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complete the target guys. For spoilers and notice  follow me on insta  @rii.magination

I sink into the sofa of my new house, letting out a quiet sigh. The place is already neat and furnished feels like it's internally decorated for someone —but some  few final touches left.

For years, I lived in rented flats, never feeling the need to settle. I had no one to return to, no roots tying me down. But my last place was a little too far from university, and with no one to share the load, managing everything alone took time.

So, I decided to buy a place—not too close, but closer than before. A small change, but somehow, it feels different.

I don’t know how to put it into words, but there’s something unsettling about this place. A quiet kind of viciousness that air is feeling so empty. Staying here alone… it won’t be easy.

A torn poster clung to the side of our university building, barely holding on before the cleaner, muttering curses, ripped it away. There was a rule—no ads allowed—but by chance, I saw it just in time.

That’s how I first learned about this house. When I called the owner, he refused outright.

But a week later, he called me back. The price was a little steep, but its proximity to the university made it worth considering.

Ugh… let’s make some cha. I drag myself to the kitchen.

Shit.

All the housework. In this big-ass place. I have to do it alone
I look around this huge house.

I should’ve hired a maid before buying it. Looks like I need to have a word with the previous house owner

I put the teapot on the gas burner and watch as the tea leaves mix with the milk. Pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial Mr. Shindey, my previous landlord.

Me: Hello, Mr. Shindey.

Him: Hello, Praveer… what happened, any problem?

Me: Problem… umm, for me, it’s a little big problem though… I need a maid.

Him: Maid… oh. Yeah, how can you handle that house alone?

Me: Yes… so can you help me to find one? At least for cooking or making the house tidy. Any one thing will do, it’s good. Make the house tidy, clean… I really need someone.

Him: Humm… wait for a bit, after half an hour I am coming, let’s see if I can help you find one.

Me: Oh. Ok. Such kind of you. Thanks.

Him: Okey, no problem. I will come in half an hour. Bye.

A sigh of relief escapes my lips. The tea is almost ready—just need to pour it into the cup.

Then the doorbell rings, interrupting me.

I look at the clock—8 PM. Who is at the door at this hour? Do Mr. Shindey really arrive this fast?

I turn off the gas and head to the door. "Wait, coming!" I shout.

I open the door and see two familiar faces. One is someone I see regularly, and the other… I’ve seen before, but I can’t remember where.

"Pamela? What are you doing here at this hour?" I ask, confused.

Her eyes widen. "Sir?! You?! Here?!"

She looks completely shocked, like she just saw a ghost.

I frown. "I should be asking you that! Why are you here? And how do you even know my address?"

The girl next to her looks just as confused, like she has no clue what’s happening.

"We need to talk. This house belongs to my uncle, Mr. Shindey," Pamela says.

"Oh... okay, so you're his niece. I mean, it was his, but now it's mine."

The silent girl, who’s been carrying a big luggage bag, suddenly bursts out.

"Pamela, what are you guys talking about?! You said everything was done and ready! What is this? Is this a joke or what?!" She’s practically shouting now.

"Calm down! Calm down!" Pamela waves her hands up and down, trying to soothe her.

This is getting frustrating. What is even happening?!

"Guys, please! It’s late, don’t make a scene! If there’s a problem, call your uncle. I bought this house, and I’ve already moved in!" My voice rises a little, my patience wearing thin.

I sigh. Uff, what a start!

"Alright, come in, both of you. Let’s call your uncle first, Pamela, and sort this out," I say, my voice laced with frustration. After all the trouble of shifting, I’m exhausted too.

They step inside quietly, and I gesture toward the sofa.

The girl with the huge bag waddles like a penguin under its weight. With a loud thud, she drops it on the floor and slumps onto the seat.

Whatever is going on, it’s not good. I paid the full amount for this house—I’m not giving it up, no matter what.

Pamela calls her uncle, and the man who was supposed to arrive in half an hour shows up in just twenty minutes.

Meanwhile, the girl keeps scanning me with a weird, confused stare. Is she angry? Confused? Disgusted? I can't tell. But something about her expression feels oddly familiar, like I’ve seen it somewhere before.

Mr. Shindey slightly pushes the door open and peeks inside. As he walks in, he speaks,

"Praveer, beta. Sorry about all this hassle, huh? Just a little misunderstanding, nothing more."

His wrinkled face turns toward me before glaring at them.

"Uncle! I told you before—my friend was supposed to stay here, and we agreed on a monthly payment! You agreed back then!" Pamela stands up, raising her voice.

"Shut up! The past is the past. Praveer paid a good amount, so I sold him the house. There was no guarantee your friend would even show up!" he snaps.

Watching them argue, it all clicks in my head.

"Umm… can we all just calm down? Shouting won’t solve anything."

I glance at the girl. Her face looks disappointing… and a little scared. This isn't looking good.

