::/From Afar/::

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A/N: First of all, I'm pretty sure not a soul is going to like this. But I don't care- I'm past that stage where I'm worrying about whether people are going to like my story or not.

This is just something I really wanted to do. Merely because I ship these two SO HARD. I myself don't know why. Maybe it was because the increasing lack of originality in Abhirika scenes was starting to get on my nerves. Maybe because all the hate Tarika gets from Abhijeet's fangirls was REALLY getting on my nerves. But somehow, suddenly, the whole idea for this alternative pairing just floated into my head out of nowhere, and since then, wherever people start talking their usual nonsense about Tarika, I just go and politely tell them that they can give it a much-needed rest because thanks to them, I stopped shipping Abhirika and now ship Rockstar instead. Yeah, like all the other ship names, I came up with this one on my own. ;)

But don't worry. This may be a Rockstar story, but it's completely one-sided. It's written with the fangirls in mind- just to show that even if they think no girl is good enough for their 'precioussssss' Abhijeet, there can be a guy who thinks (or rather, knows) he'll never be good enough for Tarika. He just settles for watching her from afar, as the title says.

And yeah... the cover image was drawn by me. xD

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One good thing that comes from everyone thinking you're dead is the newfound freedom. Absolute, blissful, complete freedom.

Well, not so complete in my case. 'Cause I may be free from those goody-two-shoes flatfoots whose company I was stuck in for weeks, but there's one thing I'm not free of... her. I'll never be free of her. She's fixed herself in my head, in my mind, refusing to budge out of there.

Don't get me wrong. I've seen countless girls in my lifetime. When you're in my line of work, girls are easy. And that's just it- they're too easy, if you know what I mean. Most of the girls I've known were the slip-me-a-thousand-and-I'll-go-wherever-you-want kind. Even Sangeeta was one of those... I'm not gonna waste time talking about her, though, I got rid of her ages ago.

Here, don't look at me like that, all right? It's not like I was in love with her or anything. I just kept her around because she could be fun sometimes, when she put her mind to it. And when she wasn't being a whiny little diva. God, I was really starting to get tired of her. In fact I felt almost liberated when I slipped the poison in her drink.

So anyway, by the time I got my face done and sneaked into the CID I'd pretty much forgotten what real girls were like. Then I saw her, and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Search the whole world if you like, you can't get any more real than that.

It was like I was going crazy or something. I'd never felt anything like it before. Hell, I don't remember the last time I looked at a girl and actually felt anything at all. But every time I saw her... I don't know what'd happen to me. I'd get this weird mixture of feelings. Like someone was tugging at my chest, then this very warm feeling as if someone was filling it up with brandy. And don't make a face at my descriptions. I'm a gangster, not a poet.

And he's not one either, so you don't have to start off on how incredibly amazing he is.

Honestly, I've seen him, talked to him, been yelled at by him, and for the record, I now also have his face, except for the scar I recently cut on the left side of mine- for some originality, you know. And let me tell you, I have no freaking clue what the hell she sees in him. I know it's not the face, though... and no, not because he isn't worth looking at. I know perfectly well that he is. I gave up my own face to take on his, dammit, I should know. It's what I see in the mirror every day. But I know it's not the face, because that's just not the kind of girl she is. If she was, she'd go for me over him. Same face, right? What difference does it make who has it?

Sheesh. Who am I kidding? No matter how much I want that, it's not gonna happen. Never gonna happen.

Not just because she hates my guts- not to mention she thinks I'm dead, like everyone else. Nah, it's never gonna happen for the simple reason that she's out of my league. Way out. She wouldn't go for me even if I was the last guy on earth.

And she shouldn't, either. Something so innocent, so damn beautiful, so bloody perfect... it'd be like putting a porcelain doll on the edge of a cliff. The slightest wrong move, and that's it. End of story. As much as I want her, I can't do that to her. Me, the ruthless gangster who has no qualms blowing up anyone in his way. Who'd have ever thought a slip of a girl would end up having this much power over me?

