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“Well, I found a woman, stronger than anyone I know…”
🎵PERFECT By Ed Sheeran

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𝐒𝐈𝐀'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕:

Monday morning.
New day. Same trash.

The CBI lab smelt like burnt coffee and incompetence. I stepped in, heels echoing against cold marble, each click a reminder: I’m not here to make friends.

Black cotton kurta, silver rings, kohl-lined eyes that could dissect a soul — my armour. My badge clipped neatly, my ID hung like a noose around my neck. Symbolic, really.

The lab fell into an awkward hush as I passed by. Typical. You’d think they’d be used to me by now.

“Good morning, ma’am,” a junior muttered, eyes glued to his monitor.

“Define good,” I said without stopping.

At the main table, Raj and Neha stood frozen like two kids caught cheating during finals.
I stopped, arms folded.

“Report?”

Raj scratched the back of his neck like it was a life skill. “Uh… DNA analysis is still pending. Machine mein glitch aa gaya tha—”

“Glitch?” I raised a brow. “Tum forensic analyst ho ya IT technician?”

His mouth opened and closed like a fish struggling for IQ.

“Also,” I continued, voice calm but razor-sharp, “last night I ran the same sample on a backup system. Toh ya toh system bekaar hai… ya tum dono.”

Neha stepped in. Brave. Stupid.

“Ma’am, I was just waiting for clearance—”

I cut her off with a look.

“Clearance ke liye President ka signature chahiye tha kya?”

Pin-drop silence. Even the AC seemed to hold its breath.

“Tum dono se koi galti ho jaaye toh at least shakal guilt wali banao. Tum log toh overconfidence mein parade nikaal rahe ho.”

I slid the original report across the table — complete, timestamped, and sealed.

“Report mil gaya. Ab tum dono apne performance evaluation ke liye report likh lo.”

They stood like statues as I walked off, unfazed.

---

My cabin was the only place where I could breathe — barely. I locked the door, exhaled once, and took off my ring. The metallic clink of it hitting the glass desk echoed louder than any argument.

Under the microscope, a blood smear stared back. Silent. Unapologetic. Honest.

“Tum toh kam se kam jhoot nahi bolte,” I muttered.

People lie. Tears lie. But blood? Blood tells all.

My phone buzzed. Meera Ma’am.

“Bolo.”

“Sia, new case. Come to my office.”

“Do I get to pick my poison?”

She chuckled faintly. “Maybe. There’s someone I want you to meet.”

I hung up. No goodbye, no sugar-coating. Just work.

---

“Kabir Sen, meet Dr. Sia Roy, head of Forensic Psychology and Behavioural Analysis.”
“We’ve… met before,” Meera said with a short pause.

And then came the voice I hadn’t heard in years.
“Pleasure’s all mine. Again.”

Mujhe laga tha kuch log zindagi se delete ho jaate hain permanently. Apparently, recycle bin mein hi pade the.

I turned slowly. Controlled. Silent. My expression was neutral—so neutral, it almost looked robotic.
He stood there. Kabir Sen. Polished. Smug. The same pretentious air he carried back when I thought he was worth something.

“Kabir.”
My voice was flat. Professional. Borderline uninterested.

“Sia.”
His smile widened. “You haven’t changed a bit.”

“I wish I could say the same,” I said softly, tilting my head. “But some people age like milk.”

A flicker passed his eyes. Good. Felt like I’d landed the first slap without even lifting a finger.

“You still don’t hold back, do you?”

“Believe it or not,” I shrugged, “this is me holding back. You should thank your stars.”

His eyes scanned my coat badge.
“Forensic psychologist now? That’s... new.”

“Well, some of us grow. The rest just grow grey hair and ego.”
I looked at Meera. “Temporary posting, I assume?”

She hesitated. Of course she did. Kabir jumped in before she could answer.

“I’m assisting on the Vasant Kunj homicide case. Temporarily. But I guess we’ll be seeing a lot of each other.”

“Hmm.”
I pretended to note it mentally.
“Toh pepper spray carry karna shuru karna padega.”

He blinked.

“No hard feelings, I hope?”
His tone was too polite. Too fake.

I smiled—sweet, deadly.
“Of course not. I’m a psychologist, Kabir. I study toxic traits. Not collect them.”

That did it. His jaw tightened for just a second.

I turned away before he could reply. File khola. Gloves pehne. Back to work.

Let him watch. Let him burn in it.
I wasn’t the girl he once tried to cage. I was the damn storm he never saw coming.

__

I had barely stepped inside my apartment when my phone started vibrating like it had a personal vendetta against my peace.

