STALKER X STALKER

CHAPTER 3- THE COLLISION

You still breathe my name when no one’s around, don’t you? I see it in the way your lips tremble when the wind shifts—like even the air knows it belongs to me. You move cities, change numbers, hide behind your words, yet I always find you. You should have known, sweetheart, obsession doesn’t fade; it evolves.

I could end you or worship you—it’s the same thing in my head. Every person who stands too close forgets how to breathe for a reason. You were never lost, only kept. And I’m done keeping you gently.

AUTHORS POV.

The first day of law college always smelled the same—cheap perfume, overconfidence, and caffeine. Every hallway carried echoes of chatter, laughter, and the shuffle of shoes that didn’t yet know where they belonged. New faces, bright futures, fake smiles. And among them—two souls too old for innocence, too ruined to be saved. Too broken to be repaire.


Sona Roy stepped out of her lambo blacked shiny just like her attitude walked through the main gate like she already owned it. YSL heels clicking the floor screaming wealth and confidence she possessed , Long dark-brown waves kissed the edges of her white shirt; her green emerald eyes scanned every inch of the campus, not for curiosity—but calculation. Sun kissed her fair skin like bowing to her beauty, Each step was measured, a rhythm that hid something unsettling beneath. She smiled at a group of girls gossiping near the canteen, but her eyes never smiled. They lingered, memorized, consumed.


She wasn’t supposed to stand out, but she always did. Not because she was beautiful—though she was, painfully so—but because she moved like a secret waiting to be told. The kind of girl who made people whisper even before she opened her mouth.


Across the courtyard, Arjun Kapoor leaned against his black sports bike, expensive cigarette in fingers smoke in air surrounding him like some otherworldly being, half-listening to his best friend Kabir chatter about new professors. Arjun’s dark eyes didn’t wander much. When they did, they found her. Instantly.


For everyone else, it was a coincidence, a mistake.


For him—it was the moment his pulse decided to remember what obsession felt like. The recognition was instant dangerous and then that smirk easy lazy wicked devilish as if he knows something no one does. 


He wasn’t supposed to stare. But he did. He wasn’t supposed to follow her eyes when she looked around the crowd—but he did. There was a strange mirror in the air between them, something electric yet disturbingly familiar. He tilted his head, almost smiling. She blinked slowly, green eyes locking on him longer than politeness allowed.


And just like that, two predators mistook each other for prey.
Inside the main hall, the chaos continued.

Seniors playing gods, freshers fumbling through introductions. Banners fluttered with half-baked motivational quotes. Professors carried that signature mix of superiority and caffeine addiction. Until freshres gathered for first batch professors was distributing roll numbers seats and introduction. 


“Roll number 25, Sona Roy,” a voice called.
She raised her hand, polite, composed.


Next came, “Roll number 26, Arjun Kapoor.”


His reply came lazy, smooth—almost amused. “Here.”


A few heads turned. Maybe because they looked good standing next to each other. Maybe because the air between them felt strange—too silent, too heavy. Right after long strange silence next two names called out roll no. 27 and 28 ofcourse riya and kabir. 


Later, in the girls’ dorm, Sona’s roommate Riya Mehta was already sprawled on her bed surrounded by shopping bags and perfume bottles. She looked up from her phone when Sona entered.


“You’re Sona, right? The new transfer?”


“Yeah.” Sona said quitely but friendly. 


Riya grinned. “Perfect. I was praying I wouldn’t get some weirdo.”


Sona’s lips curled, faintly. “Guess you’re lucky.”


In the boys’ dorm, Kabir was giving Arjun the same unfiltered energy. “Bro, this is gonna be fun. Hot seniors, free booze, and zero attendance checks.”


Arjun dropped his bag near the bed, eyes fixed out the window. “Sure.”


Kabir frowned. “You okay, man? You look like you saw a ghost.”


Arjun smirked. “Something like that.”


That night, the hostel was loud—laughter, music, party, freshers, and cheap beer. But somewhere beyond the noise, in the quiet corners, something darker breathed.


Sona sat by her window, like ritual but in diffrent space, watching the lights flicker in the opposite boys’ wing. Her notebook lay open beside her, filled with fragments—names, dates, cryptic words that looked like confessions. A tiny black rose petal pressed between the pages. She traced her finger over it absently, whispering to herself, “He’s here.”


