Rain pounded against the pavement in torrents, icy needles slashing her skin like a thousand tiny knives. Her hair, heavy and drenched, clung to her cheeks, while her dress plastered to her trembling frame like a second skin.

She stood barefoot on the slick asphalt, her toes curling under in a futile attempt to escape the chill that crept up from the earth and seeped deep into her bones. Each breath came in ragged bursts, visible in the cold air as her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird.

He stood before her, a silhouette carved in rain and shadow, his eyes burning through the downpour like embers.

An electric jolt shot through her as their gazes locked. Neither of them moved. The world stilled around them, except for the rain crashing down between them like a fluttering curtain.

All at once, with a swift, confident movement, he stepped forward – one hand gripping her nape, his fingers tangling in her wet hair, the other sliding around her waist. Before she could speak, could even breathe, he yanked her closer, his lips crashing into hers with a fierce desperation that seemed to consume them both.

Her eyes flew wide. She tasted rain and salt. Her lips parted without her meaning to; her body arched into him. She clutched his soaked collar, dragging him closer as though she could dissolve into him, escape inside him. The world around them melted away, blurring at the edges, leaving only the rhythm of their breathing and the roar of the rain when—

—a sudden, brutal rupture tore through her body.

She gasped, stumbling back as her eyes widened. Blood gushed from her abdomen, warm and thick, mixing with the icy rain. A dagger protruded from her stomach, merciless and cold. Her breath hitched, her knees buckled, and she collapsed onto the ground.

As she looked up, her gaze met his—only to find a twisted smile spreading across his face, his eyes glittering with a cruel light dancing in the darkness.

Slowly, he wiped his lips with the back of his hand and laughed. "Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!" His laughter echoed through the rain. In the blink of an eye, his expression shifted, his jaw clenched, and he kicked hard at the hilt of the dagger.

"AHHHHH…!"

"Ahh!" Ira's body jolted upright, her eyes snapping open as a sharp gasp tore from her lips. Her chest heaved, heart racing like a wild animal. One hand clutched the mattress, the fabric twisted tightly in her fist as if it were the only thing anchoring her to reality. The other shot up to her forehead, wiping away the sweat clinging to her skin.

The dim glow of the green night bulb cast eerie shadows that danced across the walls. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the familiar shapes and contours, but her mind clung to scattered images: rain pounding against her skin, a kiss that burned through her, the cold steel of a dagger, and blood pulsing in time with her panicked heartbeat. The scream—"Ahhh…!" —still echoed in her mind, raw and distant, as though it belonged to someone else entirely.

"What happened?"

Ira flinched, her head snapping toward the sound.

Panchhi rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn, her voice hoarse with sleep. "What happened, Ira di?"

Ira stared at her for a long moment, her face still etched with a fear she had not yet escaped. Her hand drifted to her stomach, trembling fingers brushing over the curve of her abdomen, searching for something – a wound that wasn't there. Her nightclothes were soft and dry beneath her touch.

No dagger. No blood.

Panchhi's hand settled gently on her shoulder, steadying her. "Di…" she whispered, more awake now. "What happened?"

"N-nothing. Nothing." Ira's voice cracked, barely audible. Her gaze slid away, unfocused. The memory of rain-soaked skin and the feel of his lips on hers brought a strange, unsettling sensation.

A shiver ran through her. Goosebumps rose across her skin, and her hand flew to her mouth. She scrubbed at her lips with the back of her hand, her expression twisting. "Disgusting," she muttered.

Her legs swung over the edge of the bed, feet dangling for a moment before touching the cold floor. She stood abruptly; the chill seeped into her skin, but she didn't react. Without looking back, she walked out of the room.

Panchhi's frown deepened as she watched Ira vanish into the darkness. Without hesitation, she kicked off her blanket, the soft fabric rustling onto the floor as she scrambled out of bed. Her bare feet padded quickly across the cold tiles, the chill biting at her skin.