Rhea Calling – 14 missed calls
Aarohi Texted – “Club. Now. No excuses.”
Rhea – “Uth ja meri sleeping beauty, party time hai. And yes, I’ll break your door if needed.”

What the hell is wrong with these women?

I stared at the screen like it was mocking me.

“Main forensic psychologist hoon, crime solve karti hoon. Logon ka dimaag padhti hoon. But I still don’t know why I made friends with these two pagals,” I muttered under my breath.

Another call.

This time from Rhea the Drama Queen, who went straight to yelling mode the second I picked up.

“Siaaaa! You’re ignoring me?! I will come there and drag you out in your chaddi if I have to!”

I blinked. “You’re drunk already, aren’t you?”

“Just emotionally unstable,” she sniffled. “Aarohi ne mujhe shots pilaye. Now get dressed or I swear to, I’ll call your mom and tell her you're depressed.”

Pause.

“YOU WOULDN’T.”

“I WOULD.”

I sighed like the tragic heroine I never asked to be. “Fine. But if I die from social interaction, put ‘Rhea ki stupidity ki bali chadh gayi’ on my gravestone.”

Ten minutes later, I stood in front of the mirror in dark blue jeans and an off-shoulder black top, neck bare except for a thin chain that shimmered like quiet danger. Makeup minimal, eyeliner deadly. Hair pulled into a sleek ponytail.

I didn’t dress to impress. I dressed to murder… in style.

As soon as I stepped into the club, the air changed—dark, loud, heady. Bass thumped like a second heartbeat, and alcohol clouded the air like perfume.

“SIAAAAAA!” Rhea's scream pierced through the noise. She launched herself at me like a missile of glitter and chaos. “Oh my God, you look so hot I want to punch you in the face.”

I smirked. “That’s not how compliments work, Rhea.”

“But it’s how my feelings work,” she pouted, swaying slightly.

Aarohi appeared behind her, looking like the devil’s personal assistant in heels. “Told you she’d come.”

“You both need therapy,” I deadpanned. “And by that, I mean deep, long-term psychological intervention.”

“Main hoon na, doctor,” Rhea giggled, hugging me again. “Tu nahi aati na toh main tere ghar ke bahar tamasha karti.”

“Tum dono drama queen ho. Ek award le lo. Tohfa kabool karo,” I said, raising my hands like I was blessing them with imaginary Filmfare awards.

They laughed. I rolled my eyes and was about to walk to the bar when I froze.

Because standing there…

In a white shirt with the top two buttons undone, sleeves rolled, one hand in his pocket like he owned the place—

Was a man I had never seen before.

But he looked like sin. Like a midnight crime.

And for the briefest second, his eyes—cold and unreadable—locked with mine.

And in that moment, I didn't flinch. I didn't blink.

I just stared back.

And walked away.

Like he was nothing.

Like he didn’t matter.

Like I didn’t just feel something shift in the air.

---

"Hey."

I didn’t even need to look up.

That voice—smooth, smug, and scented with too much polished ego—could only belong to one man.

Kabir Sen.

I sighed inwardly and turned, my expression carefully blank.

"Hi."

He grinned like I owed him something. "You showed up."

"Apparently," I muttered, brushing a curl away from my face. "Rhea can be very persistent when she’s drunk."

Kabir slid into the seat beside me, casual, relaxed, leaning back like we were catching up on old times I didn’t even remember having.

"Still hate clubs?"

"Still hate small talk more."

He laughed. "Some things don’t change."

I didn’t reply.

Because something else had changed.

The air.

It thickened.

Subtly. Quietly.

Like a storm had stepped into the room.

I felt it before I saw it.

That weight. That burn. That gaze.

Someone was watching me.

Not in the sleazy, harmless way that usually followed me into crowded rooms. No.

This was... colder. Sharper. Like a knife grazing the base of my spine.

I turned my head slightly—just enough to catch the man in the corner booth. White shirt, collar open. Face like carved stone. Stillness like a loaded gun.

His eyes were locked on me.

Unmoving. Intense. Unapologetic.

And he didn’t look away when I caught him.

He held it.

Like he had every right to.

I blinked once. Straightened my spine. And turned back to Kabir.

“Still as creepy as ever,” I muttered under my breath.

"Huh?"

"Nothing," I said smoothly, sipping my drink.

Kabir was rambling again, something about the last time we met at Meera’s house. But I barely heard him.

Because whoever that man was—he hadn’t looked away.

And I didn’t know his name.
Didn’t know his story.
Didn’t know what kind of man sat like that — like he owned the fucking world.

But I knew this much:

He wasn’t harmless.

And the worst part?

Neither was I.

Kabir leaned in, voice dropping an octave like it meant something.

“Dance with me?”

I looked at him.

