Trapped in an Obsession Web.

The room was cloaked in darkness, save for the faint glow of moonlight that seeped through a crack in the heavy curtains.

It illuminated the silhouette of a young man sitting at the edge of the bed, his broad shoulders hunched, his body drenched in sweat. The room felt stifling, suffused with an air of suffocating tension.

He sat there, motionless except for the subtle rise and fall of his chest. His breathing was ragged, uneven, as if each inhale was a struggle.

Beads of sweat trickled down his forehead, dampening the dark strands of his disheveled hair.

One of his hands clawed at his scalp, tugging at his hair in frustration or torment, while the other clutched a small, battered recording device.

The device crackled faintly, emitting a distorted loop of a female voice.

"I... love... you... Varun..."

The words were disjointed, unnatural. If one listened closely, it became clear the message wasn't genuine-it was pieced together.

Fragments of different sentences, different tones, stitched together into a haunting declaration. The uneven pauses, the shifts in pitch, and the slight crackle of static betrayed the truth of its origin.

But He didn't care.

His lips trembled as he brought the recorder closer to his ear, his eyes wide and unfocused, staring into the void. He replayed the tape again.

"I... love... you... Varun..."

The words echoed in the stillness of the room, filling it with an eerie sense of longing and madness.

"I love you too...." he whispered back, his voice hoarse and trembling. There was a rawness to his tone, a desperate need that bordered on obsession. It wasn't just a response-it was a conversation in his mind, one he believed she was having with him.

His grip on the recorder tightened, his knuckles turning white. He shut his eyes, his breathing hitching as he imagined her sitting beside him. Her face, her eyes, her smile-they haunted him day and night. It was like she was everywhere, inescapable, and yet so far out of reach.

"You don't understand." he murmured, his voice breaking. "You're supposed to be mine. Only mine."

The loop played again.

"I... love... you... Varun..."

The words filled him with a bittersweet ache. He replayed them over and over, his thumb pressing the worn-out button mechanically. Each repetition was both a comfort and a torment.

The room around him was a reflection of his chaos. The bed was unmade, the sheets tangled and damp with sweat.

The floor was littered with papers, photographs, and scattered objects.

On the wall opposite the bed, a small bulletin board was plastered with pictures of Her-some candid, some from a distance, all taken without her knowledge.

Strings and notes connected them, forming a map of his obsession.

The sound of the recording shifted slightly, the distortion growing worse. The voice cracked, a reminder of its unnatural origin.

His eyes snapped open, and a flicker of anger crossed his face. He slammed the recorder down on the bedside table, his hand shaking.

"Why can't you just say it to me, why?" he hissed, his voice low but filled with frustration. "Why can't you just see me?"

He leaned forward, burying his face in his hands. His entire body shook, consumed by the overwhelming tide of his emotions.

Anger, longing, despair-they all warred within him, tearing him apart from the inside.

The recorder played on, a haunting lullaby of his own making.

"I... love... you... Varun..."

And in the suffocating darkness of the room, Varun whispered back once more,

"I love you too...."

But his words held no comfort. Only the deafening silence of his unreciprocated obsession answered him.

A soft knock echoed through the oppressive silence of the room, breaking the endless loop of the recorder.

The door creaked open slowly, and woman stepped in, a tray of food in her hands. Behind her, a maid and a guard stood hesitantly, exchanging uneasy glances.

They seemed reluctant to enter, their postures stiff with caution.

She moved toward him cautiously, her heart sinking with every step. The dim moonlight illuminated the room, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls.

As she drew closer, the sight before her made her heart ache-just as it always did.

There he was, sitting at the edge of the bed, his broad frame hunched forward as if carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

His dark, unruly hair clung to his damp forehead, and his piercing blue eyes seemed lost, hollow, but dangerous all the same.

The tray in her hands trembled slightly as she tried to mask the overwhelming helplessness she felt.

"Son." she began softly, her voice tinged with desperation. "You need to eat."

He froze for a moment, his hand hovering over the recorder.

Slowly, he pressed the stop button, silencing the distorted voice that had been his only solace. He turned his head toward her, his expression unreadable.

His blue eyes, usually so mesmerizing, were darkened with an intensity that made her breath catch.

They held a storm of emotions-anger, longing, and something far more dangerous. She swallowed hard, her fingers tightening around the tray.

"Leave it there." he said, his voice low and edged with steel.

She nodded quickly, placing the tray on the small table by the bed.

Her eyes flickered across the mess in the room-papers, photographs, and most notably, the pictures of A young beautiful girl pinned on the wall, staring back at her with innocent, oblivious eyes.

Her chest tightened. That poor girl... she had no idea how deeply she had affected her son, no idea the lengths he had gone to just to keep her in his life-even from a distance.

"S-son." she tried again, her voice trembling. "Please, you can't keep doing this. It's been five years-"

"Leave me be." Varun interrupted, his tone sharp and final.

The sudden harshness of his voice sent a shiver through the room.

The maid and guard standing by the door visibly flinched, exchanging nervous looks. Even his mother, who had seen her son in his darkest moments, felt a flicker of fear.

Varun Sengar was not a man who shouted or threw tantrums.

His quiet, restrained demeanor made his anger all the more terrifying. He was a man who rarely raised his voice but whose silence could fill a room with dread.

"Son..." she whispered, her voice barely audible.

He turned his gaze back to the wall, his jaw tightening as he ignored her plea. The room felt heavy with unspoken words and suppressed emotions.

Varun wasn't just dangerous-he was ruthless. A Quiet One.

Years ago, his father had sent him into the underworld to make his own way, and Varun had carved a path with blood, war, control and fire.

Now, as a warlord with connections that spanned continents, he commanded fear and respect in equal measure.

The internet was rife with whispers about the Sengar family's ties to the mafia, but Varun remained a shadow-his life carefully guarded, his secrets buried deep.

Despite his reputation, there was no denying his allure.

Varun was strikingly handsome for a 21 years old, the kind of man who could make women swoon with a single glance.

His sharp jawline, piercing eyes, and towering frame gave him an almost otherworldly presence. Women practically threw themselves at him, but none of them mattered. Not a single one.

All he wanted was Her.

He had sacrificed so much-time, resources, and his own sanity-just to keep her within his sight.

To him, she was more than an obsession; she was the one thing in his chaotic life that felt pure and untouched. And he would do anything, anything, to ensure she remained his.

His mother's eyes welled with tears as she watched him retreat further into his dark thoughts.

She wanted to reach out to him, to pull him back from the brink, but she knew it was futile.

She had tried everything-reasoning, pleading, even sternness-but nothing could break the hold she had on him since they were teenagers.

She stepped back slowly, her hands trembling. "Please, Varun." she said softly, her voice breaking. "Don't let this continue to destroy you."

But he didn't respond. He didn't even look at her. His focus remained on the pictures, the memories, the recordings.

Defeated, she turned and gestured for the maid and guard to follow her. As the door clicked shut behind them, Varun leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands running through his damp hair.

In the stillness of the room, the recorder crackled to life again.

"I... love... you... Varun..."

And once more, he whispered into the darkness. "I love you too."