"Ira di, wait!" she called after her, her voice rough, urgency rising with every step.

💫💫💫💫💫💫💫💫

On the rooftop, in a quiet, shadowy corner, Ira stood still, her forearms crossed tightly over the cold cemented railing. Dawn had yet to break. A thick blanket of fog cloaked the sky, swallowing the stars until only a few blinked faintly, like dying embers behind a veil. A biting gust of wind brushed against her face, lifting the strands of her loose hair and making her eyes flutter shut for a moment.

Somewhere below, muffled voices of family and relatives drifted upward – soft, bustling murmurs preparing for the day's occasion. The air carried a dense blend of floral scents – jasmine, marigold, rose – merging with the smoky aroma of early morning fires lit for cooking.

She watched silently as figures moved beneath the porch light, vague shadows flickering in and out of view. Under a white tent in the corner, cooks bustled about – stirring, chopping, shouting instructions – the clatter of steel plates and ladles rising faintly to the rooftop.

"Di! Didi! Ira di!"

Panchhi's voice reached her before her figure did, slicing through the fog like an arrow.

Ira didn't turn. Her eyes stayed fixed on a distant, unseen point far beyond the rooftop's edge, as if something invisible held her gaze captive.

Breathing heavily from climbing the stairs, Panchhi appeared beside her. She draped a shawl over Ira's shoulders and wrapped the other end around herself, pressing close. Together, they formed a cocoon of sisterly silence.

Panchhi rested her head on Ira's shoulder, her cheek cold against the warmth of her sister's woollen shirt.

Ira pulled her closer, her arms draping protectively around Panchhi's shoulders.

"Panchhi...?"

"Hmm?" Panchhi murmured, her eyes half-lidded, already sinking into the comfort of their shared warmth.

"Do you believe in that saying?"

"What saying?"

"That... morning dreams come true?"

"What did you see?"

Ira's gaze dropped. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed the weight of her words. "I was... kissing... passionately... a faceless boy."

A silence followed. Panchhi blinked, her lips twitching, and a second later, she burst into muffled laughter, snorting as she slapped a hand over her mouth.

"Hahahahaha...!" She stepped away, unable to contain herself, her body folding with amusement. The shawl slipped off their shoulders and fluttered onto the terrace floor.

"Ira Kashyap! The leader of the 'Love is a Scam' campaign was kissing?!" Her voice cracked as she pointed at Ira, doubling over again. "Who—who was that poor, unfortunate soul who thawed your frozen heart?"

Ira's face twisted into a glare. She picked up the shawl, dusted it aggressively, and threw it around her shoulders again.

"I told you he was faceless," she snapped. "And he was not a poor soul! He stabbed me," she jabbed a finger at her stomach, "here! And kicked me too! Such a bas*ard."

Panchhi clutched her stomach, gasping between laughs, her back nearly bending backward before she managed to compose herself. "Di! Chill! It's just a dream. Our evening conversation is messing with you. And that stupid movie you watched with Jheel. Your brain is weaving its own epic now."

She wiped her tears with the sleeve of her cardigan. "Besides, no sane boy would approach you with that always-angry expression plastered on your face." She waved a finger in circles around Ira's frown. "People actually fear talking to you."

"They don't fear. They just think I'm weird." Ira's expression flattened, unaffected. "Plus, it's not my problem if they assume I bite after every word."

Panchhi snorted again and circled back to wrap an arm around Ira's waist, pulling her close. "Though, Di..." Her tone softened, eyes gleaming, the corner of her lips curling into a smug smile.

Ira glanced down, blinking, her arms instinctively coming around her sister again.

"What if... there's a message in this?" Panchhi tilted her head. "You know how dreams sometimes come true. Not perfectly, but vaguely… like a blurred photo."

Ira's face softened, and a faint smile crept onto her lips, slow and cautious, like an intruder testing unfamiliar ground. Her gaze drifted upward to the pale moon, still visible through the smoky fog. She walked back to the railing, each step unhurried, the smile refusing to leave.

