Draped for the Devil - 2
850 Words
Aariz took his designated seat on the stage, alongside the college management and a few senior faculty members. His presence brought a shift in the atmosphere—stillness mixed with awe, like everyone was holding their breath in his presence.
Soon, the program officially began. The same senior lady lecturer walked up to the microphone again, her voice calm but laced with excitement.
“Good evening, everyone,” she began. “On behalf of our college, it gives me immense pleasure to welcome you all to the Annual Day celebrations. Today, we are deeply honored to have amidst us a very special guest—an inspiration to the youth, a visionary entrepreneur, and one of the youngest and most successful billionaires of our country... Mr. Aariz Khan.”
A wave of applause swept through the audience. Students clapped with admiration, some cheering softly, eyes fixed on the man who seemed larger than life.
From her seat in the front row, Zara’s eyes remained on the stage—expression unreadable. That gaze of his still lingered in her mind like a silent echo.
But Zara didn’t clap. She didn’t even register what the lady lecturer was saying.
Her heart was still pounding. Fast. Unsteady.
A whirlwind of questions circled her mind—Did he really look at me? Was it real… or just my imagination?
As the lecturer announced his name, Aariz rose from his seat to acknowledge the applause. He offered a subtle nod, his expression composed. But as his gaze swept over the audience once again, his eyes paused.
Right on her.
Zara.
There was something in that look. Not casual. Not accidental.
It lingered—sharp and quiet. Intense, almost unreadable.
Zara’s breath hitched. She came back to her senses with a jolt, her eyes widening slightly as a chill ran down her spine.
She felt it.
Someone wasn’t just watching her.
Someone had marked her.
Just as the weight of that stare began to settle in her chest, a voice cut through the speakers.
“Zara Iqbal,” the announcer called, “please come up to the stage to receive the Academic Excellence Award.”
The crowd erupted into applause.
Zara blinked, startled. Her name echoed in her ears, but for a second, her body refused to move. Her hands trembled slightly as she rose from her seat.
Ananya leaned over, whispering, “Go! This is your moment.”
But it didn’t feel like a moment of pride.
It felt like every step she took toward the stage was leading her deeper into something unknown.
As she climbed the stairs, her eyes flicked toward the guests on the stage—toward him.
Aariz Khan.
He was watching her again.
No smile. No reaction. Just that same unreadable gaze.
And yet, it made her heart race all over again.
The excitement she’d felt all morning—her joy, her pride—had vanished the moment he arrived.
Now, all that remained was a cold nervousness gripping her chest.
Her hands trembled slightly as she took each step closer to the stage. Closer to him.
One of the lecturers stepped forward and handed the award—a golden cup and a sealed envelope of prize money—to Aariz. He accepted it with a nod, then turned.
Zara stood just a step away now.
He looked at her.
Not like the others did. Not with admiration or warmth.
His gaze was deep, unmoving—like he was studying something far more than her face. Like he was peeling back her silence, her calmness, layer by layer.
And for a brief second, his fingers brushed against hers as he handed her the award.
It wasn’t accidental.
It wasn’t innocent.
The touch sent a shiver up her spine.
She took the award with both hands and lowered her eyes, not out of respect—but fear. There was something in that moment, something quiet and invisible, that made her feel like a thread had been tied to her.
A thread she couldn’t see.
But one he now held.
As she turned slightly, preparing to step back, his voice stopped her.
“Congratulations,” he said—low, smooth, and deliberate.
Zara looked up, just slightly—enough to meet his eyes.
His expression didn’t change. His lips curved only the faintest bit, but his eyes... they remained the same. Cold. Sharp. Like they saw more than she wanted anyone to see.
And then, he added in a tone that sent a chill down her spine:
“You’re looking too beautiful.”
He didn’t say it like a compliment.
He said it like a fact. A possession.
Like he had already decided something about her, and this was only the beginning.
Zara’s throat tightened. She managed a stiff nod, her voice caught somewhere between her chest and her silence.
She stepped back, the applause fading into a distant blur around her.
But his words… they didn’t fade.
They clung to her. Whispered after her.
Too beautiful.
As if beauty was not a blessing…
But a curse.
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- Writer