But the best part? Yeah, she doesn't even know it.

She doesn't know it's her face I see every time I close my eyes, as if it's been permanently printed on the insides of my lids. She doesn't know it's her I remember whenever I see a girl with curly hair. She doesn't know that when I lie awake at night, I'm thinking about her. Wanting her. Missing her.

She also doesn't know that when it becomes too much for me, I just get up and go to her house. Yeah, I know where it is. I followed her home from the CID bureau one day just to find out where she lived. Go ahead and call me a creepy stalker. That's as far as I can get- just watching her from outside. Usually when I go, she's asleep. And seriously, I'd sacrifice my own sleep for the rest of my life just to see that. She looks so damn gorgeous lying there with the moonlight on her face, it kills me every single time. Freaking unbelievable, that's what she is.

I hope that insufferable goody-two-shoes whose face I share knows how bloody lucky he is.

That's just it, though. I'm pretty sure he doesn't. Because when she isn't asleep, she's talking to him. She sits in her room with all the lights off except for the nightlamp, and talks to him. Most days, when she's talking, she blushes at regular intervals. I think it's the cutest thing I've ever seen, but then she smiles that amazing smile and everything else is wiped out of my head. For a minute I can't even remember my own name.

It's sheer torture, seeing her talk to him like that. But it's even worse torture when she argues with him.

In the privacy of her room- or at least, what she thinks of as privacy- she talks in low tones that clearly show how upset she is. And when I see tears sliding down that beautiful face, it's all I can do to not go over to his place and kill him with my bare hands. Either that, or throw caution- throw everything- to the winds, climb in through the window and tell her how I feel as I hold her and wipe her tears.

The memory of him, tied up and glaring at me, shows up in my head the next minute. Way to shatter a fantasy, idiot.

But another memory replaces it almost at once- something that happened not many days ago. One morning, I don't know why, I just wanted to see her. And you know how I am... I want to do something, I just go out there and do it. So I went, and when I reached there she was coming out of her house. She looked kind of put out, so naturally I followed her.

A while later, I watched her from a little distance away as she sat on the rocks, staring out over the sea. Her hair was blowing in the wind, the curls dancing around her face. She looked to me like some kind of fallen angel, sitting there all alone with an unreadable expression on her face. The kind of expression a wounded lioness would have when trying not to show that she was hurt.

That was the only time she almost saw me.

It was my own fault, actually. I was so caught up in watching her that I didn't even notice when a stone slipped from under my foot and went crashing down. She turned at the sound, but thankfully I looked the other way before she could see my face.

His face.

I run my fingers over my scar, for what feels like the millionth time. It's become a habit, I can't help it. It's the only part of this face that I can actually call my own. I don't really have anything else to call my own in the first place... and especially not her.

Peering through the window for the last time, I see her. She's awake, texting someone. That familiar brilliant smile breaks out over her face, and I know it's him. Trying not to notice the stabbing feeling in my chest, I wonder again if he knows how lucky he is. If he'll ever love her like I do.

And as soon as this thought crosses my mind, another one follows fiercely. He'd better love her, or I'd hunt him down and smash his face in without a second thought (at least then she'd be able to tell us apart). He'd better love her as much as he can.

Even if it isn't as much as I love her... and she loves him.

~THE END~

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A/N: Well. That's that. I don't think there's any reason for the Abhirika fans to complain either- it's not like I broke them up or anything. Tarika never even knew Rocky was still ALIVE in the first place. And he's gonna stop stalking her, too (which is why he says 'last time' at the end). The main purpose of this story is simply to show that Tarika is fully capable of having guys fall head over heels for her just as almost every single girl who meets Abhijeet appears to for him. Also, that love means wanting your loved one to be happy even if it's not with you... something most of the girls who claim to be madly in love with Abhijeet just don't seem to understand. -_-

OK, before I'm attacked by the fangirls, thanks for reading and I won't be able to post any more stories for a couple of weeks. College work is threatening to swallow up my entire life, you see. Anyways, thanks again for your patience, and no flames please! :)