"Nahiiiii", I screamed, my breath came in ragged gasps, and my throat burned as if the screams from my dream had clawed their way into reality. My hands clutched at the sheets, damp with sweat and the echo of my voice— still reverberated in my ears.
(Nooooo)
My heart hammered against my ribs, an unrelenting thrum of terror that refused to fade. I pressed my palms to my face, trying to block out the fragments of the dream still flashing in my mind.
A shadowy figure coming towards me. My feet rooted on the ground. My voice cracking as I screamed begging them to stop. To stop hitting me. To stop this torture. But they never did.
Anger bubbled in my chest. Why does this keep happening? Why do the memories of my shadowed past keep coming to me dressed as nightmares?
I put on a hoodie and stepped into the balcony, the cool night air brushing against my skin. The soft click of the lighter felt too loud in the stillness of the night. I lit my cigarette, inhaling it deeply before the sharp scent of tobacco filled the air.
I exhaled the smoke curling around me before dissolving into the night. The irony wasn't lost on me. Cigarettes and fresh air— they don't belong together, much like me and sleep. Even if I somehow managed to sleep, these nightmares won't let me.
I wish I wasn't insomniac. The thought came unbidden, accompanied by a bitterness that settled deeper than the taste of nicotine on my tongue. Nights like this stretched endlessly, the hours bleeding into another, leaving me trapped in the company of my restless mind.
The cigarette burned low, until it signed my fingertips. I stubbed it out against the edge of the railing, watching the ash fall to the ground below.
The night offered no answers, no solace. I stayed there anyway breathing in the cold air as through it I could feel the spaces inside me that felt so hollow.
The sudden shrill sound of my phone broke the silence, cutting through my thoughts like a blade. I walked inside, picking up my phone from the bedside table.
"Jaivardhan" I said after receiving the call. Already bracing myself for whatever news he had.
"We found another one, sir" his deep voice said on the other end, steady and professional. "But he also won't open his mouth."
For a moment, I didn't respond. My grip tightened around the throat as fury settled in my gut. "Keep him alive" I said. My voice calm but cold. "I'll be there soon." Without waiting for the reply I ended the call.
Dropping the phone into my pocket, I grabbed the leather jacket from the chair and stepped into my boots. My keys jingled as I picked them up from the counter and strode outside to the parking lot. Rows of sleek cars gleamed under the dim glow of the garage but my eyes went straight to the matte black beast waiting for me— my bike, Harley Davidson.
I swung a leg over the seat, twisting the key and soon the engine roared to life, its growl reverberating through the empty space. Soon, the cold wind hit me as I sped on the empty streets.
Jaivardhan's words echoed in my head. Another one. And yet, no answers.
Finally, I pulled up outside the old warehouse and cut the engine. Taking my helmet off, I pushed open the rusted metal door and stepped into the dimly lit space. Jaivardhan was waiting for me, his face impassive but tense.
"He's in the back," Jaivardhan said leading me to a small room where two other men stood guard outside the door.
I nodded, my jaw tightened as I moved towards the room. My patience is thin, so let's just hope that this man has the answers I want.
As soon as I opened the door a silver light crept in illuminating the man slouched in the chair. The sudden brightness made him wince and squint, turning his head away while his bound hands strained the ropes.
"Who is it? Why am I here?" His voice cracked, trembling with confusion and fear.
I strode towards him slowly, each step echoing in the dim, suffocating silence of the room. He wriggled in his seat, the ropes creaking against the wooden chair but there was no escape. Bending down to his level, I let my gaze lock with his while he adjusted to the light.
His eyes, wide and bloodshot, finally settled on me— and recognition gave way to dread. "Who... who is this?" he stammered, his words barely audible.
I tilted my head and chuckled, a low, bitter sound that filled the room like poison. "Tsk, tsk, tsk" I drawled, tracing the edge of his face with my eyes. "I suppose it's hard to recognise people when they grow older, isn't it?"
Confusion flickered in his expression before the terror set in. He gulped audibly. "What do you want from me?" He whispered, his voice breaking.
I straightened, pulling the knife from my pocket. The blade caught the faint light, glistening like a shard of ice. I spun it lazily between my fingers, letting the tip glide across my skin, teasing him with its sharp precision.
"What do I want?" I mused stepping closer. His body stiffened, his breath shallow as his eyes followed the blade's hypnotic dance.
I leaned in, my voice low and sharp. "I want you to remember old man. I want you to suffer like I did."
His breathing quickened, his chest heaving against the ropes as the realisation crept in. His lips quivered forming the words he couldn't speak.
"Ah," I said, my smile widening. "Now you remember."
I turned to the small clusters of candles flickering in the room. They were the only sources of light besides the cracked walls. I held the blade over one of the flames, watching as the metal began to warm.
"I'm only going to ask this once—where is your boss?" My voice was calm, almost too calm, as I tilted my head and glanced back at him.