"Then," she said, clutching the front of her shirt, fingers curling just above her heart, "I will say, 'Oh my, faceless lover. The world already has too many tragic tales: Heer-Ranjha, Laila-Majnu, Salim-Anarkali, Sohni-Mahiwal, Shirin-Farhad, Romeo-Juliet.'"

She inhaled deeply. "Why would you want to add another heartbreak to this collection of fools?"

She sighed with theatrical flair, shutting her eyes as though absorbing all the tragedy of the world. Her fingers brushed away invisible tears from her cheeks.

Panchhi burst into fresh laughter, gently slapping Ira's shoulder. "Di, you're too dramatic. I swear, your lover would laugh his butt off before stabbing you."

Ira's lips curled into a reluctant smile, trembling at the edges as if resisting joy. She looked skyward, eyes narrowing at the lingering moonlight. "Lover boy," she muttered. "Just say you wanna leave. Don't throw a dagger at me. That will hurt, man."

Her fingers wandered once again to her stomach, instinctively brushing the fabric, as though recalling the phantom pain.

"So?" Panchhi leaned in, her voice light and teasing. "What do you think he might be doing right now?"

"Who? My faceless betrayer?" Ira chuckled under her breath. "Maybe planning my murder," she muttered with a crooked smile.

Both sisters dissolved into laughter, the sound rising into the open sky, mingling with the wind. The breeze rushed around them, carrying the vibrant scents and chaotic joy of the wedding preparations below. From a distance, a shehnai began to play softly.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The bright glow of the LED bulb illuminated his cabinet. Rudraksh sat rigidly in his chair, eyes fixed on the laptop screen with a laser-focused stare. His right palm cradled his chin, elbow planted firmly on the desk, as he navigated through the code with a few swift clicks of the mouse.

With each file he opened, his eyebrows furrowed deeper, his jaw tightening in growing irritation. The cast on his wrist felt heavier with every passing second, pressing on his chest until even his breathing slowed.

Leaning in closer, his good hand flew over the keyboard, opening comparison tabs and digging deeper into the changes. The clacking of keys was the only sound in the otherwise silent room. His eyes scanned the lines of code, and his face twisted.

They had touched the payment logic. His payment logic. Without asking. Without backing it up. Without understanding it.

A muscle jumped in his jaw.

The code was a mess – bypassed checks, incomplete error handling, missing logs, sloppy syntax.

His eyes narrowed as he continued dissecting the code, determined to uncover every reckless change made during the one month of his absence.

"What the hell were they thinking?" he muttered, the words low and sharp.

KNOCK! KNOCK!

"Come in," he said flatly.

Nilesh stepped inside, a member of his development team, clutching his laptop to his chest like a shield. His eyes darted from Rudraksh's face to the screen and back, before settling reluctantly on his boss's piercing gaze.

"Sir, I just—uh—I need a minute. It's about the payment system."

Rudraksh fixed him with a neutral stare.

Nilesh swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "We followed the instructions you left, but there's an issue..." He fumbled with his laptop, fingers trembling as he opened it and placed it on the desk, angled toward his boss.

Rudraksh's eyes dropped to the screen, scanning the code with an unblinking intensity.

Nilesh shifted uncomfortably. "Sometimes the payment confirmation doesn't come through," he said, voice shaky. "It works in the test. But on the live—"

"You changed the handler?" Rudraksh's head snapped up, eyes sharp.

Nilesh nodded hesitantly. "Y-yes, but we tested it. Locally. It seemed fine."

"Locally?" Rudraksh leaned forward, elbows thudding against the desk. "Same configuration? Same latency simulation? Full rollback triggers in place?"

"I... I think so..."

"You think?" Rudraksh's voice dropped to a whisper, far more terrifying than a shout. His face remained a mask of controlled rage. "This isn't some CSS bug where the button turns pink. This is a company. Involving real people. And real money."

