My Soulmate

My Soulmate – Chapter 2: When Your Dream Guy Chases Back – I dreamed of him for years—until he stepped out of my fantasies and into reality, furious and far too real.

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My Soulmate, – Blurb: What happens when your dream love collides with reality?
My Soulmate – Chapter 1: The Man in My Dreams. He was never supposed to have a face. Now, I can’t forget it.
My Soulmate – Chapter 2: When Your Dream Guy Chases You Back and Love Finds a Face

My Soulmate – Chapter 2: When Your Dream Guy Chases You Back and Love Finds a Face

Before you start reading this, I hope you have read CHAPTER 1.

My Soulmate – Chapter 1: The Man in My Dreams. He was never supposed to have a face. Now, I can’t forget it.

Mihika

“What’s with the gloomy face? And why didn’t you at least try to cover up those dark circles?” Nicky’s voice carried the usual exasperation, her sharp gaze scanning my face like a detective searching for evidence of sleep deprivation.

“I did. But it wasn’t working, so I washed it off.” I said, my tone defensive. “It felt as if I had I shot her a flat look. “I did. It wasn’t working, so I washed it off.” Crossing my arms, I leaned back against the chair. “It felt like I’d smeared my face with layers of cement. You know I hate fake. This is me—the real me. You wanted me here, and here I am. Is this why you called me in a panic? Begged me to ‘save you’ by wearing this ridiculous dress you gifted me last year?” I gestured at the form-fitting outfit, the silky fabric feeling foreign against my skin. “I swear, I’m an idiot for letting you trick me into these things every single time.”

Nicky rolled her eyes, flipping her hair over her shoulder with a practiced ease that only she could pull off. “And what else would you have worn? Don’t say pajamas.”

I fidgeted, my fingers playing with the hem of my dress. “Pajamas are comfortable,” I muttered, knowing full well she wouldn’t approve. “Do you expect me to paint in nice clothes? My entire wardrobe is designed for functionality. If I ruin something with paint, at least I won’t care.”

She groaned, dramatically dragging a hand down her face. “I just wanted you to put in a little effort. That’s all. And honestly? Aside from your slightly dull face, you clean up pretty well. You’ve got a nice package.”

I scoffed. “No, I don’t. My hips are too big. But whatever. That’s not why we’re here.” I leveled her with a pointed stare. “Nicky, why am I here?”

She flashed me an innocent smile, which immediately made me suspicious. “Because you’re my best friend, and you’re fulfilling your duties by keeping me company. Isn’t that great? I’d say you deserve a medal.”

I narrowed my eyes. “You dragged me here for something, and I’m going to find out what it is.”

Nicky sighed, finally relenting. “Fine. I needed an excuse to get an interview with this guy, and my boss would quite literally skin me alive if I didn’t land it. He doesn’t do sit-downs with journalists—especially not young ones like me. I had to make it look casual, like I wasn’t desperate.” She paused, then grinned. “And that’s where you come in. You make it look less… staged.”

I blinked at her. “You dragged me into your elaborate journalist scheme… so you wouldn’t look desperate?”

She nodded, completely unapologetic.

I let out a slow breath, rubbing my temples. “You do realize this is the exact definition of desperate, right?”

Nicky waved a dismissive hand. “Details, details. The point is, I needed moral support. And since you only have one friend—me, obviously—you had to say yes.”

I raised an eyebrow. “What about Masha and Garima?”

“What about them?”

“They’re my friends too. You’re not the only one.”

Nicky scoffed. “Sure, they’re friends, but I’m your best friend. The only one who actively drags you out of your cave and makes sure you engage with the outside world. And let’s be honest, you need that.” She leaned in, smirking. “If it weren’t for me, you’d have fully transitioned into a reclusive old lady, living in a house full of canvases and talking to your paintbrushes.”

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. “I like my solitude. It’s peaceful.”

“Yeah, yeah,” she said, waving me off again. “But peace is overrated. What you need is a little chaos.”

I wasn’t sure about that. But I was sure of one thing—I’d let Nicky talk me into yet another ridiculous situation, and knowing her, this was only the beginning.

“Masha and Garima are my friends,” I said firmly, though it felt more like I was trying to convince myself than her.

