She could feel the warmth of sunlight gently caressing her skin—it was a sensation almost forgotten, yet it stirred something deep within her. The soft glow made her feel… alive. Barely holding onto consciousness, she fought to open her eyes, desperate to glimpse her surroundings. But her body was weak, fragile as a broken bird. Just as she began to take in the faint shapes around her, darkness claimed her once more.
She fainted, collapsing forward, unable to withstand the weariness that weighed her down.
The man standing nearby watched her fall with a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes. They were bloodshot, fierce with frustration. Stepping out of the dim room, he grabbed the leader of the island.
"I'm taking her with me," he declared, voice sharp as an arrow piercing a sore wound. "What we promised, we will deliver. But first, pack your things. We're not coming back. Not ever."
The leader hesitated, his body trembling with fear. But bravely, he stepped forward and clasped the man's hand in a shaky handshake. The intensity in the man's gaze made him feel small, dirty, and helpless all at once.
With a flick of his hand to his ear, the man's tone shifted to cold command. "Send small ships immediately. We're leaving."
When Payal's eyes fluttered open again, the heavy chains that once bound her were gone. The suffocating darkness was replaced with a soft glow that made her feel almost safe. She was seated on a chair, her limbs still trembling with weakness. For a moment, she allowed herself to believe she was free.
But then her eyes fell to her clothes—strange, unfamiliar fabric that made her heart pound. She was unsure how to feel—relieved, scared, or confused—but one thing was certain: she was no longer where she had been.
Voices murmured nearby—discussions of marriage, alliances, and futures. The words floated through, stirring her curiosity and dread. Slowly, she steadied herself and glanced around, trying to piece together where she had landed.
Listening closely, she heard the language clearly—it was English. That small comfort grounded her amidst the chaos.
Her eyes then caught sight of a massive craft outside—a ship unlike anything she'd seen before but strangely reminiscent of an airplane. Almond-shaped eyes wide with wonder, she studied the vessel carefully, trying to see beyond its gleaming exterior, searching for clues.
The harsh reality crashed back over her like a tidal wave. Her heart raced. Should she run? Was escape even possible?
She fixed her gaze steadily on one direction—a silent promise shimmering in her eyes. If looks could kill, hers would be deadly. Without hesitation or second thought, she stood, clutching the hem of her dress tightly, and sprinted toward what she hoped was freedom.
But as she fled, something felt strange. No footsteps followed. No shouts demanded her return. No angry voices called her name. It was eerily quiet.
No one—absolutely no one—was chasing her.
Her breath caught in her throat. Was this a trap? Or was it something else?
The silence stretched around her, unsettling yet strangely hopeful.
Why isn't anyone chasing me? It felt strange—almost suspicious. The thought nagged at her as she slowly turned back toward where she had fled. Her head spun wildly, dark clouds flooding her vision until she staggered, barely able to stand. It was embarrassing, but who cared about appearances now? Her face was hidden beneath tangled, messy hair, dirt smudged across her skin.
Her bare feet pressed into the rough soil, each step searching for some mercy, some hope. She moved cautiously toward an older man nearby, his weathered face marked by years of hardship—perhaps in his fifties.
"Excuse me..." she began, cheeks flushing with uncertainty as she clenched her fists tightly. Her voice was low but firm, trembling slightly as she asked, "Why isn't anyone... following me? I mean, if I ran away, shouldn't you be trying to catch me? Don't you want to find me?"
The man's eyes twinkled with a mixture of amusement and pity as he scanned her from head to toe. After a moment, he responded politely, though his words carried the weight of bitter truth.
"The thing is, this land itself is surrounded by ocean," he said with a slight shrug. "There's no way you could run away from here. I've lived on this island for almost fifty years, and I couldn't escape it—how could you?"
He paused, glancing around as if to gather his thoughts before continuing bluntly, "Food is scarce. We can't waste energy chasing after foolish notions. Running off is pointless."
He looked at her squarely and added with a harsh edge, "Besides, it's better to be on another planet than locked away in a dark room—chained up, starving, thirsty."
Payal opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by an unexpected insult.
"And honestly," he said, shaking his head, "you're not exactly... beautiful. That's the bitter truth. I wonder what he was thinking when he chose you."
The words hit her like a slap. Her mind reeled, struggling to process the sting of his judgment. But before she could even respond, a rumble in her stomach distracted her—the fierce hunger clawing at her relentlessly.
Some people were born with luck.
Pieces of the world snapped back into focus. The rough texture of her dress caught in her fingers. The dry rasp of her parched throat. The harshness of her reality settled around her like a cold shroud.