.

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