Nicky arched a perfectly shaped eyebrow, her expression an exaggerated boo, don’t lie look. I quickly glanced away, scanning the room instead. The party was already pressing in on me, the air thick with chatter, laughter, and the underlying hum of bass-heavy music. I hated parties. People moved too close, their voices overlapping, their presence like invisible tendrils creeping toward me, invading my space. I felt them crawling on me—infesting me.

I dragged my gaze over the crowd, mentally counting bodies as a way to ground myself. The dance floor was alive with movement, a handful of couples swaying in dim lighting. But the real action was in the clusters of people scattered across the room—talking, networking, making business deals between sips of expensive liquor. The kind of scene that made my skin itch.

“Oh, pray tell,” Nicky’s voice cut through my thoughts, “when was the last time you even saw them?” Her lips curled into a knowing smirk. “And let’s be real, your so-called ‘privacy’ just means locking yourself in that house of yours. As long as I’m alive, I’m not letting that happen.”

I rolled my eyes, but my hands betrayed me, trembling slightly as I hugged myself. “I don’t need to meet them every day,” I muttered, shifting uncomfortably. “I have work. You know how I get when I start a new project—I need time to focus.” I exhaled, my shoulders tensing as I glared at her. “And thanks to you, this one is going to be impossible to get back into. Now that you’ve dragged me here, it’ll take me hours to relax once I get home. You know the drill. And yet, you keep doing this.”

Nicky let out a dramatic sigh, shaking her head as if I was a lost cause. “Mihika, you cannot lock yourself away like some reclusive artist. That’s not happening. You need to be around people. We’re not that bad, you know. Sure, we’re a little selfish sometimes, but we love you.”

“I meet you for lunch or dinner all the time,” I pointed out, my tone edging toward frustration. “But you know I hate crowds.”

Why was I explaining myself? It wasn’t like I owed her an answer. So what if I preferred my own company? There was nothing wrong with that. I wasn’t a complete shut-in. I went to the library every Friday, spending two blissful hours lost in books, soaking in the quiet. The librarian always told me I could take them home, but I never did. I liked the stillness of the place. It helped me unwind. Then every Tuesday, I went grocery shopping and picked up whatever supplies I needed for my projects. Twice a week—I left the house twice a week. That was enough.

Nicky was still staring, eyes narrowed in that calculating way of hers. I sighed. That look meant she wasn’t buying a word of what I was saying. Too bad. I didn’t care.

Rubbing the back of my neck, I tried again. “What exactly are we doing here?”

She grinned, victorious. “I told you. I need a personal interview with this guy, and this is his party.”

I frowned. “Okay… but why am I here?”

Nicky looped her arm through mine, all sweet and charming, like she wasn’t actively ruining my night. “Because you’re my best friend, and best friends support each other. It’s your job to be here for me.” She tossed me a mischievous look. “Besides, this is how you’re going to meet someone.”

My entire body froze.

I turned to her, my voice a low, horrified whisper. “Nicky…”

She knew. She knew I couldn’t be with anyone. That I wouldn’t even know where to begin with dating. The idea of small talk, forced chemistry, the pressure of expectations—it was all too much.

But Nicky? Nicky had never been one to take no for an answer.

My dream guy stood before me, his sharp gaze pinning me in place. He wasn’t really there—I knew that. But for a fleeting moment, it felt too real, as if he had stepped out of my subconscious and into this crowded, suffocating room. His expression was unreadable, but his eyes… they held disappointment.

You should be at home. His silent judgment echoed through me. Waiting for me.

It wasn’t as if I was cheating, yet guilt wrapped around my chest, squeezing. He was late. He was taking longer than expected, but I was supposed to wait, wasn’t I? His presence flickered—there one second, gone the next—leaving behind an eerie emptiness, as if I had just lost something.

Damn. I needed to separate my dreams from reality. He was just a dream. He had to stay in my dreams. I couldn’t let him spill into my real world, twisting it into something unrecognizable.

Nicky’s voice snapped me out of it. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” My response was too quick, too stiff. A dead giveaway.

She crossed her arms, one hip jutting out as she studied me like a detective sniffing out a lie. “Tell me.”

I exhaled, knowing resistance was pointless. “You know the dreams I have… the guy…”

“That creepy,” she interjected before I could finish.

I shot her a glare, lips pressed into a tight line.

