Somewhere Else...
Aarav stood on a rooftop overlooking the highway. Rain battered his shoulders. His knuckles were raw from punching a wall.
"Siyara... where are you?"
He scrolled again through the CCTV footage from the bus terminal. There. A blurry silhouette. A figure that looked like her, one week before the incident.
He paused the video, zoomed in.
"It's her..."
And the search continued.
-----------
In the dark room, the steady sound of tapping filled the air. Aarav sat frozen, eyes locked on the CCTV footage from the haunted house. Finally, he had found something-because his sister was back. Riya had been missing for fifteen days. He had searched everywhere, turned over every stone, but found nothing.
But Siyara had.
He zoomed in on the video, his fists tightening as the fight replayed before him. His blood boiled.
The way the attackers dragged Siyara by her hair.
The way she cried out in pain.
The knife cutting across her waist.
And yet-how she still fought back.
Aarav saw every second.
Without wasting a moment, he called his P.A.
"I want these men in my penthouse. One hour," Aarav said coldly.
His P.A. nodded.
Aarav stormed out of his office. His car engine roared as he sped to the orphanage. He didn't bother with reception-he went straight to Riya's room. Knocking once, he pushed the door open.
And froze.
Tears burned in his eyes, but he forced them back. What he saw broke him.
Riya sat on the bed, her body covered in bruises, her face pale and weak. His chest ached just looking at her. He felt guilty-he hadn't saved her.
"I'm sorry," Aarav whispered, voice cracking. "I didn't save you."
"It's okay, Aaru. It's not your fault," Riya said softly, her trembling voice barely a whisper.
"No, you don't get it," Aarav said, kneeling in front of her. "I have money. Power. I control half this city. And still... I couldn't protect you."
He held her shoulders gently, but his tone turned sharp.
"Tell me who did this. Who touched you. Who hurt you. I want their names, Riya. I'll make them suffer."
Riya's lips quivered. "I don't know... Every hour, new men came. They used us. We tried to scream, but they gave us injections. We couldn't move for hours."
Aarav's eyes darkened with rage.
But then-Riya's voice softened.
"Aaru... but then someone came. A girl," she whispered. "She just appeared. Out of nowhere. She said she was here to save us. And she did."
Aarav's brows knitted.
Riya nodded weakly. "Yes. When I was about to faint, I heard someone call her name. Siyara. But to me... she was an angel. She came like light in that endless dark. She held our hands. She cried for us."
Aarav quickly pulled out his phone and showed her a photo-Siyara, caught mid-laugh near a temple.
Riya gasped. Her bruised fingers brushed the screen.
"Yes! That's her!" she said with sudden energy. "That's the angel who saved us."
The room fell silent.
Aarav's grip on the phone tightened, his expression a mix of rage and awe.
Siyara.
She saved Riya. Risked her own life. Got hurt. And never told anyone.
But why?
He stood up abruptly.
"Aaru... where are you going?" Riya asked, worried.
"I need to see her," he muttered, already moving toward the door. "I need to know why she did it. Why she never told anyone. And... if she's hurt."
He didn't wait for her reply.
Outside, the wind hit his face, sharp and cold. But nothing could cool the fire burning inside his chest.
-----
Siyara's face no longer had its usual glow.
It had been fifteen days. Fifteen days since she'd been lying quietly in her bedroom, her arm marked from the IV drips, her skin cold even under the blankets. She had slipped into a coma once, and the doctors had called it a miracle that she even opened her eyes again.
But waking up didn't mean she was healed.
Her body was slowly recovering, but her mind was still stuck somewhere else-caught in flashes of screams, bloody hands, and the thick smell of smoke.
She hardly spoke.
She ate only when they begged her.
She didn't even cry anymore. And that scared her mother the most.
That morning, her mother set down a tray of hot soup and said softly, "You should meet him once. His family is good. You deserve someone... who loves you." her mother talking about a marriage proposal.
Siyara didn't answer.
She kept staring at the sunlight slipping through the curtains. It was too bright, too sharp-like an old wound tearing open again.
A wedding proposal.
A stranger.
Peace?
She let out a tired, bitter breath.
Peace wasn't for someone like her. Not for someone who had run through fire. Not for someone who had seen girls chained and dying. Not for someone who had killed just to survive.
Her voice was hoarse when she finally spoke, without looking at her mother. "Why now?"
Her mother's eyes widened, surprised to hear her speak. She came closer and knelt by the bed. "Because I want you to live," she whispered. "Not just breathe, Siyara. But live. You've suffered enough."
Siyara slowly turned her head to the side. Her words came out faint, almost broken. "He'll leave. If he finds out what I've done... he'll leave."
Tears filled her mother's eyes. "Not everyone will."
But Siyara knew better.
Not everyone leaves.
Some search. Some chase. Some dig until they find the truth.
And one of them... was already on his way to her.
-----
Siyara stared at the spoon her mother held up to her lips.
"No," she whispered, her voice dry and weak.
"But baby, you haven't eaten anything since morning," her mother said softly, sitting down beside her.
"I'm not hungry."
"You're not anything anymore." Her mother's voice shook. "You don't smile. You don't talk. You barely sleep. I just sit here and watch you fade, bit by bit, and I don't know how to bring you back."
The fan hummed above them. The spoon clinked back onto the tray.
Siyara looked down at her bandaged wrists. "Maybe I don't want to be saved."
Her mother froze.
Tears filled her eyes, but she forced a smile. "You're only saying that because you're still in shock. You've been through so much. But life doesn't end here, Siyara. You still have a future."
"I don't want a future built on lies."
"You don't have to lie-"
"I killed someone, Maa." Siyara's voice cracked. "I stabbed a man. I watched him bleed, and I didn't stop. I didn't even feel guilty. I only felt... relief. Like he deserved it."
