[Author’s POV]
The sharp slam of a metal door echoes through the hollow, rotting walls of the abandoned warehouse. Dust hangs in the air like it’s afraid to move.
Aarav steps inside, his polished shoes crunching against shards of glass scattered across the concrete floor. The faint scent of rust and damp wood mixes with something sharper — fear.
In the center of the dim room, a single bulb swings lazily from the ceiling, its weak light pooling over battered wooden chairs. Two men are sitting next to each other, bound together. Their wrists are tied, and their ankles are bound to the legs of the chair. One man's head is bowed, his hair is disheveled, and there is a bruise on his jaw. The other man is unconscious due to severe beating.
Just behind them stands a tall figure, the private eye, arms crossed, expression unreadable. He’s the one who caught the stalker and the truck driver.
“They are waiting for you,” private eye says, his voice flat, but there’s a trace of grim satisfaction in it.
Aarav doesn't respond. His gaze settles on the two men sitting in the chairs, slow and cold, a look that extinguishes any thought of escape. He glances around once, his shoes making soft sounds on the floor, and he lets the silence linger until it becomes uncomfortable.
The man who had been following Priya was startled and looked up slightly. His gaze shifted from Aarav to the private eye and the driver, then back to Aarav. "I... I didn't do anything," he stammered, his voice trembling.
Aarav stops directly in front of him. “You’ve been following her for days,” he says, each word measured, low. “Every morning. Every evening. Every step.”
The man swallows hard but says nothing.
Aarav leans forward, his tone even colder. “You’re going to tell me who sent you. And you’re going to do it now.”
The swinging bulb above them creaks, casting shifting shadows across Aarav’s face that make his expression look almost inhuman.
The man shifts in the chair, testing the ropes, but they don’t budge.
Aarav doesn’t rush. He takes off his rolex watch, placing it neatly on a dusty table in the corner. Then he slips off his suit jacket, folding it with almost unnatural care before giving it to a private eye to hold.
Aarav looks at the driver and then says to the private investigator, "Wake this driver up."
The private eye doesn’t wait for another second. He steps behind the unconscious driver, picks up a rusted bucket from the corner, and tilts it sharply.
Water crashes down on the man’s face.
The force makes his body jolt violently against the ropes. He gasps, choking, his eyes snapping open in blind panic as he sucks in air like he’s drowning on dry land. He jerks his head left, right trying to understand where he is, what’s happening, why pain is screaming through every nerve.
Aarav watches quietly.
The driver’s gaze finally lands on him.
Confusion flickers across his face first and then panic. He has no idea who this man is, why he’s here or what this place even is. His eyes dart around the warehouse, the ropes, the other man tied beside him.
“Wh—who are you?” he rasps. “Why am I here?”
Aarav studies him for a moment, as if deciding whether the question deserves an answer.
Then the question lands fully.
Who are you? Why am I here?
Something in Aarav snaps.
The anger hits his brain like a surge of heat—fast, violent, uncontrollable. In the next second, he’s moving. He closes the distance in long, furious strides and swings his hand without hesitation.
The slap is brutal.
A sharp crack splits the air as his palm connects with the driver’s face. The impact sends the chair tipping violently to the right, crashing onto the concrete with a heavy thud. The driver goes down with it, a broken cry tearing from his throat as his head strikes the floor.
Silence follows, thick and suffocating.
Aarav stands over him, chest rising slowly, fingers curling into a fist.
“You don’t remember?” he says through gritted teeth, every word vibrating with restrained fury.
The private eye reacts instantly. He hurries forward, gripping the chair, hauling it upright with effort. The wood scrapes against the floor as he forces it back into position. The driver is upright again, facing Aarav.
His face is already swelling, a vivid red imprint of Aarav’s hand spreading across his cheek like a brand. His eyes are glossy with shock, his mouth trembling, blood pooling faintly at the corner of his lips.
Aarav meets his gaze without blinking.
From the corner of the room, the stalker watches everything unfold, eyes stretched wide, breath caught somewhere between terror and disbelief. He hasn’t moved. He can’t.
Aarav’s hand shoots out.
His fingers knot into the driver’s hair, gripping hard enough to tear a gasp from his throat. With a sharp twist of his wrist, Aarav yanks the driver’s head to the side, forcing his face toward the stalker.
