India,
The room was swallowed by darkness.
A man sat calmly on a leather chair, legs crossed, a cigar burning between his fingers. In that suffocating blackness, only his cold blue eyes were visible—sharp, piercing, and devoid of mercy.
On the floor in front of him lay a man—tied, bruised, and barely breathing.
A guard stepped forward.
Splash!
A bucket of ice-cold water crashed onto the man's body. He jolted awake with a jagged scream. The moment his eyes met the man in the chair, terror seized him.
"P-please…" he begged. "Please let me go…"
The man on the chair didn't blink. He tossed a photograph onto the floor.
"Just tell me," he said, his voice a low, dangerous velvet. "Where is she?"
The man on the floor looked at the photo. An old picture of a girl—fifteen or sixteen years old. His eyes widened for a fraction of a second. Then, he forced a lie. "She's dead. She died in an accident. Now please… let me go."
Silence. Then—
"No," the man said coldly. "She can't be dead."
He stood up. The sound of his shoes on the concrete was like a death knell. He placed his shoe on the man's leg—and crushed it.
A scream tore through the room.
"You're lying," He whispered. "Last chance. Tell me where she is."
He raised his gun, aiming it with chilling precision at the man's head.
The man completely broke down. "Please! Leave me! She's dead—I swear—"
Suddenly, in a fit of suicidal madness, the man lunged forward and snatched the guard's gun. Laughing hysterically, he pointed it back.
"You'll never know where she is," he screamed.
"You'll never find her!"
He pulled the trigger.
BANG!
The sound echoed violently.
But the man on the chair didn't fall.
Instead, the gun slipped from the trembling hands of the man on the floor and hit the ground.
A second body collapsed.
The shot hadn't come from the prisoner.
It came from the man on the chair.
Calmly, he took a long drag from his cigar.
"Clean this up. Ensure he's never found."he said coldly.
The guards nodded.
As he stepped out of the blood-stained room, his phone vibrated. He pulled it out. The "Monster" disappeared instantly. His features softened, his grip on the phone becoming almost reverent.
He Answered.
A soft, polite, sweet female voice spoke—
"Hello, Mr. Singhania," a sweet, melodic voice spoke. "If your business in the shadows is finished, then perhaps you could spare some time for your wife as well."
Akash's expression finally changed.
Just for a second.
The cold in his blue eyes softened—so slightly it was almost unnoticeable.
A thin smile touched his lips.
"Yes," he replied gently,
"I'm coming home."
A pause.
"Soon."
The call ended.
He hung up and looked at the photo in his pocket.
long enough to remember,
not long enough to feel.
He slid back the photo into his coat pocket.
Then Akash walked out of the dark room.
Behind him remained blood.
Silence.
And a secret that refused to die.
Jaipur,
It was exactly six in the morning.
Soft light had begun to spread through the room. Sunrays slipped in through the window and slowly reached the bed, where a girl was sleeping peacefully. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile rested on her lips, and her calm breathing showed that she was lost in a beautiful dream. There was a rare innocence on her face, glowing brighter with every ray of sunlight.
Suddenly, the door opened quietly.
Someone entered without making a sound and stopped beside the bed. For a few seconds, he just looked at her, as if trying to capture that moment forever. Then a mischievous smile appeared on his face. He was holding a pair of professional-grade headphones. He placed them over her ears, turned the volume to maximum, and pressed play on a heavy metal track.
"Ahhh—!"
The girl jolted awake. Her sleep, her dream, her peace—everything shattered at once. She waved her hands in panic.
"Help! Help!"
Loud laughter filled the room.
"You haven't changed at all," a familiar voice said. "Still acting like a little kid."
Hearing that voice, the girl opened her eyes. Her eyes were red with anger, and standing in front of her was a smiling boy.
"You?!"
"Who else would be the prince of your dreams?" he laughed.
She clenched her teeth. "Just wait—I'll show you."
She jumped off the bed and looked around. Spotting a broom in the corner, she rushed toward it, but before she could grab it, the boy ran out laughing. She chased him into the hall, broom in hand.
In the hall, her parents were sitting. The boy instantly turned innocent.
"Look! She's trying to hit me again!"
The girl shouted angrily, "Did you see what he did to me?"
Pakhi's father, Atul, said sternly, "Aarav, what is all this so early in the morning?"
Aarav shrugged. "Come on, Dad. It's six a.m. And since Sis is leaving today, I thought I'd trouble her one last time."
Pakhi's mother, Aarti, smiled. Aarav quickly sat beside her.
"Troubling your sister isn't a crime, right?"
Laughter filled the room.
That girl was Pakhi Rajput—
a 22-year-old girl from Jaipur, living with her parents and brother. Cheerful, playful, and pure-hearted.
"By the way, when did you come?" Pakhi asked Aarav.
He smiled. "You're leaving today. Could I not come to see you?"
Pakhi's eyes turned moist. "I'm not going forever. Come whenever you want."
Just then, Aarti stood up. "Come on, Pakhi. Get ready. It's time for your flight."
Atul said softly, "Today our daughter's dream is coming true… even if it means we have to stay away from her."
Aarav quickly added, "Don't say that, Dad. Or Sis will start crying."
Pakhi hugged her father, tears filling her eyes. She didn't want to leave her parents, but to fulfill her father's dream, she was ready to begin this new journey.
By 7:30 a.m., everything was ready. The luggage was loaded into the car. Pakhi looked at her home with tearful eyes—the place where all her sweet and bitter memories lived. Holding those memories close, she got into the car.
