Praveer

I watch her standing there, tense and wary, I let out a quiet sigh. She doesn’t trust me, and I don’t expect her to. A girl alone in an unfamiliar place, after whatever she’s been through tonight—it makes sense.

“The streets at night? They’re not safe,” I say plainly. “Doesn’t matter if it’s Delhi, Kolkata, or anywhere else. You know that as well as I do.”

She shifts uncomfortably, but I continue. “I’m not offering you a place out of charity. I just don’t want to hear about something happening to you tomorrow when I could’ve stopped it tonight.”

"I’m not forcing you to stay here… You can leave if you want," I say, my voice calm but firm. "I know staying alone with an unknown man like me might seem dangerous."

I run a hand through my hair, feeling the weight of my own words. Maybe I’m being too blunt, but sugarcoating won’t change reality.

“You don’t have to trust me,” I add, softer this time. “But for tonight, this is the safer choice.”

She exhales, considering her options. Then, with a small nod, she speaks.

“Can you show me a room, then?”

I nod and lead her upstairs. The house is quiet except for the sound of our footsteps. When we reach the middle room, I push the door open.

The room is simple. A single bed, a small desk, an attached bathroom. No unnecessary decor, nothing that suggests personal attachment. Just a space to sleep.

“This should be fine for the night,” I say. “The bathroom’s attached. If you need anything, I’ll be downstairs.”

She steps inside, scanning the room, her exhaustion finally showing. I turn to leave, but hesitation stops me.

“Wait, Divya.”

I head downstairs, grab something from a drawer, and return. She looks up as I hold it out to her.

A knife.

She blinks, surprised, hesitant.

“This is for you,” I say, my tone steady. “I know you don’t feel safe. So keep it. If you ever feel threatened—use it.”

She stares at me, then at the knife, before slowly taking it. She doesn’t thank me, but she doesn’t refuse it either.

That’s enough.

Divya holds the knife in her hands, her fingers tightening around the handle. She doesn't say anything, but I can see the gears turning in her head. Maybe she’s questioning my intentions. Maybe she’s wondering if she should actually use it—on me.

I step back, giving her space. “Get some rest. I’ll be downstairs.”

"Lock the room from inside."

Without waiting for a response, I turn and walk away, my footsteps heavy against the floor. When I reach the living room, I sit down on the couch and let out a slow breath.

This is a mess.

I don't make a habit of bringing strangers into my home, let alone young women who look like they’ve been through hell. But leaving her out there? That wasn’t an option. I’ve seen enough in life to know what happens to people who run out of luck on the wrong night.

I rub my face, exhaustion creeping in.

A second later, the faint sound  of the new lock turning reaches my ears.

Good.

She locks the door

Rubbing my temples. What the hell am I doing? I should’ve just dropped her at a women’s shelter or left her to figure things out. But something about her—something in her eyes—made me pause.

Why does this feel like déjà vu?

Feels like… feels like the name is not just a coincidence… it’s…

Why does it even matter? A name like Divya—there must be at least fifty thousand people with that name in the world. Probably more.

But the way she talks… the way she looks at me…

It stirs something. A memory just out of reach, like a word on the tip of my tongue.

I shake my head. No. Don’t overthink it. She’s just another stranger passing through my life. She’ll leave by morning, and that will be the end of it.

So why does it feel like it won’t be?

My eyes feel heavy from exhaustion. I let them close, sinking into the silence.
                                       ★★★
Chirp, chirp... 🐦

The distant sound of birds pulls me back. I groan, rubbing my eyes as I fumble over the table in front of the couch, searching for my phone.

Once I manage to grab it and unlock the screen—8 AM.

Fuck! I’m going to be late for college!

I jolt upright, heart racing—then it hits me.

It’s Sunday...

I let out a long breath and drop back onto the couch, running a hand through my hair.

What about Divya? Is she still here?...

I glance at the main door—it’s still locked. She hasn’t left.

Should I go upstairs to check on her?

I hesitate, but my feet move on their own. Climbing the stairs, I stop in front of the room where she stayed last night.

For a moment, I pause, debating if I should knock or just leave her be. But something in me needs to make sure she’s okay.

