Until You Love Me

I don’t know how it started… or maybe it was always there, hiding under the surface. But for Aanya, love was never just a feeling. It was something she became.

Aanya was never the loud, expressive type. She didn’t need any dramatic manifestation, or long protracted confession. She loved in quiet ways, her love for him was in the way she remembered his coffee order, how she saved the last piece of his favorite chocolate, how she listened minutely even when he had nothing important to say.

And Aryan? He never really saw it coming.

Maybe that was his mistake.

She thought he felt the same. The way he’d brush a stray strand of hair from her face. The way he’d wait for her outside her classes even when she never asked him to. The way he told her things he never told anyone else.

So one evening, under the soft glow of streetlights, she told him. Three simple words.

“I love you, Aryan.“

And then—silence.

A small, almost guilty smile. A slow exhale. And finally—

“I don’t feel the same way, Aanya. I am sorry.“

Something inside her cracked.

With a smile, she nodded and turned away. Hours passed that night as she sat before the glass, tracing the shape of a girl she did not recognize anymore. Memories started replaying in her mind, every moment between them skewed and distorted, until the truth became an unbearable burden.

He loved others. Not me. But others.

And suddenly, the answer was clear.

It started with whispers—soft, unshaken words that Aanya repeated like a prayer.

“Say it, Aryan.“

And then, one by one, the people around Aryan began to vanish.

It felt like a coincidence, at first. A girl he used to talk to in college—missing. Then, a close friend—found dead under circumstances no one could explain. And then another.

Aanya never spoke about it. She never even acknowledged the growing horror around them. But she didn’t need to. Aryan knew.

It was in the way she looked at him. The eerie calm that never left her face. The way she held his gaze just a little too long whenever another body was found.

And worst of all?

She was always there.

Every time he heard the news. Every time he got the call. Every time he sat in silent shock, trying to make sense of it, Aanya was beside him, watching. Waiting.

She had never been violent before. Never even raised her voice. And yet, now—the world around him was crumbling, and she was the only thing left standing.

He started having nightmares. Visions of blood on her own hands, her soft voice whispering his name as someone else screamed.

One night, he saw with his own eyes.

Aanya stood in the dim light of his apartment, her clothes soaked in something dark, something red. Her fingers trembling—but not with fear. With relief.

“It’s done!“ she said, tilting her head, watching him closely.

His throat went dry, “What do you mean? What’s done?“

Her lips twined into the softest, sweetest smile.

“There’s no one left, Aryan. Just us.“

His breath hitched. His heart pounded. It was real. It was all real.

He stumbled back, his mind racing. She had killed them all—every single one.

For him.

And yet—she was still waiting.

Waiting for him to say it.

Waiting for him to choose.

And in that moment, Aryan realized—he had none left. No one else to turn to. No one else to save him.

Just Aanya.