"Sir!" Siddharth's voice ricocheted down the open corridor of the wellness centre as he sprinted after Aanand, who was striding farther away.

His footsteps thudded against the stone floor, echoing off the high walls in a relentless chase, almost in rhythm with his hammering heartbeat. Sweat beaded along his eyebrows, sliding down his temple, while damp strands of his black hair clung stubbornly to his forehead, tangling around his eyes and ears.

"Aanand sir!" he called again, louder this time.

The older man halted mid-step and turned. His weathered face tightened, eyebrows knitting together.

Siddharth lifted a hand, palm out, urging him to wait as his legs devoured the distance between them. "Rafiq's here," he exhaled.

Aanand's furrowed eyebrows shot up. "That's impossible. He should be in jail, the court made it clear."

"I know," Siddharth wheezed, dragging air into his lungs, "but he's here. I told you before—it's him. It's truly him." His hand pressed against his chest, trying to steady the thunder inside.

"But what enmity does he have with my son?" Aanand's fists curled at his sides, nails biting into his palms. "What has he done to him?"

"They're cowards, sir." Siddharth straightened, his shirt clinging damply to his spine. "When they couldn't win in court, they turned to filth. Now they're striking at what we hold dearest."

A weighted silence pressed down between them, broken only by the distant murmur of the crowd.

Aanand's gaze, lost for a moment in the void, fastened back onto Siddharth. "Did you get Rudraksh?"

Siddharth's eyelashes lowered, and he shook his head slowly. "Did you?" he murmured, lifting his eyes to meet the father's desperate gaze.

"No." Aanand's reply carried the same heaviness, his head bowing under its burden. "Dr. Tanvi isn't in her cabin either."

The pause stretched again, taut as a rope about to snap. Both men stood with heavy shoulders and uneven breaths, the silence crowding them from every side.

"We can't stay still like this."

"We can't stay still like this."

Their voices collided in unison, urgency shattering the stillness.

Without another word, both turned sharply on their heels, their feet striking the ground in a hurried rhythm. Their eyes swept across the restless grounds, searching desperately – for Rudraksh, for the missing doctor, for any clue in the encroaching uncertainty.

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Morning sunlight spilled through the swaying branches of the trees planted along the sidewalk, dappling the brick floor with shifting patterns of leaves.

Rafiq stood rigid in the middle of the path, the files pressed to his chest so tightly their edges bent against his shirt. Sweat had gathered beneath his crumpled cap, clenched in his free fist. His arm rose, placing the cap over his head as he lowered his chin, hiding the restless twitch in his jaw. His gaze slid sideways, toward his companion standing a little distance away at the corner, wearing an expression flat as stone.

Mukhtar lifted his hand—first a stiff thumbs-up, then his fingers fanned open, flashing all five digits.

Rafiq's lips stretched into a crooked smirk. His chin dipped once, and he tugged the cap again.

"Hey! Ward boy!"

Rafiq's head snapped toward the sharp, cutting voice, his eyes narrowing.

An old man leaned heavily on a stick, his frail limbs trembling, though his voice carried all the stubbornness of age. "What are you doing here?" He jabbed the stick toward Rafiq's chest, the wood quivering. "Do they pay you to loiter?"

The culprit's gaze swept the man from bald crown to shaking knees. His jaw set hard, cheekbones twitching, a vein throbbing at his temple. "Oh, dada," he rasped, lips curling. "One leg already hanging in the grave, and you're still desperate to go faster?"

The elder's face flushed crimson, his thin lips trembling. His stick rattled against the floor as anger shook through him. "Mannerless man!" he spat, the spittle clinging to his chin. "Is this what your parents taught you?"

The files groaned under the force of Rafiq's grip. His other hand slid stealthily behind his back, fingers curling around the revolver's cold handle. His chest swelled, breath heavy, eyes blazing as he lunged a step closer. "#@×@#! No teeth in your mouth, no guts in your belly—and you'll teach me manners?"

The old man staggered backward, his face blanching to chalk. His knuckles whitened on the stick as the threat before him sharpened.

"Ward boy!"

The call sliced through the tension but couldn't dissolve the criminal's intentions.

Rafiq's chest heaved, his manic glare pinning the old man in place.

"Ward boy! What are you doing?!"

A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder. Another brushed behind his back, halting the revolver before it could rise into sight.

"What are you doing, Rafiq?" Mukhtar's whisper burned at his ear, low and sharp. "Focus. The goal. Time is slipping."

Then, louder, his voice turned hard, rehearsed. "Go! Stupid ward boy! Mannerless dog! Get out of here!" He gave Rafiq’s shoulder a shove.

Rafiq snarled silently, lips shaping curses, before spinning away with urgent steps.

