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Praveer

Yaaawn...
My mouth stretches wide, and I groan as my body slowly stirs awake. My neck is stiff, but it’s my left shoulder that really aches ..like something pressed against it all night.

Damn... it hurts.
I try to move it, but it’s sore and heavy. Like it’s been pinned or... resting on something?

I blink my eyes open slowly. The sunlight filters in through the half-open curtain, landing right on my face, heating my skin. I wince. Too bright...
But that’s not the only warmth I feel.

There’s something else.
Something soft.
Something under my left hand.

My fingers twitch instinctively.
It’s warm,smooth ,Soft and alive... Because it's moving up and down...

Then ..

“THUD!”
I tumble straight off the bed like a brick. My butt hits the floor hard.
Damn it! I wince.

The impact jolts my mind fully awake. I sit up, dazed, eyes blinking rapidly as I try to process.

Then I look up.

My hand…
was on her stomach.
Her. Stomach.

Bare skin.
Soft and warm skin ..Right beneath my palm.

Wait. Wait. Wait...

Then it hits me.

I’m shirtless.
Completely bare from the waist up.

I glance down at myself ..my chest is rising and falling, the light from the window brushing across my skin.

No shirt, no memory.
My heart skips.

I look around in a daze,like maybe the answers are hiding somewhere in the corners of the room. Then I spot it.
My T-shirt.
Crumpled halfway beneath the bed.

What the hell...?

I rub the back of my neck, the scratch of my fingernails not calming me one bit.

Then my eyes fall on her.
She’s still asleep.

Laid on her side, blanket curled around her waist, hair messily scattered across the pillow, lips slightly parted..sleeping like an actual baby.

And I’m the disaster in the room.

I sit there frozen, memories of the night before fuzzy as hell.
I remember the wine.
The food.
Talking with Ilya.
Coming upstairs.
The heaviness in my head.

And then ..nothing.

Nothing.

A familiar sick twist coils in my gut.
I know this pattern.
That’s why I don’t drink.
I’m a lightweight, and once I’m out, my memory wipes like a faulty hard drive.

I squeeze my temples.

Shit. What if something happened?
I don’t remember anything after hugging her.
We shared that hug. We got close.
I felt her warmth. I remember that much.

But..was that all?
Did I touch her? and the sleep position is not ideal for our first time bed share ..

My head spins.

I glance at her again.

She’s breathing peacefully.

But that image from just minutes ago flashes....my hand on her stomach.
What if more happened and I don’t even know?

I bury my face in my hands.
“Jesus Christ…”
I whisper it like a prayer.

We’re married. Yeah.
But that doesn’t mean I get to overstep.
Not like that.
Especially not when it’s just starting. When she’s still learning to trust me.
If I crossed a line, even unknowingly it would wreck everything.

I rub my face again, then glance back under the bed and pull out my shirt quickly.
I need to put myself together.
Fast.
And then maybe… gather the courage to ask her.

Did something happen between us last night?
Or worse—
Did I do something I need to apologize for?

I slip on my T-shirt quickly, still rubbing the sore spot on my lower back where I landed hard.

“Damn it,” I mutter under my breath, wincing. The floor isn’t exactly forgiving.

I stand up.. I glance toward the bed again.

She’s still there..peacefully asleep, not a wrinkle on her forehead, her lips relaxed, her breathing steady.
So natural.
So… undisturbed.
That’s good, right? I mean, nothing seems off. Her clothes are the same. The blanket’s mostly in place.

I slowly exhale in relief.

Still… I can’t shake the guilt that maybe I shouldn’t have even shared the bed if I don’t remember it clearly..
But she looks okay. She looks... untouched.

I step closer, my eyes drift to her waist. The blanket had slipped a little, leaving the soft curve of her stomach exposed. Not something scandalous, just… vulnerable...

I quickly look away.. my checks feel warm .

but there is a strange need to protect her.

I reach down, careful like I’m trying not to spook a deer. My fingers touch the edge of the blanket, and I gently start to pull it up.

Just then, my fingertips brush against her cheek.

Warm.

Really warm.

I pause. My brow tightens.

Gently, I press my palm to her forehead.
Burning.
Her skin is almost hot to the touch.

“Shit,” I whisper.

The air shifts inside me. The awkwardness melts instantly into full-blown concern.

She's running a high fever.

