Passionate Obsession

The Unseen Obsession

Aurora had spent the past seven days suffering from a relentless fever and a nasty cold with constant coughing. Yet, that day, despite her prolonged illness keeping her mostly confined indoors, she decided to spend the entire day outside.

Now, the fever was gone. After days of weakness, her body finally felt lighter. But the persistent tickling cough refused to leave her side—mild during the day, yet at night it multiplied, robbing her of sleep. Could she even call this lingering illness a “serious disease”?

That morning, a ray of sunlight had crept into the eastern sky. Aurora rose and slid the window glass aside, along with the curtains. Instantly, icy cold air stabbed through her nose. The sunlight felt weak, barely warming anything. With a grimace, she pulled the glass back into place, thinking silently: If this cold wind brings the fever back, Apa will surely scold me into a mess.

Yet, she didn’t pull the curtain all the way. Instead, she dragged a barstool to the window, rested her cheek on her hand, and gazed outside. Lost in the eternal rhythm of nature’s rise and fall, her mind floated into a state of blank detachment.

Suddenly, there was a knock on the door. A well-built, handsome young man, Kritik, was standing there. Aurora spun around instantly. He was in full formal attire, hands in pockets, hair neatly gelled, a crisp white shirt under a navy blue coat, a gray wristwatch completing his sharp look.

This wasn’t new. For the past week, Kritik had been going out daily, while earlier he had spent two whole days gaming inside the house. Aurora didn’t know where he went, nor did she want to. In her eyes, Kritik was ruthless. How could someone be so inhuman as to leave a person alone in such harsh conditions and go to sleep? And there was no explanation from him. That thought alone made her head feel like molten lava.

The second knock brought her back to the present. She looked at Kritik silently, curious but saying nothing. He, in turn, stood for several minutes with hands in his pockets, staring blankly. His gaze felt endless, almost hypnotic, but Aurora had to look away, feeling uncertainty swell. Finally, she asked:

“Will you say something?”

“No,” he said, and swiftly walked away.

Aurora, puzzled, muttered to herself:

“Why is he like this? So strange…”

---

—Obsession!

“Obsession?”

“Yes. That’s it. Your obsession with me is nothing more, Arnav. Don’t waste your precious time. My life is like a lotus leaf on water—here today, gone tomorrow. Seen firsthand by my own father…”

Elisa couldn’t finish her sentence before Arnav’s stern voice came through the phone:

“Be quiet, Elisa. How long will you keep pushing me away with these trivial stories?”

“The day you see it yourself, then you’ll understand I am not speaking nonsense.”

“The day you see, you won’t be alone. The three of us will be with you. There’s no need to feel helpless.”

“Why would you put yourself in danger for me?”

Arnav’s voice turned cold: “Are we really different?”

Elisa stayed silent. Somehow, Arnav always twisted the conversation back to love, no matter the original topic. And Arnav wouldn’t stop; love demanded no logic, no boundaries. Otherwise, why would he love a renowned player like Elisa, when there were many other good girls in the world?

With a long sigh, Elisa asked:

“Where are you now?”

“In the car. Returning to the U.S. today. Meanwhile, Kritik was asking for some details, so I’m heading home. My detective agency job for you is no longer valid.”

“The great hacker Arnav Sayant as best friend… then who wouldn’t want a ‘friend with benefits’?”

Arnav replied enthusiastically:

“Come on, let’s watch ‘Friend with Benefits’ at the theater today, just you and me. I’ve seen heavy romantic movies over ten times.”

“You’re a rascal,” Elisa said, annoyed, and hung up.

---

By seven that evening, Kritik had just returned home, looking like he had been out biking. Entering the hall, his pace slowed as he noticed an unfamiliar mess of scattered toys. He walked slowly to the far corner couch and tilted his head, a crooked smile playing on his lips as he gazed at the sleeping girl—Aurora.

Where he usually disliked women, he felt an uncontrollable attachment to this girl. Despite the familiarity of his feelings, he had denied them for years.