I turn to the girl and ask gently, "Miss...?"

"Divya," she replies.

Divya… The name lingers on my tongue, stirring something deep inside me. I swallow hard.

She murmurs, almost to herself, "I shouldn’t have trusted so easily…"

Pamela’s face turns pale at those words, and guilt creeps up on me too.

Divya forces a small, weak smile. "It’s okay if I can’t stay here. But if you know of any small place for rent, could you tell me? I’ll stay there."

Her voice is soft, almost hesitant. Her eyes are lower, filled with sadness.

"I don’t know any places here," she continues. "I’m totally new. This is only my second visit in over ten years, so..."

Mr. Shindey scoffs, his voice sharp. "No. I’m sorry. I don’t know any such places. You shouldn’t have come here alone if you don’t know the area! I can’t do anything."

"Uncle, don’t say that! She came here to study!" Pamela protests.

"Study, huh?" He lets out a mocking laugh. "Came all the way from London to study here? What happened? Ran out of money? Or did her father finally disown her?" His words are laced with cruel amusement, his smirk deepening.

Divya doesn’t say anything. She just stands there, frozen. Her fingers tighten around the strap of her bag, her knuckles turning white.

For a moment, there’s only silence. A silence heavy enough to drown in.

"Listen, Pam," Mr. Shindey says, his tone firm. "I can't do anything now. Legally, Praveer is the owner. What he does with this house is up to him. There's no point in asking me."

Pamela clenches her fists, frustration evident in her eyes, but she knows he's right.

"But she gave you the first month’s payment in advance!" Pamela screams, her voice trembling with anger.

Divya, however, stays silent. I don’t even know if she’s listening. Her eyes remain fixed on the ground, unmoving, as if the weight of everything is pressing her down.

This moment stirs something deep inside me, dragging out memories I thought I had buried.

The struggle of searching for a place to stay, alone. The nights spent wondering if I’d ever find a roof over my head. I had money, but never enough for comfort. Chasing my dreams while barely scraping by—I know that feeling all too well.

"Divya! Where are you going?!" Pamela grabs her wrist, trying to stop her.

"Listen… Divya," I say, my voice is firmer than I expected. An unusual guilt presses down on me, making it impossible to stay silent.

But she doesn’t even look at me. Her grip tightens on the bag strap, her knuckles white.

"I will find my own way. No help needed." Her voice is quiet, but there’s no hesitation. Just a tired, unshaken resolve.

I want to say something more , to stop this from going further. But before I can,

Gone. Just like that.

Pamela runs out after Divya, calling her name, her voice echoing in the hallway. But neither of them looks back. And just like that, they’re gone.

A heavy silence fills the space they left behind.

Then, Mr. Shindey exhales, rubbing his wrinkled forehead like he’s wiping away the mess that just unfolded. "Beta, sorry about all that drama," he says, his tone suddenly lighter, almost dismissive. "I’ll make sure Pam and that girl can’t enter here again. It’s your house now, and it’s you who decides what to do."

He shakes his head, muttering under his breath, "Uff, such troublesome girls."

Something about his words rubs me the wrong way.

I straighten up, my voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Mr. Shindey."

He pauses.

"Did you really take money from that girl?"

For the first time, he steps back—just a fraction, but I catch it. His small, beady eyes flicker with something between nervousness and irritation. He clears his throat, shifting his weight, his potbelly straining against his slightly crumpled kurta. His lips, dry and cracked, press together before parting in a forced smile.

"Ah… ah…" He swallows hard, rubbing the back of his neck. "I mean… yes. Pam gave me the money, saying her friend from London would come and stay.

But then—" His voice takes on a defensive edge. "I got a call from Pam, saying the girl was coming without her father knowing. So… I mean, you understand, right? Who would take responsibility for a girl like that? What if the police got involved?"

His smile stretches wider, but it’s shaky—forced.

"Ha ha… don’t worry! This matter is in my hands. I will return the money. Haha…" But his laughter is dry and hollow.

The kind that tells me he either doesn’t have the money or has no intention of giving it back.

Then, as if to escape the conversation, he groans dramatically, placing a hand on his lower back. "Ah… my back is hurting. In all this mess, I forgot to tell you—I’ll be sending my maid tomorrow at 9 a.m. Since it’s Sunday, she’ll come, haahh… Okay, I’m going now."

I nod, watching him waddle toward the door. But in my mind, something has already shifted.

As the door clicks shut behind him, I let out a slow breath. The room feels different now. He might think this is over.

Then—ah… my tea!

I rush to the kitchen, my heart skipping a beat. Did I forget to turn off the stove?

Ah… uff. A wave of relief washes over me. It’s off. Thank God.

I touch the teapot, and—ugh—it’s cold. Ice cold. My perfect cup of tea, now completely ruined. I don’t even have the energy to reheat it. And honestly? My craving for tea is dead. Gone.