“Do you know him?” Aarav asks.
The driver’s eyes struggle to focus, heavy with pain and exhaustion. They slide over the stalker’s terrified face. He swallows, then shakes his head weakly.
Aarav’s hand comes down again.
The slap snaps the driver’s head back, a broken sound leaving his mouth as pain floods him anew.
“Don’t you have a tongue?” Aarav snarls, teeth clenched. “Who told you to just nod your head?”
The driver coughs, breath hitching. “N—no, sir,” he manages, his voice fractured, barely holding together. “I don’t know him.”
Aarav doesn’t release his grip. Still holding the driver by his hair, he turns slowly—deliberately—toward the stalker.
His eyes burn.
The stalker doesn’t wait to be asked. The moment Aarav’s gaze meets his, words spill out in panic.
“Me too,” he blurts. “I—I also don’t know who he is. I swear.”
Aarav lets go of the driver’s hair with a violent jerk. The man’s head snaps forward, his body sagging against the ropes as he gasps for air.
The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive.
Then, somehow, the driver finds the courage to speak.
“Sir…” he whispers, voice shaking, almost respectful now. “Who are you?”
He swallows hard. “What have I done… that you are doing all this to me?”
Aarav looks at him.
And for the first time, there is something far worse than anger in his eyes.
Aarav tilts his head slightly, studying the driver as if he’s examining a flawed argument.
“Who am I?” Aarav repeats, almost thoughtfully, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. It doesn’t reach his eyes. “What have you done?”
He lets out a quiet breath, something close to a laugh, but empty of humor.
“Funny questions,” he says softly.
He steps closer, his voice dropping, sharpening.
“What you did yesterday evening,” Aarav continues, every word deliberate, “did you really think you could escape and get away with it?”
The driver freezes.
The words hit him slowly at first, then all at once.
Yesterday evening. The road. The scream of brakes. The body on the asphalt.
His face drains of color. His lips part, but no sound comes out. His breathing turns shallow, panicked, as his eyes widen in horror.
“I—” he stammers, realization finally crushing down on him. “Y—you mean… the accident?”
Aarav doesn’t answer.
And now he knows—
This isn’t about who Aarav is.
It’s about what he did… and what that mistake has cost him.
Aarav’s expression doesn’t change, but something hardens behind his eyes.
“Because of you,” he says quietly, each word landing with weight, “she is lying on a hospital bed.”
The driver looks up sharply.
"She has tubes attached to her body," Aarav continued in a calm, almost lifeless voice. "The doctors was speaking in hushed tones. Every moment was uncertain."
He takes one slow step closer.
“And every time I look at her,” Aarav adds, “I see your hands on the steering wheel.”
The driver’s head starts shaking even before the words come out.
“No—no, sir,” he blurts, panic rising. “I didn’t do it on purpose. I swear to God, I didn’t. The rickshaw came out of nowhere. I tried to brake—”
Aarav’s jaw tightens.
“It doesn’t matter now,” he says, his voice saturated with hatred, every word pressed flat and heavy, “whether you did it intentionally or by mistake.”
He steps closer, eyes burning into the driver’s.
“My love has been hurt,” Aarav continues, tone deadly calm, “and that pain will be avenged with your…........ dead body.”
The final words fall into the room like a death sentence.
For a second, no one breathes.
The driver’s face crumples, color draining so fast it’s almost unreal. His eyes widen beyond human limits, terror hollowing them out. Beside him, the stalker freezes, his mouth slightly open, pupils blown wide, unable to process what he’s just heard, only understanding one thing: this man is past reason.
The driver begins to squirm in his seat, the ropes creaking as he moves restlessly, his movements becoming uncontrolled and erratic due to his nervousness.
“Sir—sir—please,” he babbles, words breaking apart. “Sir, please— I have a family. I didn’t mean to hurt her. It was an accident. I swear— I swear to God—”
His voice cracks into sobs, dignity collapsing entirely.
He doesn’t see it.
He doesn’t understand.
Aarav isn’t listening anymore.
His face is eerily still now, too still. Whatever line existed inside him has already been crossed.
Even the private eye falters.