Aurora, asleep, had her pajamas slightly displaced, revealing parts of her body in the soft white light of the room. Kritik’s eyes traced her from head to toe, an intoxicating haze clouding his vision. His throat went dry, tongue moistening repeatedly. Every curve of her form seemed irresistibly enticing.

For a few moments, age differences and complex relationships were irrelevant to Kritik Chaudhury. Normally allergic to women, he now felt powerless. Why did a love formed eight years ago suddenly surge again? Did Kritik hate himself for these feelings? No society would approve such vulnerability toward a stepmother’s daughter, and Kritik, being Bengali, resented the social norms that rejected such love. He wanted nothing but to be present in that moment; the world outside ceased to exist.

He approached her quietly, crouched near her shoulder, and whispered:

“Why have you returned to this half-burned life? To set fire to the rest?”

A sly smile appeared at the corner of his lips. Leaning closer, he said:

“If I cannot control myself this time, then trust me—you’ll burn too. I will consume you in my fire. You are no longer a child, so why will you survive? Now we will both succumb to this passion.”

Before he could speak further, Aurora stirred lightly in her sleep. Kritik’s movement snapped back her consciousness. Startled, she grabbed a long sheet from the wardrobe and threw it over herself, covering up.

Aurora wrapped herself in it, sitting in the limited space. A small bike showpiece fell from the glass table, which Kritik quickly caught. Whispering to the tiny helmeted doll:

“Don’t you dare make a sound.”

---

That night, Aurora slept on the soft sofa. She woke at 9:35 p.m., in a pitch-dark room, blinking as the glow of a large monitor filled her eyes. Kritik was present, headphones over his ears, controlling his game.

He wore a black biker jacket, open slightly at the front, revealing the tight black tank underneath. Aurora, in the shadows, noticed the sculpted abs. The room light switched on suddenly, and the brightness forced her to squint.

“Stop yawning. Clear your mouth,” Kritik instructed, eyes on the monitor.

Aurora stared at him wide-eyed, her mind no longer blank. Unable to remain passive, she hurriedly tied her hair and ran upstairs. Moments later, she returned, helpless, to stand in front of Kritik.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, frowning.

Tears brimmed in her eyes, voice shaking:

“Apa hasn’t returned yet. She usually comes home by evening.”

“So, what should I do?” Kritik replied, expressionless.

“Give me her phone. I’ll call her.”

“Use the landline.”

“I don’t know the number.”

Kritik handed his phone to Aurora. She called Anu once, twice, three times—but no answer. Fear gripped her as darkness deepened. Panic welled up in her stomach, tears streaming uncontrollably. Kritik, noticing her distress, said sternly:

“Why are you crying?”

“My Apa won’t pick up. Ever since leaving here, she’s been busy. And now she’s not answering the calls.”

“If she’s busy with a part-time job, what do you expect?” Kritik said, teasing.

“Say something!”

“No. Turn off the crying. It irritates me.”

“But I cry and you get annoyed. I smile and you get annoyed. What am I supposed to do?”

“Sit quietly.”

Aurora obeyed, ashamed she had cried in front of him, despite being strong and mature. Kritik said:

“I’ll go look around. You stay here.”

“I’ll come too. Don’t leave me.”

---

They walked to a McDonald’s parking lot. Kritik strolled with hands in oversized denim pockets, relaxed and carefree. Aurora, confused why he hadn’t taken her to the hospital, followed anxiously. She had asked repeatedly, but Kritik simply said:

“You’ll find her nearby.”

Aurora, running anxiously through sodium-lit streets, saw no one. Cafeteria doors were closed. Then a voice called:

“Aurora!”

She turned and saw Anu approaching, holding hands with a tall man who helped her walk. Anu’s small frame was wrapped in the man’s winter coat. Aurora barely processed the rest, focusing on her sister’s fragile condition.

Kritik and Arnav exchanged glances. Aurora ran into Anu’s arms, exclaiming:

“Apa, where did you go? I was losing my mind! I felt like I had no one in this unfamiliar place.”

Kritik’s mood flickered briefly, eyes sharp and intense, then extinguished as Arnav made eye contact. Soon, mysterious smiles spread across their faces, shared by both Arnav and Anu, though only they knew why.