With a sigh, I glance at my phone. 9 p.m. already? And I still have to make dinner?

I pinch the bridge of my nose, frustration bubbling up. Nope. Not today. I’m too drained for this.

Decision made, I leave the cold tea where it is, covering the pot with a plate. I’ll deal with it later. Right now, food is the priority.

I grab my keys off my bike  and step outside, the night air hitting my face as I lock  the door behind me.

Gulab Jamun is parked right in front of the house—my Harley Davidson sportster S bike. Yeah, that’s what I call it. Sweet, smooth, and absolutely irresistible. My love, my pride.

But right now, love can wait. Food comes first.

I swing my leg over the bike and start it up. The engine purrs, a deep, satisfying growl. As I take off, the fresh night air hits my face, cool and crisp. Feels good—except for one thing.

My damn eyes.

I wear contact lenses, but I really should switch to glasses. Too much screen time, too many late nights—now I’ve got dry eyes. The wind stings like hell. Shit, bro.

I blink rapidly, trying to adjust, but damn, this is annoying.

A blur of movement—someone’s running straight toward me. Fast. Too fast.

“Ahh… Ahhh—SHIT! Is this person mad?!”

I slam the brakes, my back wheel lifting slightly off the ground before slamming down again. My heart jumps to my throat.

And then I see her.

Divya.

For a second, everything stops.

“What the hell?! Are you dumb or what?! Who runs like that in the middle of the road?!” I get off my bike, still shaken.

She’s gasping for air, hands on her chest, trying to catch her breath.

“What do you mean?! Some drunk guys were chasing me! What do you expect?!” she snaps, glaring at me.

Shit. “Oh… are you okay?” I glance behind her, but there’s no one in sight.

She exhales sharply, then smirks. “Don’t worry. I gave them a nice shock.”

Then—she pulls a gun out of her pocket.

What. The. Actual. Fuck.

My brain malfunctions. Stunned. Confused. Weirdly impressed. All at once.

“A… gun?” I swallow hard.

“Electric gun.” She twirls it in her hand like it’s nothing. “They’re half-dead for a few minutes now. Should keep them out of trouble.”

Oh. Oh. Okay. Casual. Cool. Just another normal day, I guess.

“Well… uh… that’s… good?” I blink, trying to process. “But what about now? I don’t think you have a place to stay.”

“Yeah.” She sighs, the smug look fading. “But what can I do…”

Her face falls, and for the first time, she looks genuinely lost.

I hesitate. “Umm… I don’t know you, but if you want, you can stay at my place. Just for a few days. Until you find something.”

She shoots me a glare so sharp I feel like I just suggested robbing a bank.

“Mr. Stay-Away, I don’t need your help,” she snaps. “I’ve heard Delhi boys are dangerous. Seen some too. So back off.”

That tone. That absolute gunda attitude.

I stare at her.

And then—I just want to laugh.

Alright then. Good luck, lady. What even am I supposed to say now?

She turns in the opposite direction, walking away with a stubborn little huff.

"I'm going to stay at the station waiting room for today..."

I sigh, shaking my head, and hop back onto my bike.

She only gets a few steps before I call out, "Uh… Divya, that's the wrong direction. The station is the way I’m going."

She freezes mid-step. Slowly—painfully slowly—she turns around like a zombie from an old horror movie and walks back toward me.

My lips twitch. Is she serious?

Then, in the most sulky, defeated voice, she mumbles, "Will you really let me stay at your place for a few days?" Her lips push out in a small pout, her brows drawn together like a kicked puppy.

Yeah, this is definitely not the same girl who just electrocuted a bunch of drunk guys in an alleyway.

"Yeah, why not?" I say with a shrug. "I know running into some guys wasn't a great experience, but I’m not like that. Plus, it’s better to have a safe place to stay. And you do have an electric gun—you can use it if you ever feel unsafe."

She looks down, kicking at the ground, clearly debating with herself.

I smirk. "Think fast, Miss. I'm starving. I need to buy food."

As if on cue—growl.

Her head snaps up. Her stomach just betrayed her.

I raise an eyebrow. She gulps, looking slightly embarrassed.

"...Okay. I'm hungry too," she mutters, avoiding my gaze. "But don't worry, I’ll pay rent for the room."

"Cool. Then let’s eat first," I say.

I pat the backseat. "Hop on, Miss Starving Student."

She hesitates. Her hands hover near the seat before she finally swings a leg over and sits stiffly behind me, leaving a noticeable gap.

"Don't try to be oversmart, Professor. I have more tricks to take you down."

I blink. "Wait, what? How do you know I’m a professor?"

She snorts, arms crossed. "Of course I know. This isn't our first meeting."

"I saw you at the Physics Symposium."

I grip the handles tighter.

Wait—what?!

To be continued