She huffed, clearly unimpressed. “You not finding it creepy makes it creepier. Come on, Mihika. Seeing the same dream for five years? That’s not normal. That’s some horror movie-level sh*t. You should be terrified. It’s scarier than seeing a ghost.”

I frowned. “What has the dream ever done to me?”

“Oh, let’s see… made you a loner for starters,” she said, waving her hands in exasperation. “You don’t even feel lonely anymore because of him. That’s not normal, Mihi. People need human interaction. They go mad without it. But you? You’re perfectly fine being alone. Because of him.”

She wasn’t wrong. That was the problem. I had never felt restless the way others did. That aching need for company, for connection—it just didn’t exist in me. Because I already had someone.

Not real. Not real, I reminded myself.

I looked away, my gaze drifting to the people around us. Conversations hummed, laughter flitted through the air, and yet here we were, locked in this argument that felt heavier than it should.

A waiter passed by, carrying a tray of drinks, and Nicky, never one to turn down free booze, snagged two glasses of bubbly. She handed me one, and I took a cautious sip. Strong. A little too strong. Alcohol wasn’t my thing, but with Nicky around, I had learned to tolerate it.

“What is this?” I asked, examining the golden liquid.

She took a dramatic sip, swirling it in her mouth like a connoisseur before grinning. “Expensive champagne, I guess. Even the drink screams money. These rich guys get everything handed to them on a silver platter.”

I smirked. “No one gets it easy. Everyone pays for their karma.”

“Yeah, yeah. Philosophical as always.” She leaned in, lowering her voice. “But seriously, you need to stop with the dream thing.”

“As if it’s in my control.” I let out a breath, shaking my head. “But don’t worry. It’s harmless.”

She snorted. “Harmless? Babe, you’ve been seeing a complete stranger in your dreams for five years. That is a high level of creepy if you ask me. I told you to see a psychiatrist. He could give you meds or something, make it stop.”

I stiffened. The thought of someone messing with my mind, dulling the connection I had with him—it made my skin crawl.

“No,” I said, firmer this time. “I know it’s not bad.”

Nicky let out a loud, theatrical groan, tossing her head back like I was testing the last shred of her patience. “You say that, but one day, you’re gonna wake up, and he’ll be standing over your bed, real as hell. And then what?”

I didn’t answer.

Because deep down, I wasn’t sure if that thought scared me… or if it was exactly what I was waiting for.

“It’s simply nonsense.” Her voice rose above the party’s hum, a little too loud, drawing a few curious glances. “There are billions of people in this world, Mihika. Yet here you are, clinging to some imaginary guy who only exists when you close your eyes.”

I swallowed the urge to snap. She didn’t get it—how could she? “It’s not nonsense. Just because you don’t understand it doesn’t make it irrelevant.” I took a breath, trying to soften the edge in my voice. “And what if I saw a psychiatrist? What about the drowsiness? I can’t afford to be hazy, Nicky. I’m a painter—I need to be in my senses.”

“Fine, then see a tarot reader. Or a… dream reader, or whatever they call themselves.” She waved a hand in the air, her tone suddenly thoughtful. Her fingers curled tighter around her champagne flute as if the bubbles had given her some grand epiphany.

I snorted softly, taking a slow sip from my own glass. The drink was smooth, expensive—a taste of a world that had nothing to do with me. “There’s no such thing as a dream reader.”

“There is,” she insisted, her lips curving in that smug, know-it-all smile.

“Well, I don’t need one anymore,” I said, a little too fast, my voice sharper than intended.

Her brows lifted, interest piqued. “What do you mean?”

“I told you last week—I saw his face.” My stomach twisted at the memory. The way his features had sharpened into focus after years of blurs and shadows. “That was the last time I dreamed of him. He… vanished after that.”

“Vanished?” Her tone softened, but curiosity still edged her words.

I nodded, forcing a casual shrug I didn’t feel. “Yep. Seven days—dream-free. You should be thrilled. Go ahead, celebrate. Find some hot guy, drag him to the dance floor, and shake your ass. Isn’t that what you wanted?” I tried to sound playful, but the lump rising in my throat made the last words tremble. My fingers tightened around my glass as I tipped it back, swallowing the rest in one burning gulp. It stung, but at least it distracted me from the ache beneath my ribs.