Her breath is still slow, but her body’s clearly heating up from the inside. She must’ve caught a chill after last night.all the rain, the tension. and... hell, she was hugging me while I was drunk ..

I sit on the edge of the bed, not caring about anything else now.

“Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t feeling well…” I murmur softly, brushing a bit of hair away from her face.

She doesn’t stir.

I press my hand again to her forehead.

No time to waste.

I get up quickly, grabbing my phone to check the time—
6:24 AM.

She needs medicine.

"Devi, wake up..." I say again, gently brushing a few strands of her hair from her face.

She lets out a week, "Hummm... So cold..." Eyes barely open, glistening with fever. She looks dazed, confused, like she's floating somewhere between sleep and a fever dream.

"You need medicine," I whisper, softer this time.

She frowns .. a proper, dramatic pout..then shuts her eyes tight like a stubborn child refusing to eat veggies. She even turns away, curling slightly toward the edge of the bed.

What the...?

"Devi..." I lean in closer. "You’re having a fever. You need to take paracetamol. Please…”

No reaction.

I narrow my eyes.

Wait.

Is she... pressing her eyes shut?

I lean in more.

Oh yeah — she’s squinting way too hard to be naturally asleep. Her brows twitch slightly like she’s struggling to keep still. I can literally see her holding her breath for dramatic effect.

"Devi..." I whisper again, but this time with a teasing tone, "...I know you’re not sleeping."

Still nothing.

Fine.
Is she just playing?

As I lean away slightly, the doorbell rings ..loud and repetitive.

Ding. Dong. Ding-dong-ding.

"...I’m coming back to you ..wake up.. or I will get angry," I mutter with strictness.

I walk down the stairs slowly, yawning a little. My shoulders still feel sore from sleeping weird.

Then I hear it ..car wheels crunching on the gravel outside. I quickly rush to the window and peek through the curtain.

Black cars… driving away.

Ilya is leaving.

A deep breath escapes my chest without me realizing.
Good.
That man is too much for one house.

I step back from the window, letting the curtain fall back into place behind me. My back leans against the cold glass, and for a moment, my mind goes completely blank.

Then, something shiny catches my eye from the table.

Flickering light ..like a reflection.

I squint. My eyes feel heavy, maybe from lack of sleep… or the emotions last night. I walk closer to the table, my knees bending a little to lean over.

And then I see it.

A diamond.

A small pink diamond, just lying there and My watch.

Lying there on the corner of the table. Why is it here ? Yesterday I couldn't find this watch.

I reach for the Dimond gently, blinking in surprise. It sparkles in my palm.

Beside it… there's a card too.

I pick it up.

The handwriting is sharp, messy, and unmistakably Ilya’s.

> “I don’t take debt.
I think it’s enough to pay for my stay at your home.
Though… that room was nasty for me.”

I let out a dry smirk. That man…

He never changes.

> _“And I needed to go.
But I’ll contact you soon—
maybe in two weeks…
or in a month.With a plan.

Don’t try to contact me in any way.

And by the way,
that annoying ass in that room…
tell her to clean better than cleaning your things”_

I shake my head, almost laughing. Typical Ilya.

Mysterious, dramatic, annoying… but still, somehow, unforgettable.

I sit down on the edge of the sofa, holding the diamond between my fingers, watching it shine in the sunlight.

This might just be the beginning of something big again.

I place the note back down on the table and lean back with a sigh.
But then…

Wait a damn minute.
Something in me itches ..like a splinter in the back of my mind.

That line in the note.

> tell her to clean better than cleaning your things”_

What the hell does that mean?

My eyes flick toward the hallway.

No.

I shoot up from the sofa.

Feet pounding against the floor, I rush toward the room Ilya had been staying in. My fingers fumble at the lock—
Click.

I push the door open and freeze.

Tied up.
Hands bound.
Mouth gagged.
Flailing on the floor like a cockroach caught under glass.

Eyes wide and muffled cries.

She’s been here this whole time?

My chest tightens. I stare, stunned, as she cries and kicks, desperate to be free.

Ilya…
That son of a—

I crouch down immediately and start untying her.

“Tum chori kar rahi thi?”