I raise my hand and knock lightly.

"Divya..."

No response.

I knock again, just a little louder.

"Divya... Are you up?"

"Yes, yes..." A soft, groggy voice comes from the other side of the door.

I exhale a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. At least she’s still here.

"Are you okay?" My voice is steady, but I listen carefully, searching for any hesitation in her response.

"Yes, yes. Absolutely."

She sounds fine... or at least trying to sound fine. I decide not to push.

"Okay. Take your time. I’m making breakfast. Sandwiches with eggs—will that work?"

A brief silence. Then, a quiet, "Yes."

"Alright then. I’ll be downstairs."

I turn away from the door, running a hand through my hair.

Last night was unexpected. I never thought I'd wake up with a stranger sleeping in my house, let alone feel responsible for her well-being.

Something about Divya unsettles me—not in a bad way, but in a way I can’t quite explain.

It’s not just her situation, not just the way she talks. It’s something deeper, something I can’t put my finger on.

Shaking the thoughts away, I head to the kitchen. I need coffee. And maybe figuring out breakfast will clear my head.

Sizzle… The eggs hit the pan, the scent of butter filling the kitchen. Toast crisps on the side, golden and warm.

I won’t lie—I’m tired. Cooking isn’t my ideal morning, especially after last night. But strangely, I don’t mind. Maybe it’s because, for once, I’m not just cooking for myself.

Fifteen minutes later, everything’s done. I plate the sandwiches, pour two cups of strong tea, and lean against the counter, exhaling.

"Alright… breakfast is ready. Let’s see if she actually eats."

I glance up at the stairs, expecting to see her, but she’s not there. My brows pull together.

Why is she taking so long?

A flicker of concern settles in my chest. Is she okay?

I debate for a moment, then push off the counter. Should I check again?

I call out, “Divya! Come down, breakfast is ready.”

A moment later, she appears at the top of the stairs, lugging her huge bag. She’s changed into fresh clothes—probably why she took so long.

"Sorry… I just took a quick bath. I was feeling sweaty," she says, adjusting the strap on her shoulder.

I nod. "Oh, okay. No problem."

As she steps closer, I notice the dark circles under her eyes. She looks exhausted. No surprise—who would get proper sleep in a stranger’s house?

“How was your sleep?” I ask, though I already know the answer.

She gives a faint smile. "Good. Thanks for letting me stay."

I nod. "Then let's eat."

As we sit, I slide a plate toward her. "I don’t know if I’m a good cook or not—you’ll have to decide."

She takes a bite, chewing thoughtfully. "Great… Thanks for the food."

I watch as she eats, a little too focused on her plate. She’s clumsy—bread crumbs stick to her lips and chin. I shake my head, amused.

"You, uh… might want to wipe your face," I say, gesturing.

She looks embarrassed, quickly wiping her face.

Silly.

"What about now?" she mutters, glancing at me for approval.

I nod. "Better."

A pause. Then, hesitantly, she speaks. "Sir… can you help me find a place? I know I’m becoming a burden, but I just need a roof over my head for now."

I set my cup down, studying her. There’s a quiet desperation in her voice, a weight she’s trying to carry alone.

For a moment, I consider telling her to stay here. It would be easier, safer. But would that be inappropriate? She barely knows me. What if she misunderstands my intentions?

Instead, I exhale and choose the logical option.

"Divya, you can stay at my previous landlord’s place. She’s an elderly woman, very kind, and she rents out rooms. It’s safe there."

Her face eases with relief. "Oh… That sounds good. If it’s not too much trouble, could you help me arrange a room there?"

I nod. "Yeah, I’ll talk to her. Let’s finish breakfast first."

                                           ★★★

I take out my car key. She seemed uneasy on the bike earlier—it was obvious. So, instead of making her go through that again, I decide to drive my car, even though I rarely use it.

I walk to the backyard where it’s parked, bring it around to the front, and she quietly gets in, settling into the passenger seat. No words, no hesitation. Just silence.

By car, it’ll take around thirty minutes.