His eyes widen slightly, his jaw tightening as he looks at Aarav, not in judgment, but in something closer to realization. This isn’t interrogation anymore. This is a verdict.
And the driver, still begging, still hoping, has no idea that mercy left the room the moment Aarav said dead body.
Aarav straightens slowly.
The movement is deliberate and final.
“Rope,” he says.
The private eye freezes. For a fraction of a second, even he looks afraid. His eyes flick to the driver, then back to Aarav. He swallows, turns, and walks to the corner of the warehouse. His footsteps sound louder than they should. He grabs the coil of rope hanging from a rusted hook, hesitating just long enough to betray what he understands now.
He places the rope into Aarav’s open palm. Aarav closes his fingers around it. The private eye steps back, instinctively putting distance between himself and what’s about to happen.
Aarav begins to move with slow steps measured and unhurried. He walks behind the driver’s chair.
The moment the driver realizes where Aarav is going, something inside him completely breaks. His body starts shaking violently, teeth chattering, sobs ripping out of him without any structure left.
“Please—please—sir—” he cries, words collapsing into noise. “Please don’t—please— I beg you—”
Aarav doesn’t respond. He doesn’t even hear him anymore.
All he hears is Priya’s breathing low and uneven.
All he sees is blood on asphalt.
All he feels is the memory of pain she never deserved.
The rope rises.
Aarav brings it forward from behind, slow and almost reverent, settling it around the driver’s neck the way one might place a garland carefully, intentionally.
Not rushed.
The driver whimpers, soundless terror shaking him apart. Aarav plants his right foot firmly against the back of the chair, stopping it from tipping.
Then he pulls.
Hard.
The chair jerks. The driver’s head is wrenched backward, his body going rigid as a muffled, broken sound forces its way out of his throat.
Aarav’s jaw locks. His teeth grind together as he tightens his grip, arms solid, unyielding.
“You deserve this,” he says through clenched teeth.
The words aren’t shouted.
They don’t need to be.
They carry the weight of a sentence already passed.
The bulb continues to swing.
The stalker watches, frozen in pure horror.
Aarav twists the rope around his hand, tightening it until the fibers bite into his skin. His grip hardens, knuckles whitening. Something raw tears its way out of his chest, a sound that isn’t language anymore, just pain given voice.
“Ahhhhhhhhh—!” He pulls.
A cracking sound is heard as the driver's neck bone breaks. The driver’s body goes completely slack.
But Aarav doesn’t stop.
The rage hasn’t burned itself out yet. He keeps pulling with the same brutal force, as if stopping now would mean facing what he’s done, as if letting go would let the pain rush back in.
The rope creaks.
“Sir—!” the private eye shouts, stepping forward at last. “Sir, stop!”
Aarav doesn’t hear him.
“Sir—he’s dead,” the private eye says again, louder now, urgency cutting through the warehouse. “It’s over.”
The words finally land.
Aarav freezes.
His breathing is ragged, chest rising and falling hard as if he’s just surfaced from deep water. Slowly his grip loosens. The rope slips from his fingers and drops to the floor with a dull sound.
Silence fills the room.
Aarav steps back once.
The fury drains from his face, not into regret, but into something far colder, like satisfaction. His eyes flick briefly to the lifeless body slumped in the chair, no more than a passing acknowledgment, as if confirming an equation has finally balanced.
Then his gaze shifts.
Locks onto the other body.
The stalker.
And the stalker understands, with sickening clarity, that he doesn't have time for hiding things from this men.
[Priya’s POV]
Aarav sir barely slept. Maybe thirty minutes at most, his head resting on my hand the whole time. When his phone buzzed, the sound was soft but enough to make him stir. He lifted his head slowly, blinked at the screen, and then stood.
“I'll be back in just a minute.” he murmured before stepping out of the room to take the call.
Three minutes later, he came back, his expression sharper than before. “I have a very important work that has to be done,” he said, his voice low but firm. “Don’t worry, I’ll come back quickly.”
Before I could ask anything, he pulled my phone from his pocket and placed it gently in my hand. “Call me if you need anything. Or if something happens.” His eyes lingered for a moment like he wanted to say more and then he turned and walked out.
That was an hour ago.