Across from her, in his room, Arjun’s gaze stayed fixed on the same window. His phone screen glowed faintly. A folder of photos—her, at the gate, in the hallway, smiling once in the cafeteria. None of them taken by accident.
He typed a message but never sent it. Just stared at her name written in his drafts:


“My prey finally walked right into my cage.”


Downstairs, Riya giggled over a call with Kabir—two clueless pawns orbiting predators.


“Dude, your roommate is weird,” Riya teased.
Kabir laughed. “Yours too. Feels like they’ve met before.”


Riya frowned. “Yeah. It’s creepy.”


Neither of them knew how right they were.


By midnight, the college fell into uneasy silence. Ceiling fans hummed. Crickets replaced laughter. And from two opposite wings of the same building, two silhouettes sat by their windows—watching, waiting.
In the soft light of the moon, they looked like strangers.


In truth, they were two monsters recognizing each other in the dark.


Morning cracked open like a secret no one should’ve told. The law college stood under the bleached sunlight, a structure of glass and ghosts. The corridors were wide, polished, echoing with laughter too hollow to be real.

Banners for “Fresh Start 2K25” hung like executions waiting their turn, and everyone looked too perfect for a Monday.


Sona Roy walked beside Riya Mehta, her bag slung carelessly, coffee in hand, white shirt, black pencil skirt, hairs bulled back in high ponytail, stunning, confident, poised, a perfect lawyer to be, pretending she hadn’t spent half the night awake, tracing shadows under her window. Her eyes—those deep green ones that looked calm to others—kept drifting toward every reflection she passed. Windows, phone screens, the steel of the elevator door.

She always looked like she was checking if someone was looking back. Maybe she was.


The campus buzzed: perfume, arrogance, fake confidence, nervousness, first-day excitement. Boys in ironed shirts acting like they’d already won, girls rehearsing their smiles. Professors floated through the halls like ghosts dressed in formals. And somewhere between the chatter, you could sense the hum of something else. Something strange like a shadow. Watching. Waiting.


The first classroom smelled of chalk, fresh books, ink and disinfectant. Sona and Riya took seats near the window, notebooks untouched, attention split between the professor and the whispering air. Three rows behind them sat Arjun Kapoor—expression unreadable, sleeves rolled, phone silent. His gaze skimmed her like he’d known her in another life but decided not to say it out loud. Kabir, his usual shadow, leaned against the wall, smirking at something only he found amusing.


Everything was normal, or pretending to be. Until lunch hour.


The canteen looked like a crime scene waiting to happen. Steam rose from bad coffee, chairs scraped the floor, and seniors lounged like predators in expensive sneakers. Riya kept tugging Sona’s sleeve, whispering about how “it’s all fine,” which is exactly what people say before it isn’t.


Then came the circling. Three seniors—too friendly, too rehearsed—blocking their way near the vending machine. The tone was casual, teasing, but the air went cold. Riya laughed nervously; Sona didn’t. Their questions weren’t questions. Names, hostel numbers, weekend plans. All too curious.


Someone called out from behind. “Problem?”
Arjun’s voice—smooth, steady, carrying that quiet menace that made people pause. He and Kabir walked up like they’d rehearsed it. The seniors smirked, muttered something about “new kids,” and backed off with too-wide grins.


It should’ve been comforting, but it wasn’t.
Because the whole thing felt planned. Too clean. Too convenient.


Kabir winked at Riya like a charmer from an ad, and Arjun looked at Sona, not long enough to be obvious, not short enough to be accidental. She blinked once, twice, almost grateful, almost suspicious.


By the time they all sat down for lunch, the tables had turned into a quiet theater. Four strangers pretending to be acquaintances, talking about syllabus and hostel food, but every glance carried a whisper.


Who had staged the rescue?


Who had been watching before the need to intervene even arose?


And why did Sona’s hand tremble slightly every time her phone buzzed, as if she feared it would show his name again?


The canteen hummed, the air thick with heat and secrets. First friendships were forming, the kind that would rot from the inside later.
Normalcy, for now, was the most convincing lie on campus.