The atmosphere feels awkward, thick with unspoken thoughts. I grip the wheel, glancing at her from the corner of my eye. She stares out the window, taking in the streets with quiet curiosity. A new city, a new place… alone.

How is she going to survive?

I glance at her before focusing back on the road. "What about Pam? Did she call you?"

She exhales, looking down at her hands. "I did call her, but she didn’t respond. Maybe because of her uncle."

Silence lingers between us before I decide to push a little further. "Can I ask more? Tell me if you’re comfortable."

She stays quiet for a moment. Then, I ask the question that’s been on my mind. "Does your father know you’re here?"

She nods, but it’s clear from her expression—he doesn’t.

"I don’t want my father to track me down," she admits, her voice firm. "That’s why I’m using a new phone. Only Sam and Kristin—my childhood friend—know where I am."

I let out a slow breath. "Don’t tell me they helped you get here…"

"Yes," she says, without hesitation.

We arrive at the house, the familiar garden coming into view. Miss Decosta, as usual, is tending to her plants, watering the bright marigolds near the low wall. The smell of damp soil lingers in the air.

I step out of the car, and Divya follows quietly behind me. As soon as Miss Decosta sees me, she breaks into a warm smile.

"Oh, Praveer! Back so soon? What happened? Did you leave something behind?"

I shake my head. "No, no. I actually need your help."

She raises an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. "Help? What kind of help?"

We step through the main gate, and I motion to Divya beside me. "This is Divya."

Miss Decosta's eyes flick to her, then back to me. A mischievous smirk appears on her face.

"Ohhh…" she drawls, crossing her arms. "Your girlfriend?"

Before I can react, she playfully smacks my chest, nearly making me stumble backward. It’s her usual dramatic way of talking. I rub my chest with a sigh.

"No, no!" Divya waves her hands frantically, looking embarrassed.

Miss Decosta squints. "Not your girlfriend?" She hums, then gasps. "Wife?"

I groan. "No, Miss Decosta. She’s my—" I pause, thinking fast. "—student."

Miss Decosta narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Student, huh?"

I nod. "She’s new here and needs a safe place to stay for a while."

Miss Decosta studies Divya for a moment, then sighs, placing her hands on her hips. "Hmm… Wants to stay alone? That’s not easy for a young girl in a new city."

Divya shifts uncomfortably, gripping the strap of her bag. I can tell she doesn’t want to seem desperate, but she needs this.

I clear my throat. "I wouldn’t bring her here if I didn’t trust her. And you know I wouldn’t ask if it weren’t important."

Miss Decosta exhales, still skeptical but softening. "Well… I do have a spare room. But  Mr. D’Mello downstairs will definitely ask questions."

Divya speaks up, her voice polite but firm. "I understand, Miss Decosta. I just need a place for now. I won’t be any trouble, I promise."

Mr. D’Mello, the real devil of this house, steps into the living room, his sharp gaze sweeping over us. He’s Miss Decosta’s half older brother, and unfortunately, the most problematic person in this rented house.

Before I can even say a word, he raises a hand. "No, Praveer. You know the rules. No college students allowed here. And a girl? Absolutely not."

His deep, disapproving voice fills the air, his wrinkled face set in a permanent scowl. "These days, girls are reckless. The last time we allowed someone, it turned into a disaster. We stopped allowing bachelors after you left."

I exhale, already prepared for this reaction. "Mr. D’Mello, she’s not like that. She’s responsible, and she just needs a safe place to stay. She’ll pay rent on time, no trouble at all."

Divya nods quickly, her expression pleading but respectful. "I understand your concerns, sir. I won’t cause any problems, I promise."

Mr. D’Mello crosses his arms, unimpressed. "Promises don’t mean anything. If something happens, we have to deal with it."

Mr. D’Mello crosses his arms and scowls. "We only allow married couples here. At least they cause fewer problems."

I open my mouth to argue, but before I can say anything, Divya steps forward.

And then—she says something so insane my brain short-circuits.

"Actually… we are married."

My soul leaves my body.

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Fast updates are on the way! I hope you guys are ready because, as a responsible reader (yes, I see you!), I know you’ll drop some comments, right? RIGHT? How else will I know if you’re loving the story !!

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