Really looked.

Expensive cologne. Fake charm. Familiar desperation, all neatly packaged in a tailored suit. God, how did I ever tolerate this man?

I set my drink down, slow and steady.

And then smiled—just a little.

“No.”

He blinked. “No?”

I leaned closer, my tone sweet as cyanide.
“You’re not the kind of noise I want tonight.”

And before he could blink again, I turned.

My eyes met his.

Still there. Still watching. Still burning holes through my spine.

The man in white.

I didn’t know his name.

Didn’t need to.

I just walked up to him, slow and unapologetic, heels clicking like a countdown.

He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. Just watched me close the distance like I was gravity.

I stopped at his table.

Tilted my head.

"You're either going to keep staring or come dance with me."

A beat passed.

His eyes flicked down, once. Back up. Sharp. Calculating.

And then he stood.

Silent. Tall. Dangerous.

He didn’t say a word.

Didn’t need to.

He just took my hand.

And I swear…

The room went quiet again.

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             𝐀𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍'𝐒 𝐏𝐎𝐕:

"You're either going to keep staring or come dance with me."

That voice.

Steady. Sharp. Like a fucking blade wrapped in velvet.

I looked up.

And there she was.

Black off-shoulder top, jeans that clung in all the right places, silver chain sitting against her throat like it belonged to no one. Her eyes were locked on mine—no fluttering lashes, no shy smile. Just a dare.

"You sure?" I asked, voice low. "You don’t even know me."

She raised a brow, smirking. “If I waited to know men before rejecting them, I'd be permanently exhausted.”

I choked on a laugh.

Reyansh muttered, “Bhai, tu gaya.”

Kabir stood stiff behind her, trying to act unaffected. He was very affected.

I stood.

Didn’t say another word.

Just took her hand.

Cold fingers. Warm fire.

We reached the dance floor. The lights dimmed. The beat slowed into something intimate—taunting almost. Ed Sheeran's voice wrapped around us like a spell.

"Baby, I’m dancing in the dark… with you between my arms…"

She placed one hand lightly on my shoulder, the other still in mine. No closeness. No softness.

Just control.

“You planning to keep staring, or do you know how to move?” she asked, lips quirking.

I stepped closer. “I thought I was leading.”

She tilted her head. “Cute. But I don’t follow.”

I chuckled. “What’s your name?”

“You first.”

“Aaryan.”

No last name. No title.

She didn’t need it.

She arched a brow. “That explains the ego.”

“And yours?”

She leaned in slightly, her breath ghosting against my cheek. “Sia.”

Sia.

Like the calm before a goddamn storm.

I repeated it in my mind like a secret I’d just stolen.

As we moved, her eyes searched mine—not like she was looking for connection. No. She was reading me. Like I was just another file she’d dissect, label, and close.

“You always this intense?” she asked, pulling back half a step, her tone casual.

“Only when the person across from me is interesting.”

“Oh?” Her voice dropped, mocking. “Flirting already? We just met.”

“I don’t flirt.”

She smirked, spinning away. “You should try it sometime. Might make you less scary.”

I caught her hand as she turned back.

Held it.

Just a second too long.

She didn’t pull away.

She just looked up, eyes like storms wrapped in silence.

God.

This Lady.

Untouchable. Unshaken. Unfazed.

And I was already unraveling.

We moved in sync, slow and sharp like a chess game disguised as a dance. Every step she took pulled me in deeper. Her eyes didn’t flicker. Her smirk didn’t waver.

And then—
She stepped closer.

Too close.

One soft sway and her face was just inches from mine. The music melted into the background, the crowd fading into smoke.

She leaned in like she was going to whisper something.

And maybe she was.

But then—
Her lips brushed against mine.

Barely.

A ghost of a touch.
Not even a kiss.
But fuck, it hit like lightning.

My body froze.

Everything inside me short-circuited. Like someone pulled the wires out and threw the switchboard in water.

She didn’t flinch.
Didn’t react.
Just leaned back slowly.

That smirk?

Still there.

And then she tilted her head and whispered with a grin that could end bloodlines—

“Aww. Froze? It’s okay. First time sab thoda weak pad jaate hain. Second time, try not to stop breathing.”

She winked.

WINKED.

And just like that—
She turned around.

Walked off the dance floor like she hadn't just shattered Aaryan  Verma’s fucking  entire operating system in five seconds flat.

I stood there, still. Still holding air in my lungs. Still feeling that barely-there touch on my mouth.

She didn't just walk away.
She won.

And me?

I was already thinking about that second time.

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Enjoyed!!??🔥
This chapter was pretty long like almost 2540 words.🍂

BYEEEEE
With love🧿
RITIKA