The man's breath hitched, his eyes darting from the knife to my face. "I don't know! I swear, I don't know!" His voice cracked, and a tear slid down his cheek. "Please, let me go! I have a wife... kids..." His voice broke into a desperate plea, his shoulders shaking with suppressed sobs.
I scoffed, the edge of my lips curling into a mock pout. "Aww, wife and kids?" I drawled, my voice dripping with feigned sympathy. I turned back to face him, stepping closer, the floor creaking under my weight. "It's about time they lived their lives without a monster like you, don't you think?"
His eyes widened in sheer terror, his entire body trembling as I closed the distance. "Wait! Wait!" he blurted out, his voice rising in pitch. "He's not in India! That's all I know, I swear! Please... just let me go!"
I paused, the corners of my lips curling into a slow, wicked grin. "Not good enough," I murmured, my voice soft but laced with menace.
In a flash, I pressed the blade closer to his face, its tip hovering dangerously near his eyes.
"NOOOOOO!" he cried, thrashing wildly against the ropes, his pleas merging with the suffocating darkness. But his words fell on deaf ears as I leaned closer, my face inches from his, my eyes cold and unyielding.
"Let's see how well you see the truth... without those lying eyes," I whispered, my grip steady as his screams echoed.
_______
I came back to the palace mansion early in the morning and entered the hallway. The faint rustle of a newspaper brought my attention to the center of the hall. There, my father sat on the sprawling sofa with intricate wooden carvings on its armrests, the kind that made a statement of elegance and tradition.
He looked up from the newspaper as I walked in, his sharp, angular face radiating a commanding presence. His hair, piercing gaze settled on me with an air of authority. My father was the kind of man whose every word held weight, a figure both revered and admired by all who crossed his path. His charisma was magnetic, his demeanour composed yet brimming with untold stories of triumph and wisdom.
"Where were you?" he asked, his voice steady but edged with curiosity.
"Out for a walk," I replied casually, attempting to match his calm tone.
He raised an eyebrow, a flicker of disbelief crossing his face. Folding the newspaper deliberately, he leaned back into the sofa, his expression transforming into one of gentle admonishment. "Apne baap ko mat sikha," he said, his lips twitching slightly in amusement.
I couldn't help but smile at his teasing reprimand. "Good morning Babo Sa," I said, bowing my head slightly in respect before turning toward the grand staircase that led to my room.
"Wait," he called after me, his tone now softer but no less firm. "First, come with me to your Dado Sa's room."
I paused mid-step, turning to see him already rising from the sofa. His movements were deliberate, exuding the quiet strength that defined him. I followed him as he strode across the hall, his hands clasped behind his back. This was my father—a man who commanded respect effortlessly, the bridge between tradition and modernity, and the keeper of the family's legacy.
As we entered Dado Sa's room, the familiar scent of sandalwood greeted me, mingling with the faint aroma of his chai resting on the side table.
"Aapne bulaya hume, baba?" My father said.
(You called us, father?)
Dado Sa sat upright on the bed, his posture impeccable despite his age, exuding an air of authority that demanded respect without ever having to ask for it. His nurse, a kind man in his mid-forty's, was diligently arranging his medicines on a silver tray. When he saw us, he raised a hand, signaling him to leave.
"Go now," he said in his firm, deep voice, which seemed to carry the weight of countless decisions made over a lifetime.
The nurse gave a slight bow and quietly left the room, closing the door behind him.
"Sit," Dado Sa commanded, gesturing with a subtle nod.
I settled at the edge of his bed, near his legs, the soft mattress dipping slightly under my weight. My father pulled the upholstered chair closer to the bed, its mahogany frame creaking faintly, while resting his forearms on the armrests.
Dado Sa's eyes shifted between us, his gaze sharp and assessing. Even in his old age, he was the cornerstone of our family, the man whose decisions had shaped all our lives. The lines on his face told stories of wisdom and resilience, and his presence filled the room as though he were still in his prime.
"There's something I need to tell you both," he began, his voice steady, each word deliberate.
My father leaned slightly forward, his expression respectful but curious. "What is it, Dado Sa?" he asked.
Dado Sa clasped his hands together, his rings glinting faintly in the sunlight. "Do you remember my friend Yashveer, Pranav?" he asked, looking directly at my father.
"Yes," Babo Sa replied, a faint smile playing at his lips, as though reminiscing about an old memory. "The one who named me and Pranay."
"The Late King of Panna", Dado Sa said. My father's eyes lit up in recognition, and Dado Sa nodded, satisfied. "Years ago," he continued, "when his granddaughter was born, I made him a promise. I told him that she would marry my grandson."
The room fell silent for a moment as the weight of his words settled in. My father leaned back, his hands clasped together, while I tried to process what he had just said.
"And now," Dado Sa added, his tone softening but retaining its authority, "I think it's time."
"Time for what?" I blurted out, my curiosity outweighing my apprehension.