Nilesh took a step back. "I-I understand. We thought—"

"You thought?" Rudraksh repeated. His hand slammed down on the laptop, the sound echoing like a slap across the room. "You don't get to think in production. You test. You ask. You confirm. You escalate. You do not rewrite core logic and then cross your fingers hoping it works."

Nilesh stood frozen, eyes wide as Rudraksh's anger crashed over him.

"Do you even understand how much liability this puts us under?" Rudraksh spoke through gritted teeth. "What if a transaction gets lost? What if we trigger a double charge? Do you know what that does to customer trust? To compliance? To me?"

"I'm sorry," Nilesh whispered, head bowed.

Rudraksh's gaze lingered on him for a long, uncomfortable moment. "Roll it back."

Nilesh blinked, confusion flickering across his face. "Sir?"

"You heard me. Roll. It. Back." He paused, his eyes never leaving Nilesh's. "Restore the last stable build. Run a full test suite. And next time you even think of touching that logic, you call me or Karan. You don't get creative with the company’s heartbeat. We're not interns here."

Nilesh nodded rapidly, like a frightened puppet. "Y-yes, sir."

"Go."

The door shut behind Nilesh with a soft click. Rudraksh sat perfectly still, his right hand hovering above the mouse, fingers twitching. His jaw was locked so tightly a vein throbbed at his temple, pulsing like a warning that might burst at any moment.

He stared at the darkened laptop screen, where his own reflection glared back at him like a specter – hollow eyes, clenched jaw, a ghost draped in anger. The image seared itself into his mind, fueling the storm raging inside him.

In a sudden motion, his hand shot out. The paperweight flew across the room, hit the wall with a sharp, cracking thud, and shattered into a hundred pieces as it crashed to the floor.

A harsh exhale tore out of him – half-gasp, half-sob – as he pressed his right palm to his forehead, fingers digging into his hairline. His eyes squeezed shut, the pain in his shoulder flaring from the sudden outburst.

How could they touch it? How could they dare? The payment system was his creation – built from scratch, every function, every edge case, every failure alert meticulously crafted. It was his baby, and they had butchered it like amateurs tinkering with a live bomb they didn't understand.

His breath grew heavier, shorter, each second ticking like an explosion muffled beneath his ribcage. His eyes snapped open, and he stared blankly at the whiteboard across the room. Scribbled diagrams and architectural notes covered the surface, a hastily wiped corner standing as a testament to the chaos that had erupted earlier.

Knock! Knock!

Rudraksh exhaled through his nose, teeth gritted. "What now?"

Dhriti stepped into the room. Her light brown pencil skirt and full-sleeve pink shirt stood out sharply against the muted tones of his cabin.

"H-hi." She held an envelope close to her chest, arms wrapped around it as though guarding something fragile.

Rudraksh's eyes remained closed, his fingers pressing gently at his temples.

"I... I-I just wanted to check on you." Her voice faltered, and she bit her lower lip, gaze dropping to the floor. "I heard about your arm, and I thought you might like a little note."

She took a steadying breath and stepped forward. "I... made this." She extended her hand, the envelope resting lightly in her grip.

Rudraksh looked at her hand, then at her face – expression cold, silent, waiting.

Dhriti's arm did not waver, though her eyes flickered.

Rudraksh took the envelope with the detachment of someone accepting a report, not a gesture of care. No curiosity. No warmth. Just a mechanical motion. The envelope felt foreign in his hand, like a reminder of a world outside his bubble of code and collapsing systems.

Dhriti clasped her hands near her stomach, a nervous smile stretching across her face. Her gaze kept darting between Rudraksh and the envelope.

With deliberate slowness, Rudraksh unfolded the card, revealing a watercolor phoenix painted on the front. He opened it, eyes moving over the printed message before settling on the handwritten line.

❤️❤️ ɠɛɬ ῳɛƖƖ ʂơơŋ, ʄıཞɛცąƖƖ ❤️❤️

Fireball?