Her mother reached out and held her trembling hands.
"And he did," she whispered firmly. "He was a monster, not a man."
Siyara's eyes glistened, but the tears didn't fall.
"And now you want me to get married," she said bitterly.
"I want you to have a reason to keep living."
"And if I say no?"
"Then I'll still sit here," her mother said softly, brushing hair from her face. "Every day. Every night. Just like this. Until you're ready to live again."
Siyara swallowed hard, her voice barely a breath. "I'm broken, Maa."
Her mother kissed her forehead. "No, baby. You're healing."
The soft glow of evening filled the room. Shadows stretched across the floor like hands reaching for her. Siyara twisted the edge of her shawl between her fingers. She didn't look up.
"Maa..." she whispered.
A pause.
"Who is the boy... in this proposal?"
Her mother's hands went still in her lap.
"His name is Varun," she said gently. "His family runs a clinic in another town. They know about your past, Siyara. And still... they said they want to meet you."
Siyara's head snapped up. "Interested?" Her voice broke on the word. "Interested in what, Maa? A girl who sleeps with the lights on? Who screams when a door creaks?"
Her mother's lips trembled. "They don't see you like that, beta-"
"Then how do they see me?" Siyara's tone rose, sharp and panicked. "As charity? A project? Some broken thing they can keep in their home while pretending to be kind?"
"Siyara-"
She cut her off, standing suddenly. "Maa... I can't. I can't even stand it when someone brushes against me. I hate being touched. Even now-sometimes even by you-" Her voice broke, thin and fragile. "Maa, please... how will I live like this? After marriage, what if he expects things I can't give?"
Her mother stood too, her face pale but calm. She moved closer, then stopped-close enough to be near, but far enough to give space.
"You don't have to give anything," she said quietly. "This isn't a prison. It's just an option. Only you decide if the door opens."
Siyara's shoulders slumped. Her lips trembled. "Maa... if I can't even hold someone's hand, how can I ever be a wife?"
Her mother's eyes filled with tears, but her voice stayed steady. "Then don't be one. Not until you're ready. Not until touch feels safe. Not until it feels like your choice."
Silence fell, heavy but warm. A silence that felt like the start of something that could heal.
Siyara turned her face away. "And this boy... Varun... does he know everything?"
"Yes," her mother said. "We told him. And still, he asked to meet you. Not to marry. Just... to talk."
"Talk?" Siyara repeated, as if she didn't understand the word anymore.
Her mother nodded. "Only if you want to. You can walk away whenever you like. This time, no one decides for you."
Siyara closed her eyes. The room seemed to breathe with her. The ghosts in her head went quiet for a moment.
"One meeting," she whispered.
-----
The sun slipped weakly through the lace curtains of the drawing room. Everything felt too neat, too quiet, like bad things couldn't exist here.
But Siyara's palms were sweating.
She sat stiff on the edge of the cream sofa, clutching her dupatta tightly in her fists. A soft knock sounded on the half-open door, and a tall figure stepped inside.
"Hi... Siyara?"
The voice was gentle, careful. She looked up.
Varun stood there. Not dressed fancy, not careless either. Just a plain kurta and jeans. But his eyes carried something-sincerity. The kind that made her chest ache unexpectedly.
She gave a small nod.
"Can I sit?" he asked, pointing to the chair near her.
"Yeah," she whispered.
For a while, silence filled the room-like a story between them neither of them had lived.
Varun cleared his throat. "Your mother told me you like sketching?"
She blinked. "Sometimes. Not lately."
He nodded, not pressing. "I used to play the violin. I stopped after college."
"Why?" she asked quietly, almost by accident.
He smiled faintly. "Life got in the way."
A pause. Then he asked softly, "Did life get in the way for you too, Siyara?"
Her throat tightened. Her nails dug into her dupatta. She didn't answer.
Finally, she whispered, "Varun... can I ask you something? Honestly."
He leaned forward slightly, listening. "Go ahead."
Her breath shook. "I don't know if I can be touched... not after everything. Maa wants me to try. But after marriage... if someone touches me, even by accident, I flinch. My body burns. My mind goes dark. How will I bear it?"
Varun was quiet for a moment. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees-not too close, just enough to be present.
"Then I won't touch you," he said gently. "Not until you're ready. Not even by accident."
Her eyes widened. Tears welled up. "Why are you being so kind?"
His smile was small, almost sad. "Because someone should have been, long ago."
Her tears slipped free. "Thank you."
They sat in silence-two strangers tied together by pain, but also something new.
When he left, the room didn't feel the same. The silence wasn't heavy anymore. It felt... changed.
She stared at the chair where he'd sat. His teacup still full, untouched. Like her-untouched, unreachable. But for once, seen.
Why didn't he look at me like the others?
Not with pity. Not with curiosity.
But as if he was speaking to the part of me no one else even sees-the part still bleeding quietly, hoping no one knocks too hard.
His words echoed in her mind.
"Then I won't touch you. Not until you're ready."
Ready.
As if the choice was hers. As if her body still belonged to her.
Her scars weren't just on her skin. They lived deeper-inside her memories, inside her heart. But something about his voice felt different. Not magical. Not healing. Just... not dangerous.
It had been months since she felt safe in a room with a man.
And today?
Her hands weren't shaking so much.
Her breath had stayed steady.
And when he left-he didn't look back, didn't take a piece of her with him.
He just smiled... and left her whole.
What kind of man leaves a girl whole, in a world that only knows how to take?
She wrapped her dupatta tighter around her shoulders and leaned back against the sofa without flinching.
Maybe this was nothing. Maybe tomorrow she'd forget the calm in his eyes.
But tonight, as the evening light stretched across the floor, she whispered to herself,
"If he keeps his promise... maybe I'll learn to breathe again."