All the way, she kept looking at the streets of Jaipur, as if storing every corner in her heart. By the time they reached the airport, everyone's eyes were wet. After hugging everyone, Pakhi walked inside. Even Aarav tried to hide his tears.
After her passport check, she headed toward a coffee shop. Just then, her flight was announced. As she ordered coffee, her phone vibrated.
"MK207 from Jaipur to Singapore will depart shortly…"
That was her flight.
She hurriedly paid, picked up her coffee, and rushed toward Gate No. 3. While walking, her phone vibrated again. With coffee in one hand and searching for her phone in her bag with the other—
Bam!
She crashed into someone coming from the opposite direction. The coffee cup slipped, her phone fell, and she lost her balance. She closed her eyes, expecting to fall—but didn't. A strong arm wrapped around her waist and held her.
For a few seconds, everything felt frozen.
When Pakhi slowly opened her eyes, she saw sharp, intense, angry eyes staring at her. The man's face was hidden behind a black mask. The very next moment, he released her, and she fell to the ground.
Pain shot through her body. In the crowded airport, she sat there for a moment—hurt and humiliated. The man glanced toward the person standing behind him.
Without saying a word, the man handed him a tissue.
He calmly began wiping his hands—
as if he had not touched a human being,
but something filthy.
Watching this, Pakhi's heart tightened painfully.
It felt as though she hadn't fallen on the floor—
it felt as though her dignity had fallen.
While wiping his hands, the man said in a cold, heavy voice,
"Idiot…
I don't know where people like you come from."
After saying this, he tossed the tissue toward Pakhi without even looking.
It fell near her.
Then, without stopping or looking back, he walked away.
Pakhi remained sitting on the floor.
Her waist still hurt,
but the pain in her heart was far worse.
She bent down, picked up the tissue slowly,
and stared at it for a moment.
Then she wiped the tears from her eyes.
"I am not trash," she told herself.
She picked up her phone from the floor and walked forward quickly.
She pushed past the man's guards and stood right in front of him.
Before he could understand what was happening—
Pakhi opened the water bottle in her hand and splashed it right across his cold, arrogant face.
The entire airport went silent.
"I wasn't dirty," she said, her voice trembling but firm as she threw the tissue at his soaked chest. "But now you definitely are."
She threw a thousand-rupee note at him. "Go buy some class."
Then, she turnedran.
The silence in the terminal was deafening.
The guards stood frozen, their breaths hitched. They waited for the man they called Death in a suit to pull out his gold-plated Beretta and paint the airport floor red.
Water dripped from the edge of his black mask, soaking into his thousand-dollar silk tie.The thousand-rupee note lay at his shoes,
small, dirty, and insulting—
the price she had dared to put on him.
"Sir..." the lead guard, stepped forward, his voice trembling. "I'll have the airport security block the gates. She won't make it to her flight. We'll bring her to the basement."
He didn't move.
His eyes—once as cold as a frozen lake—now burned with something dark and predatory.
Slowly, he lifted his hand and unhooked the wet mask from his ears.
He pulled it away.
For the first time, his face was fully revealed.
He was devastatingly handsome—
but there was nothing gentle about that beauty.
It was sharp.
Deadly.
Like an angel carved from ice, built to destroy.
A single drop of water slid down his cheek,
like a cold, lonely tear.
"Basement?"
His voice was a low, dangerous hum.
He bent down slowly.
Picked up the ID card she had dropped.
His gaze fixed on the photograph.
A girl.
Smiling.
Bright.
Untouched by darkness.
Pakhi Rajput.
As he read the name,
a devilish smile appeared on his lips.
At that very moment,
an announcement echoed through the airport:
"Mr. AS, wherever you are,
please report immediately to Gate Number Five."
AS clenched the ID in his fist and murmured,
"So her name is… Pakhi Rajput."
Meanwhile, Pakhi had already checked into her flight.
As soon as she sat in her seat,
her breathing became uneven.
A strange anxiety tightened her chest,
as if her heart was still stuck
in that part of the airport.
Her eyes kept drifting toward the aircraft door—
Was someone following her?
Was that man still there?
She tried to take deep breaths,
but fear refused to leave her.
Just then, the man sitting beside her
gently offered her a bottle of water.
"Water?" he asked politely.
Pakhi glanced at him for a moment
but didn't say anything.
She turned her eyes back toward the door.
A few moments later,
the door closed with a click.
Seeing this, Pakhi unknowingly took a deep breath—
as if a heavy weight had lifted from her.
The plane slowly moved forward
and soon lifted into the sky.
Outside the window, the ground began to fall away.
Seeing this, a faint relief and happiness appeared on her face.
"Oh God…
I barely escaped," she whispered to herself.
Then a calm voice came from beside her.
"Since you're safe now,
you should drink some water too.
Otherwise, your heavy breathing might become your enemy."
The man offered her the bottle again.
Pakhi was startled.
This time she looked at him carefully.
There were no questions in his eyes,
no force—
only a gentle smile and natural warmth.
She took another sip and handed the bottle back.
"Thank you so much, sir," she said politely.
He laughed softly.
There was humor and a hint of surprise in it.
"Don't call me sir," he said.
"I'm not that old."
There was no formality in his tone—
only warmth.
A small smile appeared on Pakhi's lips.
Singapore — 7:30 PM
Pakhi's flight had landed.
Stepping out of the airport,
she adjusted her bag and waited for her pre-booked car.
A new city,
a new country—
and a slight nervousness in her heart.
Then a familiar voice called out from behind,
"Miss Jaipur…"