Until You Hate Me

They say love can survive anything. But what they never tell you is that even obsession can survive anything. So can hate. And sometimes, that’s worse.

It had been twenty-nine days since Aryan said the words.
“I love you, Aanya.” He didn’t mean them. But Aanya didn’t mind. She simply smiled. That serene, eerie smile that used to make his heart flutter—now it made his skin crawl.

She moved in without asking as if she belonged there. As if she had always belonged. Her toothbrush was next to his. Her books are on his shelves. Her scent on his pillow.

She made him breakfast every morning. Ran him warm baths. Kissed his temple like a devoted lover. And wore nothing but that crimson silk robe, just loose enough to drive him mad.

Not out of desire. But because she knew he still remembered how she looked in it… The night she came back stained in blood.

At first, he played the part. Held her hand. Kissed her shoulder. Pretended.

But inside, something was rotting. He could feel it—under his ribs, in his throat. A slow, choking bitterness. Because every time she touched him, he remembered the people who were gone.

Everyone she erased.

One night, while she hummed in the kitchen, he messaged an old friend. A name she wouldn’t recognize. Just one message.

Three days later, that friend was found dead.

A slip in the bathtub, they said. No sign of struggle. No fingerprints. Just a call log and a wine glass with lipstick. Aanya’s lipstick.

The very next moment, she squatted down on him, as usual, soft and slow, like nothing’s changed at all since yesterday.

“Aryan,“… she faintly whispered to him at the cusp of his ear, “you are mine now. There’s no one else.“

He didn’t speak. Couldn’t. Not while her breath was still warm on his skin. But in his mind, something broke.

He began watching her closely. The way she once watched him.

He studied the flick of her wrist when she stirred tea. The rhythm of her footsteps in the dark. The tilt of her head when she lied.

He learned her. And then… he started planning. It began with small things. A hidden camera. A planted phone. A conversation recorded in whispers.

But it wasn’t enough. So he did something darker. Something final.

One night, while she slept with her hand curled against his chest like she trusted him, he used her fingerprints. And sent everything. Every message. Every voice recording. Every sick, buried secret.

To the families. To the police. To the world.

When she woke, he was already gone. The apartment was cold. She knew. And for the first time since it all began, Aanya cried.

Not because she was afraid. But because she had trusted him. Because she loved him. And now… she couldn’t anymore.

They met again months later. A brief encounter in a quiet café neither of them had ever planned to return to.

She looked different. Distant. Guarded.

He smiled. Apologized. Offered his hand.

“I never stopped thinking about you…” Aryan said softly.

She met his gaze, expression unreadable.

“But I did.” Aanya whispered.

And walked away.

Now he dreams of her. Of the girl who destroyed the world for him.

The woman he destroyed in return.

Now he wants her—her laugh, her chaos, her love, her hate.

But she doesn’t want him.

Not anymore. Not after what he did!

[Wait for the last part… To be continued]