“Oh, Mihi…” Her voice softened with something that suspiciously sounded like pity, and I hated it. “I’m sorry, but… maybe it’s for the best. That dream guy? He was never going to be real. And life—it’s about the real world. Not fantasies that can’t touch you back.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head. “You’re wrong. He wasn’t creepy, Nicky. He never hurt me. He just… he made me feel loved. Safe. Like I belonged somewhere, even if I didn’t know where that was.” My voice grew quieter, the words twisting into a knot in my chest.

Nicky sighed, running a hand through her sleek hair. “You’re too deep in this,” she muttered, finishing her drink in one long pull. Without missing a beat, she placed the empty glass behind her and snatched a plate of starters from a passing waiter.

I took a bite of a delicate crepe, the buttery richness doing little to ease the tightness in my throat. The waiter lingered, his gaze flicking toward Nicky as if debating whether to step in and save me from her lecture. I ignored him and reached for another piece. When life handed you judgmental friends and too-strong champagne, at least you could count on the food.

“So, what now? You’re just… done?” she asked through a mouthful of whatever fancy appetizer she had grabbed.

I forced a smile that felt like it might crack. “Yep. He’s gone. No more dream guy, no more weirdness. Your nightmare is over—congratulations.”

“You say that, but you’re gonna miss it,” she said, chewing thoughtfully. “Only you could romanticize having tea with a guy who doesn’t even exist.” She rolled her eyes and grabbed another bite. “You need to get back to reality, Mihi. Join Tinder. Go on dates. I’d even let you double-date with me—imagine the fun.”

“Fun,” I echoed, dry and hollow. She didn’t get it. How could she?

Because my dream guy—he wasn’t just a fantasy. He was mine.

When he had looked at me, it wasn’t some casual glance. It was ownership, raw and unyielding. His gaze had stripped me bare, letting me see myself through his eyes—his. Not borrowed, not temporary. His. And somehow, it had never felt suffocating. It had felt… right.

But now he was gone. And the ache of his absence was louder than anything in this crowded room.

I wished I could draw him. God knows I tried. But no matter how many times I sat in front of a blank canvas, sketching furiously, his face refused to come together. It was like trying to catch smoke with my bare hands—impossible. I could picture fragments in perfect detail—the way his lips curved, full and firm, the sharp cut of his jawline that hinted at quiet dominance, and the tousled strands of hair that always fell across his forehead, just begging to be brushed back. But his whole face? That remained elusive, slipping through my memory the moment I tried to hold onto it.

And yet, his absence gnawed at me, a dull ache I couldn’t shake. It was ridiculous. How could someone who only existed in my dreams leave such a deep mark on me? But he did. Some people walk into your life and turn it upside down without even being real. He was that guy—whether I liked it or not.

“Can we stop talking about him?” I huffed, swirling the last of the champagne in my glass. “News flash—he hasn’t shown up in a week. I guess fate decided to hand him over to some other lonely girl. My only regret? Not sketching him while I had the chance. Damn, I should’ve done it that morning. But nooo—Mother Nature had other plans, and it was pouring so hard I couldn’t even get into the mood. And now? Poof. Opportunity gone.”

Nicky snorted, unimpressed. “I have one word for you—psychiatrist.” She lifted her hand dramatically as if she were making some grand proclamation. Then, just as quickly, her expression shifted, her eyes widening with sudden excitement. “Oh my God—he came.”

I blinked, confused. “Who came?”

“Vihaan Kapoor! Weren’t you even listening? We’re literally here for his interview,” she hissed, tossing me an incredulous look like I’d missed the gossip of the century. “I need to figure out how to get a one-on-one with him before anyone else does.”

I raised an eyebrow, still not entirely sure why I should care. “And… who exactly is Vihaan Kapoor?”

Nicky nearly dropped her plate of cheese balls. “You cannot be serious.” She stared at me like I’d committed a cardinal sin. “Vihaan Kapoor. The Vihaan Kapoor. Billionaire, media darling, and every woman’s dream come true? You need to read more, Mihi. Honestly, I don’t know how we’re still best friends.”

I bit back a smile, enjoying her outrage more than I should. “You hate me every other day,” I teased, plucking another crepe from the passing waiter’s tray. “But then you text me about how much you love me. I’m okay with this toxic cycle of ours.”

“I really should stop doing that,” she grumbled, though the corner of her mouth twitched.

“And I should stop baking your favorite banana bread and cinnamon rolls. What a shame.”