I’m still waiting. Trying not to think about where he might have gone, or why his expression looked the way it did.
My phone rings suddenly, making me jump. I glance at the screen — Ma.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself before answering. “Hello, Ma.”
Her voice comes fast, full of worry. “Why didn’t you call me last night? I was so scared when your phone was switched off.”
“I…” My mind scrambles. I don’t want to tell her. I don’t want her to picture me here, bandaged and bruised. “I was very busy,” I lied quickly. “And when I came back to the apartment, I just slept. I was tired.”
She starts telling me about something at home, her voice warm and familiar, but I feel the sting in my eyes before I can stop it. Tears slip down my cheeks, and I wipe them away quickly, hoping she won’t hear it in my voice.
But she does.
“You’re crying,” she says softly. “Are you missing us?”
My throat tightens, my voice cracks just a little. “Yes… I’m missing you,” I manage, but the truth sitting heavy in my chest is different. I’m in pain, more than I want to admit and right now, I just want her arms around me.
I quickly wipe my cheeks again, pressing my lips together so my mother can’t hear the quiver in them. “I’m fine, Ma. Just… work pressure,” I add, forcing a little laugh that feels foreign in my throat.
She talks for a while about the farm, about Papa attending another panchayat meeting, about how the weather’s been unpredictable. I listen, murmuring soft responses, letting her words wash over me like they can somehow bridge the distance.
But every now and then, a tear slips free, and I swipe it away before it can fall to my chin. I keep my voice light, careful. If she hears the truth that I’m hurt, that I’m sitting here in a hospital bed with an IV in my arm she’ll worry herself sick. And I can’t handle that. Not now.
After a few more minutes, she sighs. “Alright, beta, I’ll let you go. Call me tonight, okay?”
“I will,” I whisper.
When the call ends, the room feels quieter. Too quiet. I set the phone down beside me and stare at the doorway, waiting for Aarav sir to walk in like he promised. But the door stays closed.
I lie back against the pillow, telling myself he’ll be here any minute. Still… something deep inside me wonders where he really is, and why that phone call pulled him away so suddenly.
[Author’s POV]
She leans back against the pillow, telling herself he must be caught up in work. But a faint crease stays between her brows, her gaze fixed on the closed door. Somewhere deep down, an unease she can’t name lingers.
Far from the quiet sterility of the hospital room, Aarav’s world at that moment is nothing like hers.
[Aarav’s POV]
As I pull out of the warehouse and start the car, sunlight glints off the windshield, and the steering wheel is warm beneath my palms. My grip is like iron, every muscle in my arm tensed.
My teeth grind.
The traffic crawls, but inside me, everything is moving fast, hot, furious. A horn blares behind me. I slam the accelerator, feeling the car surge forward..
The road stretches ahead in the bright afternoon light, but my mind isn’t on the traffic, it’s on her. Did she take her medicine? I’d told her I’d be back soon, but “soon” turned into an hour. Every extra minute feels like a betrayal.
As I take the last turn toward the hospital, a splash of colors catches my eye, a flower bouquet shop, petals spilling over in reds, whites, and yellows. I brake almost without thinking, pulling over to the side. If she’s awake, I want her to see something soft and beautiful before she sees me.
I went inside the shop.
The vendor, a lady with a warm face, steps closer. “What can I get you, sir?”
“Give me a bouquet,” I say.
“For whom?” she asks, her eyes narrowing with a teasing curiosity.
“A girl,” I replied.
Her smile widens. “Friend, girlfriend, wife?”
I glance down, a faint smirk tugging at my lips. “She’s not my wife… but in the future.”
“Then she’s your girlfriend,” she says knowingly.
I just give a small nod, letting a hint of a smile slip through.
She picks a flower bouquet. “This one means ‘I’ll protect you, no matter what.”
She also put a small card in the bouquet.
I pay without question and head for the hospital, the petals trembling slightly in my grip.
After arriving at the hospital, when I push open the door to her room, only to find her laughing, eyes sparkling, with someone else, the sight stops me cold.
My fingers tighten around the stem of the flower.
For a moment, I imagine walking over and smashing the bouquet right into his smug face petals scattering like the pieces of my patience.
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To be continued……..
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