She looks down, her voice shaking.
“Woh aadmi… usne dekh liya mujhe ghadi rakhne ke time… main wapas rakhne wali thi… please mujhe police mein mat dena, sheb…Mene wo ghadi liya tha magar ajj subha ake rakhna hi chaiye tha”

(That man... he saw me while I was putting the watch back... I was going to return it... please don’t hand me over to the police, sir… I did take the watch but I was going to come and return it this morning.)

I stare at her.

Unbelievable.

So she did try to steal something.

And Ilya, unpredictable and sharp-eyed as always, caught her in the act and tied her up. Brutal..

She clutches her bag tightly now, ready to bolt.

“Ab se yehan mat aana,” I say coldly, standing upright.
(Don’t come here again.)

Her head snaps up.

“Sheb, please... ek mauka aur...”
(Sir, please... just one more chance...)

“Maine keh diya. Ab se yehan mat aana.”
(I said what I had to. Don’t come here again.)

My voice leaves no space for argument.

She lowers her head again, defeated.
Grabs her dupatta.
And leaves.

The door clicks shut behind her.

I exhale slowly, looking over at the hallway where everything just unfolded.

I sigh and run a hand through my hair. The room's quiet now, but my mind isn't.

Out of habit, I slip both hands into the pockets of my half-pants—
And pause.

My fingers brush against something small. ,Smooth ,Cold.

I pull it out slowly.

The diamond.

I must’ve slipped it into my pocket without even realizing.

A dry chuckle escapes me.

I head back upstairs, taking the steps two at a time. That diamond still weighs in my pocket, but my thoughts are already shifting to her.

As I reach the room, I mutter under my breath—

"If you think you're going to do whatever you want..."

I push the door open.

She’s sitting up on the bed now, legs crossed under the blanket, a half-empty glass of water in her hand and a medicine box resting beside her. Her hair’s still a mess, cheeks flushed from the fever.

But she’s awake.
Alert.
Trying to act normal.

My brows raise in surprise.

“Oh. Okay… good,” I say, stepping inside slowly.

She looks up at me.
Still a little pale.
Still a little weak.

But better than before.

Her eyes flick away—avoiding mine, maybe embarrassed. Or maybe still pretending she wasn’t being ridiculously dramatic ten minutes ago.

I lean on the doorframe, crossing my arms.

“You could’ve just told me you were awake instead of faking sleep like a five-year-old,” I say dryly, one brow raised.

She is sipping the water.

I sigh and walk toward her.

"I .. didn’t want to bother you.”

My jaw clenches.

“Devi, you have a fever. You are allowed to bother me.”

She doesn’t answer, just stares at the water in her glass.

I stand beside the edge of the bed, glancing at her again. The silence stretches a little too long between us.

“you couldn't sleep last night nah ..?” I ask gently.

She shrugs again. “I think so.”

I nod slowly, debating whether to bring it up.

That moment from earlier.
The closeness.
My hand on her stomach.
Me—shirtless. Her—curled beside me like..

I don’t remember much...
But maybe she does.

“You should’ve told me earlier you were feeling this bad,”

She doesn’t look at me. Instead, she takes another sip of water and quietly mutters—

“You weren’t drunk last night?”

I part my lips to answer…
But nothing comes out.

My eyes flick away, awkwardly scanning the room.

She raises an eyebrow, unimpressed.
“I can still smell the liquor from here,” she adds dryly.
“You stumbled in the corridor, you idiot. Don’t even try denying it For you my fever happened.”

I wince slightly.

“Okay, maybe I had too many drinks…” I admit, scratching the back of my neck.
“...but how does that explain your fever?”

She slams the glass down beside her and points at me like I just insulted her ancestors.

“What?! You’re seriously asking that?”
She huffs and stands up on the bed, glaring down at me.

She’s still wrapped in the blanket, She’s wobbly on the bed, swaying like she might slip off any second.
Instinct takes over—my hand reaches out and grabs hers, steadying her before she falls. Her small hands are warm.

And from where I’m standing, she’s just slightly taller than me now—because of the bed.

I raise my brows, amused. Great. Now she’s got the height advantage.

“I didn’t even step out of the car,” she continues, full-on argument mode activated.
“Didn’t get drenched. Didn’t run around in the rain.  Nothing happened right?”
" All happened because drunk, emotionally unavailable idiot who didn’t even say what he felt!”

I blink.

Wait…
What?