Mukhtar's face softened as he turned to the elder, bending slightly, his tone dripping with courtesy. "Come, dada ji. Come. Where were you going? Let me take you."

The two men drifted apart, shadows stretching down opposite ends of the sunlit corridor.

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The unsynchronized footsteps mingled off-tune along the tiled corridor as people walked past with varied expressions – some urgent, some fearful, some relieved, some neutral, and some filled with malice.

One hurried movement, marked by a fearful yet guarded expression, snagged Rafiq's attention. His eyes flared open, his foot frozen mid-air above the floor. He dipped his chin quickly, eyelashes lifting just enough to steal a glance at the figure striding closer.

Justice Aanand Maurya.

The lines at the corners of his eyes pinched, narrowing into sharp slits.

Did he recognize me too?

His throat bobbed, the swallow loud in his ears. He forced his feet to move, reducing his pace to a tortoise's crawl. His head bowed, one hand reaching up to tug his cap lower, as if shrinking into the shadow of his own body.

The corridor seemed to narrow around him, filled with the tap of hurried footsteps and the distant murmur of anxious voices.

"Siddharth!"

Aanand's voice cut across the corridor as he surged forward—and a jolt cracked through Rafiq's arm.

Aanand's body lurched, his feet stumbling—

—when Rafiq's hand shot out before thought could catch it. His fingers locked around the bony ridge of Aanand's elbow, steadying him.

Aanand straightened, chest rising with quick breaths. His eyes flicked up, looking at the ward boy with the urgency of a man carrying worries heavier than mountains.

"Thank you, beta," he muttered, already pulling free from the brief contact.

The word "beta" cut through Rafiq sharper than any insult. His hand hung in the air, fingers curling into a fist before dropping back to his side. His lips slowly spread into a poisoned grin. He stood still in the wake of the judge's trust, tasting the bitter thrill of almost being seen. His teeth flashed for a moment. But the satisfaction drained just as quickly when another voice echoed through the corridor:

"Sir, I've got Dr. Tanvi. She's in the staff room."

The smirk returned as he tilted his head, the shadow of his cap sliding further over his eyebrows.

Solanki... you're searching for the ways... when I'm already near the goal.

With sudden purpose, he slipped back into the rhythm of the corridor—just another ward boy on urgent duty, carrying death like a hidden flame in his sleeve.

The air shifted as he turned the corner – lamplight replacing natural daylight, footsteps echoing sharper on the stone floor.

His jaw worked, restless, the smirk flickering before collapsing into a scowl. He scanned the doors lining the passage, numbers and signs blurring past, irritation prickling at his temples.

"Massage room..." A hushed groan escaped his throat as his gaze lingered on the brass plate above the carved wooden doorframe. He jerked his cap off, fingers digging into the fabric until veins stood out along his knuckles. "That Mukhtar. Didn't even give me the exact address."

With a quick twist of his mouth, he surged forward, chin tipped up, eyes darting across nameplates in rapid search—when his shoulder rammed into another body with a dull thud.

"Oh, bhai. Keep your eyes ahead when walking."

"What did you say?!" Rafiq snapped at the stranger – a man in the same dull white uniform, cap properly tilted on his head.

"Ward boy..."

"Yes, ward boy," the middle-aged man repeated flatly, though his gaze swept over Rafiq from collar to shoes with deliberate slowness. "Who are you?"

Rafiq's arms tightened around the bundle of files pressed to his chest. "What do you mean? Can't you see I'm wearing the same uniform as you?"

The man's eyes narrowed further. His hand twitched over the edge of the tray he was carrying. "But I've never seen you here before. Are you newly appointed? What is your name?"

Rafiq's jaw knotted. He dragged in a slow breath, nostrils widening, then released it sharply. "Do you know everyone here?" he shot back.

"I've been working here for more than nine years." The man lifted his chin. "Of course I know everyone. And I've never seen you. Who appointed you?"

Rafiq's eyes flickered shut for a moment, muscles jumping in his jawline before he spoke. "Dr. Tanvi Bajaj."

The man's eyebrows bunched. "Dr. Tanvi Bajaj?"

"Yes. Now can you tell me where the massage room is?"

"You don't know?" The man tilted his head.

"As you can see, I'm new here." Rafiq's face hardened at being interrogated like a criminal.

"What work do you have there?"

Meet me outside, you fu**i*g ba**a*d! You'll regret this from the depth of your grave.

The criminal peeled back his lips in a smile, teeth clenched behind it. "Because Dr. Bajaj asked me to take care of her patient."

"Which patient? Rudraksh Maurya?"

Rafiq's mouth tugged into a smirk, spreading wider until it split into a full smile. "Yes. Rudraksh... Maurya."