Rudraksh blinked, shifting his gaze from the card to Dhriti's sparkling eyes and hopeful smile. His own face remained blank, and the moment his expression didn't change, the brightness on her features faltered. He looked back down at the card and flipped to the next page. Dhriti's fingers trembled, her smile flickering in and out like a passing dark cloud over a sunny sky.

𝐖𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐭𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞 – 𝐃𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢…

A long, heavy silence stretched between them.

Rudraksh lifted his eyes, meeting hers. "Ms. Vashisth," he said quietly, his voice stripped of emotion. "What exactly is this?"

Dhriti's smile broke, her lips parting as if to explain, but no words came. "Just a... card. A get-well-soon message, that's all."

Rudraksh's expression remained unchanged. "No," he said firmly. "This isn't just a card. This is personal. Romantic. And completely inappropriate."

Color rose sharply in Dhriti's cheeks; she looked away. "I didn't mean—"

"You didn't mean for me to read it?" he cut in, incredulous. "Because you wrote it. Signed it. And hand-delivered it. During work hours."

Dhriti's voice sank as her gaze dropped. "It wasn't meant to be unprofessional—"

"But it is," he stated plainly. "I don't know what you think this is, but let me make one thing clear: this is a company, not a college hallway. You're here to work, not daydream about your love life."

Dhriti's eyes brimmed, her lips tightening before she spoke. "I didn't mean to cross any line—"

"You did," he said, stern and unyielding. "And if you ever do it again, I won't be half this patient. Next time, don't bring me cards. Bring performance reports. Or bring a resignation letter – whichever you think fits better."

Dhriti froze, fingers trembling against the hem of her shirt as the reprimand settled in. "I-understood, sir," she whispered, her voice shaking at the edges.

Rudraksh's gaze stayed fixed. "Good. You're dismissed."

Dhriti turned and left without another word, the door clicking shut behind her.

The envelope remained on the desk. He stared at it, his face carved in indifference.

Then, with mechanical detachment, he tore the card into pieces and tossed them into the bin.

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The injection slid smoothly into Ira's vein, her eyes fixed on the spot as the liquid coursed into her nervous system. A cool sensation spread through her arm, yet her face remained calm, her gaze unwavering.

Her grandfather's attention shifted from his work to her pale face, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watched her.

Ira breathed shallowly, her chest rising and falling with a quiet desperation. Her eyes drifted closed occasionally, as if keeping them open required too much effort.

When he pressed a spirit-soaked cotton ball gently to the puncture site, the soft, cold touch made Ira's hand instinctively pull closer to her shoulder.

The grandfather turned sharply toward Vaidehi. "Do you even realize how weak she is?!" His voice was loud and stern. "She has the weakest immunity in this entire family. She got a 104° fever just by staying on the roof for a few minutes!"

Vaidehi's face contorted as she clutched the fabric of her saree tightly in her fist. "Then what do I do, Papa?!" Her gaze darted between Ira's downcast face and her father's stern expression. "Pneumonia, typhoid, TB, thyroid! I've become fed up with her! She has just become a burden! I can't walk around her my whole life!"

A single tear slipped from Ira's left eye, glistening on the back of her palm like a tiny jewel in the faint evening light streaming through the window. Her throat bobbed as she swallowed, trying to force down the lump forming within.

Panchhi, seated beside her, gently caressed her sister's back.

The grandfather stood tall at the edge of the bed, his eyes widening. "She is your daughter, Vaidehi! You're her mother! How can you talk like this about your own child?! Even when she was suffering from tuberculosis, neither you nor your husband bothered to ask about her wellbeing. Not even once!"

Vaidehi's fists clenched by her sides, as if she were holding herself back from unleashing her fury on her father. "I have to study, Papa," she spat out, the words sharp and clipped. "I want that professor's job." Her eyes flickered to Ira, her jaw tightening. "Only then can I send these burdens to some better place."