“You’re calling me ‘idiot’ more than once now,” I say, trying to keep my tone even. “You can’t call me that. I’m your si—”

She cuts in, her gaze razor-sharp.
“Husband. You’re my husband,” she repeats, firm and clear, her voice not trembling even a little.
“And if you do things like an idiot, I will call you an idiot.”

I stare at her.

Speechless.

That piercing boba look in her eyes god, it’s not even angry. It’s just… confident. Solid. Like she knows exactly what she’s saying and isn’t afraid of the consequences.

I try to muster a reply. “Hmm… well, I’m not exactly approving of the word ‘idiot,’ okay?”

But I gulp hard

Because I never thought of this five-foot girl—would say things like that to my face.

With that kind of fire.
With that kind of weight.

And the worst part?
It’s shattering.
Not because I’m offended.
But because… hell, I’m kind of enjoying it.

Fuck my life.

Now I can feel it…
I’m going to end up listening to all of her.

All her wild, impulsive decisions.
The unnecessary ones. The reckless ones.
The ones I’ll call useless—but secretly, I’ll never stop caring about them.

And the worst part?
I won’t even be able to say anything.
Because her voice—her stubborn, passionate, frustrating voice—will always shut me up.

I’m getting deeper.
Drowning in this storm that her.

And I had this feeling…
This pull inside me…
One I never even knew existed until now.

"What’s giving you this confidence to talk to me like that?" I ask, narrowing my eyes just a little.

She doesn't flinch.
Her voice is calm and Steady.

"You," she says plainly.
"And what happened last night... I felt like I needed to be more confident. Maybe even push you a little."

My heartbeat skips.

"Last night? What happened… exactly?"

We both sit down on the bed.
The mattress dips slightly between us.
The space feels tighter than before.

She turns toward me, her brows pulled together in disbelief.

"You don’t remember? Not even a single thing?"

I avoid her gaze.

"Umm... no."

“Seriously…” she says, squinting at me.

Then, suddenly—
That sly smile.
I don’t even know what it’s for.

But it sends a chill down my spine.

She leans in.
Closer.
Too close.

I gulp, instinctively shifting back just a little.
Her face is now barely inches from mine.

Then—softly, she brings her hand up, the back of her fingers brushing the side of my face, near my left ear.

She leans in, lips barely moving—

“Kissed…”
She whispers it like a secret. Like a sin.

My breath catches.
What…?

“No, we didn’t,” I blur out, eyes wide, backing away.

She just sits there, smug.

Her smile deepens—annoyingly unreadable.

“Didn’t we?” she says, tilting her head.She doesn’t say anything else.

Just smirks, pulls the blanket up to her chin, and lies down like she didn’t just flip my entire world upside down with one whispered word.

“Kissed…”
It echoes in my skull like a damn alarm.

I just sit there, mouth half open, completely dumbfounded.

Was she serious?
Was she flirting?
Or was that some twisted little joke to mess with my hungover brain?

My eyes stay locked on her as she curls on her side, eyes closed like she’s already halfway asleep.

My brain, however, is in panic mode.

We kissed?
No way.
Right?
She’s joking. She has to be joking.

I blink, still trying to process, and get up like a zombie.

I move toward the door, still dazed.

★★★

I’ve done a lot today. More than I’d planned.

Of course, I told the maid not to come—after, she could barely speak.

Now, I’m sitting downstairs on my old bean bag in the corner of the living room, slouched like a deflated human.

Exhausted.

The room’s quiet except for the hum of the ceiling fan and the faint sound of her breathing.

She’s asleep on the sofa.
Half-covered with a blanket.
One arm and one leg sticking out, like a kid who gave up halfway through trying to get comfortable.
She’s sweating now—fever finally coming down.

I’d given her some anti-allergy medicine too—girl was sneezing like hell, practically blowing the roof off. That feverish pout turned into full-blown grumpy sneezes in under ten minutes.

Now she’s knocked out, her mouth slightly open, hair a mess, and one sock halfway off her foot.

And still—
She somehow looks... peaceful. Like the storm from earlier never happened.

I lean my head back, letting out a long breath.

What a day.

Between Ilya’s cryptic nonsense, the tied-up maid, the mystery diamond, her fever, and that whole “kissed” drama…

I’m not sure whether I need sleep or therapy.

Maybe both.

Ding-dong.

“AHH! Who is it now…” I mutter, dragging myself off the bean bag with a groan.

I walk toward the door, rubbing my tired eyes, and peek through the keyhole.

