At night, in the middle of an eerie jungle, I run—
Panting.
Heart pounding like it's trying to punch its way out of my chest.
Branches whip against my arms as I push through the thick trees.
Behind me, five men chase like bloodhounds, their footsteps crunching over dead leaves.
Gunshots crack through the air—sharp and echoing—shaking the silence of the jungle.
I run harder. Eyes darting, searching—desperate—for a place to hide.
But there's nothing. No rocks, no huts, not even a cave. Just towering trees, whispering in the dark.
Suddenly, my foot catches on a root.
Thud.
"Ahh—ouch!"
My body hits the ground, pain shooting up my side.
I gasp—and blink.
Light floods my vision.
I'm not in the jungle.
I'm on the floor of a room.
Breathless.
My skin clammy.
My mind still half-trapped in that nightmare.
It takes a second to realize where I am.
Kathir Rathore's house.
My room.
I glance at my arm—still wrapped in a bandage, still sore.
Reality seeps back in like slow poison.
KNOCK. KNOCK. KNOCK.
Someone's been knocking—loud, relentless.
I scramble up, ignoring the dull throb in my muscles, and rush to the door.
It's Maya.
I let out a heavy sigh of relief, rubbing my temple.
"Finally," she groans, rolling her eyes with a half-smile. "Why did you take so long? You scared me!"
"Sorry," I mumble, voice hoarse. "I was in deep sleep."
I glance at the clock.
11 a.m.
My heart sinks.
How did I even sleep this long?
Wasn't I supposed to…?
My stomach twists with guilt.
"I'm sorry. I'll go make instant soup for aunty," I blurt.
The thought of Renuka aunty, sitting in that chair with no food in her system, makes me sick.
Maya just nods and walks off.
I hurry down the stairs, still in a fog.
My bandaged arm stings with every move, but I manage—clumsy, stubborn.
Most of the time, I hold the vegetables steady with my elbow and chop with one hand.
The knife slips once.
I hiss.
It's hard, but I finish making the soup anyway.
I place everything on the trolley and begin to push it out when my eyes fall on the living room table.
The vase.
Yesterday's vase—the one I smashed over that man's head—is gone.
In its place is a sleek blue glass vase, delicate and polished, like nothing ever happened.
I pause.
My eyes scan the room.
It's spotless.
No blood.
No sign of the bodies.
No chaos.
Just silence.
Where did they go?
Did Kathir… really make them vanish?
My chest tightens as yesterday's horror claws at my memory.
I force the thought down and roll the trolley toward the stairs.
I need to focus.
Not… that.
Upstairs, I gently push open Renuka aunty's room door.
And freeze.
Kathir is sitting there, across from his mother, holding her hand like it's the most delicate thing in the world.
His eyes are soft—vulnerable.
"How much do you love me?" he asks her, his voice low. "Fifty? Seventy? A hundred? If it's a hundred, blink thrice."
His mother, frail and speechless in her wheelchair, blinks—once.
Twice.
Then, a third time.
A soft chuckle escapes him.
My chest tightens.
He doesn't notice me.
And I don't want to disturb this rare moment.
Something about it feels… sacred.
He's learning.
He's figuring out how to talk to her with just her eyes.
For a second, I forget everything else.
Then he asks, "Are you comfortable with Vidya? Blink once if yes, twice if no."
My body stiffens.
Excuse me?
Now he's using this sweet mother-son moment to judge my job?
Seriously?
My jaw clenches.
I clear my throat.
Kathir finally turns and notices me.
His expression shifts—closed off again.
I push the trolley in and hand him the bowl without a word.
"Soup for aunty," I say simply.
His eyes flicker down to my arm—bandaged, tired.
He furrows his brows.
"Why are you—" he starts, then cuts himself off and takes the bowl from me.
"You don't have to do anything today," he says, tone flat. "I'm home. I'll take care of her."
My eyes widen.
Did I hear that right?
A big smile appears on my face, involuntary. "That means I can leave early, right?"
I spin around, already halfway out the door.
I can hear my bed calling me like a long-lost lover.
Just one nap. One peaceful moment.
I deserve that… right?
"No," I stopped in my tracks, turned around, and looked at him. My brows furrowed in annoyance.
"You have some work left—like dressing her up," he said casually.
I rolled my eyes. Of course, he'd throw that at me.
I glanced at my bandaged arm, lifting it slightly. "But I have a bandage. How am I supposed to do that with just one ha—?"
Before I could even finish, he cut in, voice sharp and steady.
"So?"
His head tilted slightly, lips set in a firm line, eyes locked onto mine with that unreadable expression he wears like armor.
I stared at him.
Of course. What was I even thinking?
Expecting sympathy from Kathir Rathore is like asking a thunderstorm to stop out of kindness.
"Fine," I muttered under my breath.
I turned, frustration bubbling under my skin, and stormed out of the room. My slippers thudded against the floor as I made my way to my room and slammed the door behind me—not loud enough to draw attention, but enough to release some of the irritation.
I sighed and rolled my eyes, dragging my feet toward the bed.
But then—
I stopped.
My brows knitted together.
What... is that?
By the corner of the room, a row of dresses hung neatly on an iron wheeled rail stand—different colors, different styles. Like I'd walked into a boutique.
I stepped closer, curiosity outweighing my annoyance.
I reached for a dark green dress.
The fabric felt soft, expensive.
I scanned the tag.
Size: M.
My exact size.
Wait... what?
I barely had a second to process when a knock echoed. The door creaked open before I could answer.
Maya peeked her head in and saw me holding the hanger.
"You haven't freshened up yet?" she asked, grinning. "There's a variety of dresses. Kathir bought them for you."
My eyes widened slightly.
"He bought them?" I asked, trying to hide my disbelief.
She nodded. "And everything you might need is already here. If you need anything else, just tell me, okay?"
I gave her a small nod and a tight-lipped smile. She patted my shoulder gently, gave me a smile, and stepped out.
The door closed.
Silence returned.
I stood frozen for a second, staring at the green dress.
Wait—what?
Kathir bought all of these?
But... didn't he ask Emma to bring my clothes earlier?
Why would he suddenly—?
I blinked, completely unmuzzled. Nothing made sense. My thoughts tangled, trying to piece together his intentions.
Is this… guilt?
Control?
Care?
Or something else entirely?
Whatever it is, I didn't have the energy to decode it now.
Let me just freshen up first.
I grabbed a towel and headed into the bathroom.
And then—I froze again.
My lips parted in surprise.
The bathroom looked like it belonged in a five-star hotel.
Everything was neatly arranged.
A new toothbrush, my exact brand of shampoo, conditioner, body wash, comb… even the towel was in my favorite soft cotton texture.
I slowly reached for the shampoo bottle, turning it in my hand.
How did he know I use this brand?
My heartbeat stuttered for a second.
And then—like lightning—
Yesterday's chaos hit me again.
Kathir's gun.
The blood.
The men.
The cold control in his eyes.
I shook my head, exhaling sharply.
"He is so unpredictable," I muttered to myself.
And yet… he's everywhere.