"With the way you take care of your daughter, she won't be able to live a very long life." His expression hardened. "Then go on—send her corpse to a better place." With long, firm strides, he walked out of the room, disappearing into the distant hum of murmurs outside, their warmth swallowing his tense silhouette.

Vaidehi's face snapped toward Ira, fire blazing in her eyes at the sight of Ira's silent tear. Her lips twisted into a bitter snarl as she muttered under her breath, "Useless." As she turned to leave the room, her whispered words sliced into Ira's fragile heart. "Die and give me peace."

🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁🍁

The door clicked open, and a quiet ripple passed across the floor as Rudraksh stepped out of his cabin. The sound of his footsteps was steady and sharp against the tiled surface. He didn't speak, didn't look at anyone, but the weight of his presence moved ahead of him like a shadow.

People felt it in their spines even before he reached their desks. Some straightened instantly, their screens lighting up with code editors, dashboards, and half-finished tasks being clicked rapidly into motion.

A few juniors fumbled with their mouses, typing random characters just to look busy, their fingers flying across the keyboard with frantic urgency.

Others seemed to stop breathing altogether, their eyes glued to their screens as if hypnotized.

At the far left, Nilesh sat stiff as a board, his eyes fixed on his monitor, his face pale and drawn.

As Rudraksh passed by two interns from the design team, they flinched, their eyes darting toward him with a mixture of fear and guilt. One of them instinctively shut her WhatsApp Web tab, the sudden movement making the cursor hover awkwardly before clicking the window closed.

Rudraksh paused for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing, his gaze sharpening. "You're not paid to text."

The girl nodded so fast her glasses slid down her nose. "Sorry, sir," she whispered.

Rudraksh's eyes shifted back to the space ahead of him as he continued walking, his footsteps measured and controlled.

One confident senior remained utterly unfazed, code streaming across his dual monitors with the soft whoosh of scrolling text.

Rudraksh noticed, and for the briefest moment, a glimmer of approval shifted in his eyes.

With a sharp turn, he walked back the same way he came. Every desk he passed saw eyes drop and spines stiffen, as if his very presence demanded discipline and silence.

The door to his cabin clicked shut.

And just like that, the spell broke. People exhaled, shoulders slumping as the tension drained from the room. Air returned. Whispers began to rise – hushed at first, then spreading like small sparks catching dry leaves.

"He's terrifying," someone whispered, eyes flicking toward the glass cabin.

"And he's not even CEO anymore," another said, shaking his head.

"Thank God for that," a colleague muttered, rolling her eyes. "Imagine this place if he still had actual power."

The confident employee stretched his neck, murmuring under his breath, "You don't need a title to rule. He has that aura."

Someone nearby nodded, their gaze drifting toward the cabin with a blend of fear and fascination.

Another person rolled their eyes, subtle, but loud enough in meaning.

Near HR, two juniors huddled around a coffee mug, whispering carefully.

"I heard he was neglecting the company for months because of his personal stuff."

"Yeah, the heartbroken Romeo," the other replied with a snide roll of her eyes.

"And now acting all perfect." She scoffed. "If he's not CEO, why does he behave like this?"

Their colleague answered instantly, voice low and matter-of-fact. "Because without him, half the systems collapse. Everyone knows it. Even Karan won't touch the development logic without his sign-off."

The intern's eyes widened. "Still," he whispered, "I heard he used to drink a lot. Alcohol, not coffee."

"No way," another breathed, a hand pressed to her chest.

"Swear on my GitHub," he said, a mischievous spark lighting his eyes. The three juniors exchanged looks – curious, excited, and eager for more stories about Rudraksh's past.

A/N: Actually, the app is still not working on my device, that's why I was unable to add photos or minor edits. Anyways, how's it?

1. What do you think of her nightmare?

2. Any comments about Rudraksh's behavior to his colleague and employee?

3. About Vaidehi's attitude towards Ira?