"But I was asked to serve this herbal drink to him." The man lifted the tray higher, the green liquid trembling in its glass.

The smile slipped from Rafiq's face. "W-who asked you?" His gaze darted around quickly, scanning the flow of passing staff before locking back onto the man.

"Acharya."

"Acharya?"

"Yes." The ward boy nodded. "Before starting the ayurveda massage, these herbal drinks are usually given."

"Really?" Rafiq's mouth twisted into amusement. He slid one hand out, the files shifting in his other arm, extending the free hand forward as if offering a simple exchange. "Then why don't you let me do this?"

"You?" The man blinked, eyelids flickering before settling on the outstretched hand.

For a moment, he weighed the offer in silence. Then, with a small shrug, he lifted the bundle of files from Rafiq's palm and placed the tray into his hand. "Okay. But don't mess up," he warned, jabbing a thick finger at Rafiq's chest. "If something happens, the blame will come to me."

"Definitely not." Rafiq shook his head quickly, lips splitting into a wide, smug smile. "Those files"—his eyebrows arched toward the stack of papers now cradled against the man's chest—"deliver them to Dr. Tanvi's chamber."

He let the words hang in the air with a lingering smile before turning sharply on his heel. His shoulders straightened, posture alive with purpose, the tray steady in his grip.

"Hey!"

Rafiq's eyebrows pulled together, his heartbeat faltering for a fraction. Slowly, he turned back, the corners of his lips stretching into a smile too tight. "What?"

"Address?"

"Ahh..." A crooked smirk tugged at the criminal’s mouth. "Where is it?"

"Third room down the second corridor."

Rafiq gave a small, measured nod. "Okay..."

With that, he pivoted back, brisk and silent, the tray balanced steady as he slipped into the indicated path. Inside, his chest pulsed with a quiet thrill, thanking Allah for the fortunate chance.

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With the tray balanced between his palms, Rafiq lingered before the entrance of the room. The corridor around him hummed faintly with occasional noises drifting from other rooms and distant corners. His chin tilted high, gaze snagging on the brass nameplate of the massage room gleaming in the dim light.

"...Rudraksh Maurya..." The name rolled soundlessly on his tongue, and a triumphant smirk tugged at his lips.

His eyes flickered quickly across the empty hallway. The tray shifted slightly, the glass clinking against the metal surface as he steadied it with one hand and slid the other into his pants pocket.

A small glass vial nestled into his fist, its cool surface pressing against his skin.

His thumb twisted the cap open. His face stayed unreadable, eyes still lifted forward as though admiring the doorway. Only his hand as he brought the vial close to the rim of the glass. A thin trail of drops slipped into the green herbal liquid, breaking its surface with tiny ripples.

A moment later, the cap snapped shut, the vial vanished back into his pocket, and the glass looked once again innocent and still.

"Mukhtar said it will start showing its effects in five minutes," he murmured, his eyebrows knitting tight. "I've to be very quick."

His jaw clenched, and he lifted his free hand.

Knock. Knock.

A muffled stir, then a drowsy baritone seeped through the wall. "Come in."

His lips curled into that same crooked smirk. His eyes narrowed with a sly glint, and in one smooth motion, he shifted the tray forward, nudging the door open with his shoulder.

"Good morning... sir~" he sang lightly, stepping into the massage room.

His grin widened at the sight of the boy lying shirtless on the narrow bed frame, lost in his own world – one pajama-clad leg crossed over the other, his face bored, one hand tucked behind his head, the other resting on his flat stomach, fingers tapping a lazy rhythm against his skin.

So this is Justice Aanand Maurya's... retarded son.

Rafiq's eyes narrowed as they swept over Rudraksh's lean frame.

Do we really need to work this hard for this dog's pup? One punch from me and he'd spit blood and bones.

Snarling silently, he moved closer, each step measured.

"Sir!" he called again, his tone edged with rudeness and disapproval.

Rudraksh's eyes flickered, his heavy lids shifting from the ceiling to the ward boy standing before him. "Hmm?"

"Your drink." Rafiq extended the tray, his gaze lingering on the drowsy boy.

"I don't drink," Rudraksh replied flatly, voice detached.

Rafiq's jaw tightened, but his pressed lips stretched into a side-smile. "Sir, herbal drink."

Rudraksh's gaze dropped to the green liquid, then back to the ward boy's smiling face. "Oh," he murmured, extending his hand toward the glass.

Rafiq's forced smile began to melt into a smirk as he watched Rudraksh's fingers curl around the glass, lifting it slowly off the tray, drawing it closer to his lips.

A/N: Tell me, how's this?

1. Did I succeed in making you all hate Rafiq?

And... let's pray for our Rudraksh's well-being 🙏.