“Don’t you dare.” Her glare softened instantly, her priorities crystal clear.

“Glad we settled that.” I popped the last bite of the crepe into my mouth and chewed slowly. “Now, back to Mr. Billionaire. What’s the big deal?”

Nicky sighed, as if my ignorance physically pained her, and leaned in like she was about to spill state secrets. “Born and raised in London. Only child of the late Mandeep Kapoor—you know, the guy who left India thirty years ago and built a global empire? Well, after his parents died in a freak accident five years ago, Vihaan decided to leave his fancy life behind and settle in India. Everyone’s losing their minds about it. Can you imagine what his billions could do for our economy if he invests here?”

I tilted my head, considering it. “Honestly? That sounds… admirable. We need more people like him who actually care about their roots. I don’t get why anyone would leave their country if there are opportunities here.”

“Because there are better opportunities elsewhere,” she shot back, always quick with a counterpoint.

“Hmm… or maybe people just don’t try hard enough here.”

Her eyes gleamed mischievously as she popped a cheese ball into her mouth. “Like you, for example.”

I rolled my eyes, already bracing for the lecture. “Okay, stop harassing me. I took the art project you wanted me to. What else do you want?”

“You need to arrange an exhibition for your paintings, Mihi. Seriously, you’re too talented to be hiding in that studio of yours. You deserve exposure.” She jabbed a finger toward me, as if sheer force would make me agree. “At least we’re making progress. You finally moved on from those creepy ghost-story drawings.”

I pressed my lips together, resisting the urge to snap back. What did she know? Those “creepy” drawings were the only thing that gave me peace when the rest of the world felt too loud, too fast, too… disconnected.

But she wouldn’t get it. And maybe, deep down, I didn’t want her to. Some things—like my dream guy—were better left unexplained.

“I need this interview,” Nicky said, her usual playful tone replaced by something far more serious. “Every journalist in this room is after the same thing. But I don’t want recycled sound bites. I want his real story—personal, raw, the parts he doesn’t toss out for public consumption. I just need to convince him to give me thirty minutes. That’s all.”

I tilted my head, watching the gears turn in her mind. When Nicky got like this, nothing—nothing—could derail her. “I’m sure he’d love that,” I said, trying to be encouraging. “He’s new in town. Maybe he needs the exposure.”

“You’re too sweet for your own good,” she huffed, grabbing another cheese ball. “These people? They don’t give away anything for free. It’s a trade game, and—ugh—I’ve got nothing he’d want.” She chewed thoughtfully, her eyes narrowing. “There has to be something…”

“Is there?” I asked, more to humor her than anything else.

“Hmm… well, rumor has it, he hates journalists.” She lowered her voice, leaning in like we were co-conspirators. “Someone trashed his father in the press a few years back—scandalous stuff. He sued the paper, had the article pulled, but the damage was done. And you know what they say—grudges are harder to kill than cockroaches.”

I laughed under my breath. “Finally, someone standing up to the bossy ones like you.”

She smirked. “Oh, please. Don’t worry about me—I always get what I want. That interview? It’s mine. I’m just biding my time.” Her gaze sharpened as she scanned the room. “And that’s why we’re standing here in this corner, looking cute but calculating. I’m studying him—waiting for an opening. But enough waiting. Let’s move.”

Before I could protest, Nicky grabbed my wrist and dragged me toward the crowd. The energy shifted as we got closer—a hum of curiosity and desire vibrating through the air. Whoever Vihaan Kapoor was, he had every eye in the room pinned on him. But for now, all I could see was a mass of bodies clustering around him, desperate for a moment of his attention.

And then, the crowd thinned—like the universe itself was parting the sea—and he stepped forward.

I stopped breathing.

My heart slammed against my ribs as our eyes locked across the room. No. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

The lightest shade of gray—stormy and sharp—eyes I knew too well. Eyes that had haunted me for years. My dream guy. Standing here. Flesh and blood.

His gaze darkened with recognition, his expression shifting from indifference to something else entirely—something too intense, too raw. He knew me. Just like I knew him.

I blinked hard, willing the illusion to shatter. This couldn’t be real. My dream guy stayed where he belonged—in my subconscious. He didn’t waltz into my waking life, messing with the fragile boundaries between fantasy and reality.

But there he was—walking straight toward me.