"To fulfill that promise," he said, fixing his gaze on me. "We fixed your marriage a long time ago, back on the very day the princess was born. But I never brought it up because she's much younger than you, and I thought there was no rush."
My father looked at him intently. "And now?" he asked.
Dado Sa sighed, leaning back slightly against his pillows. "Yesterday, her father, the current King of Panna called me. He said that their daughter is now ready for the marriage. It's time we honor our word. We should go and see her once, meet their family, and finalise this alliance."
I stared at him, my mind racing. My life had just been upended by a promise I had never known existed.
My father was the first to break the silence. His voice, calm yet probing, filled the room. "Saransh, do you have someone in your life? Or are you okay with this marriage?" he asked, his gaze steady as it shifted between me and Dado Sa.
I glanced at my father, then at my grandfather, whose sharp eyes studied me with a mixture of expectation and resolve.
I've always kept my distance from women. I don't know why—I just have. And now, when Dado Sa tells me he made a promise and needs to keep his word, I'll go along with it. I don't care whom I get married to or who this girl is. We Rajputs take great pride in always fulfilling our promises. And somewhere in my heart I have always known that I will have to marry someone from a royal lineage only.
So all I know is that I have to honour my grandfather's word, and that's exactly what I'm going to do.
My father kept looking at me, his expression unreadable, while Dado Sa's face softened, a rare smile appearing on his lips. "No,Babo Sa," I said, turning back to my father. "I have no one in my life. You can tell them that we are ready for the marriage too, Dado Sa," I said, looking back at my grandfather.
Dado Sa beamed with pride and leaned forward to pat my forehead affectionately. "That's my grandson," he said warmly, his tone filled with satisfaction.
I stood, bowing slightly in respect to both of them. "I'll take my leave now," I said, eager to escape the heavy atmosphere and longing for a shower to clear my mind.
As I exited the room, I nearly collided with Raj and Rudra, my younger cousins, who were pressed comically close to the door. Their ears had been glued to the wood, and they jumped back, startled, before breaking into mischievous grins.
"Oh my God, Bhaiya, you're getting married!" Raj teased, his voice dripping with mock excitement. Rudra joined in, clapping his hands dramatically.
I folded my arms across my chest, towering over them, and glared down at their gleeful faces. "Don't you two have anything better to do?" I asked, my voice cold and pointed.
Their teasing smiles faltered, and they exchanged nervous glances before bolting down the hallway, their laughter echoing faintly behind them.
Shaking my head, I headed to my room. Once inside, I shut the door and leaned against it, exhaling deeply. My mind was a storm of thoughts, but I pushed them aside as I began unbuttoning my shirt, letting the fabric fall to the floor. Stripping away the day, I turned to the mirror and caught a glimpse of my reflection—calm on the outside, but restless within.
That man. His boss. The promise. The marriage.
I stepped into the bathroom, determined to let the water drown out the questions that had started to rise. For now, I needed clarity, even if it was fleeting.
I stepped into the shower, letting the warm water cascade over me, but it did little to drown out the man's words that kept echoing in my mind. "He's not in India. Please let me go." His desperate voice reverberated in my thoughts, stirring something deep and dark within me.
I didn't understand this relentless urge to hunt down his boss, to make him pay. It was like a storm brewing inside me, uncontrollable and consuming. I knew I couldn't turn back time, couldn't undo the things that had already happened. The scars of the past were too deep, too raw. But I wanted to do better—needed to do better.
Somewhere in the chaos of my mind, a resolute thought took form: I didn't want anyone else to suffer like I had. The pain of being utterly alone, the unbearable feeling of knowing the world wasn't made for you but against you, and the endless cycle of torture—physical, emotional, mental. It was a fate I wouldn't wish on anyone.
As the water streamed down my face, a lone tear escaped my eye. It slid down my cheek, mingling with the shower water as if it could vanish, unnoticed. But then another followed, and another, until I couldn't hold them back. I leaned against the tiled wall, my shoulders trembling as I let the tears flow, releasing emotions I hadn't allowed myself to feel in so long.
It wasn't weakness, I tried to tell myself. But as I stepped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, I caught my reflection in the fogged-up mirror, and shame flickered across my face. I had let myself break down, even if no one else had seen it.
Standing there in silence, I vowed to myself—never again.
I dressed for the day, methodically pulling on my shirt and trousers, my movements precise, almost robotic. As I adjusted my tie in front of the mirror, I stared at my reflection, the determination in my eyes hardening.
"No one will ever see this side of me again," I whispered to my reflection, the words more of a command than a promise. "No one will ever know. I won't let them."
I squared my shoulders, straightened my posture, and brushed off the lingering vulnerability as if it had never existed.
I would face it as the person the world expected me to be—strong, unyielding, and untouchable. I would never cry again.
_______
I know guys that this is not the chapter I had written earlier but this time I wanted the characters to be more intense. Especially Saransh, so I haven't changed his storyline but only a few scenes.
I hope you like it.
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