A boy and a girl.

Young and Familiar faces.

Sam and Kristin??

Oh god.

I swing the door open, eyes wide. “Sam… Kristin… you’re here?”

Kristin doesn’t wait.

She beams at me and slips right past, brushing my shoulder lightly. “Oh!! Divya!” she squeals.

Before I can even process, she spots Divya asleep on the sofa and practically dives on top of her like a long-lost puppy. I blink, slightly fazed, unsure if I should laugh or panic.

I turn to the doorway again.

“Come in, Sam,” I say, stepping aside.

He enters slowly, unlike his sister. His eyes are quieter. Face pale and Shoulders are tense. A shadow in contrast to Kristin’s sunshine.

I watch them both for a second.
Same genes almost
Same faces.
Completely different energies.

Kristin is glowing ..bright, chaotic, excited.

Sam looks like he’s been carrying something heavy for days.

“Oh my god—what happened to her?!”
Kristin suddenly straightens up, eyes wide as she takes in Divya’s flushed face and tangled limbs.
“Why is she sweating like that? And sleeping at this hour like... this?”

I motion for both of them to sit down, raising a hand to calm her dramatics.

“Relax. Sit down, both of you.”
I glance at Divya, then back at them.
“She’s got a fever. Gave her medicine a while ago. It’s working—she’s just knocked out.”

Kristin’s eyes go even wider.

“She’s sleeping like a dead corpse. Actually—”
She pauses, entirely straight-faced.
“A corpse might look more alive.”

I blink.
Wow.
That’s… a line.

Beside her, Sam finally speaks, his voice low and thoughtful.
“That’s why she didn’t pick up her phone.”
He sits down quietly, his gaze fixed on Divya. Something unreadable flickers in his expression.

I offer them a small smile, trying to lighten the mood.
“So… nice surprise. Really. I’m glad you guys came to see her. She misses you both. A lot.”

Kristin softens, her dramatic energy dialing down just a notch.

“Of course she does. And we missed her, too,” she says, brushing a strand of Divya’s hair off her forehead gently.

“But… there’s another reason we’re here,” Kristin says suddenly, her voice quieter now, more serious.

Sam shifts uncomfortably beside her.

“Umm… actually… actually…” he starts, stammering a bit.

A sharp, anxious pulse hits my chest.
“Everything’s okay, right? Her father’s okay?”

They both go silent for a second.

“Yeah… well. Not both,” Kristin finally says, sliding onto the sofa beside Divya, adjusting her legs to make room. She brushes a bit of sweat from Divya’s brow.

“We actually don’t know where he is anymore,” she says, eyes not meeting mine.
“After he found out where Divya was, he came here... but he never returned to London.”

My stomach drops.
So he’s gone underground.

A cold stillness settles in the room.

But Kristin isn’t done.

“And... there’s something else.”
She glances at Sam, then back at me.
“We’re also here because of Sam’s girlfriend. Pamela.”

Sam looks down. Still silent.

“She hasn’t contacted him in months,” Kristin continues, more gently now.
“Something’s wrong. Sam’s scared. Especially because of her uncle... let’s just say he’s not a good man.”

I look at Sam.

And then, finally, he speaks.

“Before coming here… we went to the address Pamela gave me.”
His voice is heavy.
“It’s my first time in India. We somehow found the place. But she wasn’t there. The house was locked. Windows boarded up.”

Silence.

Even the fan feels too loud now.

Something bad is definitely going on.

“Did you guys ask around? Does anyone nearby know where they went?” I ask, my voice tense.

Sam nods slightly.
“We did. But no one had any idea. Her uncle… he’s not exactly the social type. Barely spoke to the neighbors. Some of them looked annoyed just hearing his name.”

Kristin adds quietly,
“We thought maybe you guys would know something. She was in your college, after all…”

I look down. The guilt seeps in, even though I barely knew Pamela beyond a few passing interactions.

“Not really,” I admit.
“She was quiet. Kept to herself. Barely stayed on campus longer than required.”

A pause settles over us.

Then I look up again.

“Can you tell me the address? The one she gave you.”

Sam pulls out his phone slowly, unlocking it with shaking fingers. He scrolls through his messages, then hands it over.

"This is the last place she sent me before she stopped replying."

I take the phone.

And I read the address.

Something about it prickles the back of my neck.

─────────────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆─────────────

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