I couldn’t move. My body refused to listen, every muscle frozen in place as he closed the distance. And then—oh God—his hand lifted, his fingers brushing my cheek. Warm. Solid. Real.

A gasp escaped my lips as I jerked back, heart pounding so loud I swore the entire room could hear it. He wasn’t a hallucination. I wasn’t losing my mind. He was right here, touching me. And it shattered everything I thought I knew.

For years, he had been my secret. My escape. Untouchable, untainted by the messiness of reality. But now? Now, the rules of the real world applied, and whatever we had in those dreams—those stolen moments—was no longer safe.

And worse? He didn’t look happy to see me.

The softness I knew—the warmth in his eyes whenever he looked at me in my dreams—was gone. In its place was something cold, sharp-edged, and… angry. His scowl deepened when I pulled away from his touch, like my rejection was some kind of personal insult.

Nicky, blissfully unaware of the seismic shift happening between us, stepped in with her most charming smile. “Mr. Vihaan, hi! I’m Nicky Chopra, senior correspondent for City Today.” She extended her hand, her tone all business, but her eyes gleamed with excitement. This was her moment.

He didn’t take her hand. Didn’t even glance at her.

His focus remained locked on me—like I was a puzzle he couldn’t quite figure out. My pulse hammered beneath my skin as the weight of his attention settled over me. Intense. Overwhelming.

I should have said something—anything—but words tangled in my throat. And then, as if pulled by some invisible string, my feet moved toward him. I didn’t know why. I just knew that somehow, against all odds… the guy who haunted my dreams was real.

And he was standing right in front of me.

I took a step back. He took a step forward.

Every nerve in my body screamed run, and this time, I didn’t hesitate. I spun on my heel and bolted, weaving through the crowd as fast as my legs would carry me. My heart pounded in my ears, drowning out everything else—Nicky’s voice, the music, the buzz of conversation. Nothing mattered except getting away.

By the time I reached the door, I risked a glance over my shoulder. Big mistake.

Vihaan was pushing through the crowd, his tall frame impossible to miss. The people around him swarmed closer—journalists, socialites, the curious ones all desperate for his attention—but he didn’t care. His focus was locked on me. And the look in his eyes? Murderous.

Panic surged through me, sharp and cold. Why was he chasing me? What did he want? I hadn’t asked for this—I never wanted the dream to bleed into reality. Our world was supposed to stay in the safe, distant corners of my mind. But now he was here, and nothing about him felt safe.

I pushed harder, ignoring the burn in my calves as I burst through the main gate. My breath hitched when I spotted a cab idling at the curb, as if fate had tossed me a lifeline. Without thinking, I sprinted toward it, wrenching the door open and sliding inside.

“Drive,” I gasped, barely able to form words. “Please—just go.”

The driver turned, giving me a look that screamed lady, you’ve got issues, but I didn’t care. I bounced anxiously on the seat, glancing back to see Vihaan emerging from the crowd. His strides were long, purposeful—he was coming for me.

Move, move, move.

“Now!” My voice cracked with urgency, and finally—finally—the engine rumbled to life. The car jerked forward just as Vihaan reached the curb, his lips curling into a snarl of frustration.

I barely heard him shout for his car over the blood rushing in my ears. But the crowd slowed him down again, bodies pressing in, voices calling his name, camera flashes cutting through the night. The journalists were relentless, swarming him like ants on sugar, and for once, I was grateful for their intrusive chaos. They gave me my escape.

My chest heaved as I leaned back against the seat, trying to calm the wild thumping in my ribs. Through the rear windshield, I saw him—saw the way his hands tangled in his hair, his body coiled tight with tension. He looked like a man on the edge, one breath away from losing control.

His jaw clenched, lips pressed into a hard, unforgiving line as he watched the cab pull farther away. Even from a distance, I felt the weight of that stare—sharp, heated, and furious.

A shiver danced down my spine. If looks could kill, I’d be six feet under.

I ducked lower in my seat, trying to disappear, but my mind wouldn’t stop spinning. What the hell had just happened? How could he be here—real, tangible, and undeniably him?

My dream guy wasn’t just a figment of my imagination. He had a name.

Vihaan Kapoor.

And judging by the way he chased me like a man possessed…

He wasn’t planning to let me go.

The End of My Soulmate – Chapter 2.
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