The hospital corridor was unusually quiet for that hour.
Kinjal walked slowly between them, her steps hesitant, as if the floor beneath her could disappear any moment. The nurse had insisted on a wheelchair, but she had refused—she needed to feel the ground, to know she was still standing on her own.
Her fingers twined tightly around the edge of her dupatta, and her eyes flicked from door to door, wall to wall, as though every shadow could hide a threat. Her chest tightened, and a small, involuntary shiver ran down her spine.
Pankhuri stayed close, matching her pace.
"Take it slow," she said gently. "There's no hurry."
A few steps behind them, Rudra walked in silence.
Kinjal nodded faintly, barely noticing Rudra and Aditya trailing a few steps behind. Rudra's hands were tucked into his pockets, his expression unreadable, but her instincts whispered that he was watching her. She didn't meet his eyes. Not yet.
The cold night air greeted them as they stepped outside. It felt sharper than usual, slicing across her face and making her flinch. Pankhuri's hand brushed lightly against her arm. "You're safe," she said gently.
When they reached the exit, the cold night air brushed against Kinjal's face. She flinched slightly.
"It's okay," Pankhuri reassured, placing a light hand on her arm. "You're safe."
Safe.
The word felt heavy. Fragile.
Adi unlocked the car without a word.
Kinjal sat in the back seat, close to the window, knees drawn slightly inward. The city lights blurred past as the car moved, Mumbai glowing outside—alive, indifferent.
She kept her eyes fixed outside, but her reflection stared back at her in the glass: pale, tired, scared.
From the rearview mirror, Rudra glanced at her once.
Just once.
He noticed the way her shoulders stiffened every time the car slowed. The way her hands clenched whenever a horn blared nearby. She wasn't crying.
She wasn't speaking. But fear sat quietly with her, like an old companion.
He looked back at the road.
Pankhuri broke the silence softly, "If you feel dizzy or uncomfortable, tell me, okay?"
Kinjal hesitated… then gave a small nod.
Her throat felt tight. She wanted to ask a hundred questions—Where are we going? Who are they really? What will happen next?—but her voice refused to come out. She simply nodded, a faint, almost imperceptible movement, her fingers tightening around the dupatta again.
The car moved forward through the glowing city, carrying four strangers bound together by one night—and by a decision that would change all of them.
Kinjal pressed her forehead against the cool window, staring at the blur of lights outside, and tried to convince herself that maybe, just maybe, she could survive this night.
The car slowed as it turned away from the main road.
Kinjal noticed the silence first.
The constant noise of the city faded behind them, replaced by a stillness that felt unfamiliar—almost unsettling. Tall walls lined the street, broken only by iron gates and trees standing motionless under dim lights.
The car came to a stop.
Kinjal's fingers curled into her dupatta.
Rudra stepped out first, calm and unhurried. The remote in his hand clicked once, and the gates slid open smoothly. As the headlights swept across the driveway, Kinjal noticed two men standing near the entrance—dressed in dark clothes, alert but quiet.
They didn't speak.
They didn't stare.
They simply nodded at Rudra and stepped aside.
Her chest tightened.
Security, she realized.
Of course.
This wasn't just a house. This was a life she knew nothing about.
She stepped out slowly, her legs still unsteady. The cool stone beneath her feet sent a shiver through her. The bungalow stood tall at the end of the driveway—modern, imposing, wrapped in soft lights that reflected off glass and stone.
It was beautiful.
And terrifying.
What kind of people live in places like this?
What kind of life is this?
Without realizing it, she moved a little closer to Pankhuri.
Aditya walked ahead, unusually quiet, while Rudra unlocked the door with practiced ease. Everything about him suggested familiarity—this place answered to him.
Inside, the living room opened up into a wide, carefully designed space. High ceilings. Clean lines. Muted colours. The lights were warm, but the room itself felt distant—like it had learned to exist without voices.
Kinjal stopped just inside the doorway.
I don't belong here, her mind whispered.
The space felt too big for her fear. Too clean for her confusion. It wasn't unkind—but it wasn't welcoming either.
Behind her, the door closed with a soft, final sound.
Her breath caught.
For a moment, she felt trapped—not by walls, but by the realization that she had stepped into a world completely unfamiliar to her.
Rudra noticed her pause.
He didn't rush her.
Didn't question her.
He simply waited.
After a moment, Kinjal took a slow breath and stepped forward.
Just for tonight, she told herself.
Just survive tonight.
The door closed behind them with a quiet finality.
The living room looked even larger from the inside.
White sofas were arranged neatly around a dark glass table, the contrast sharp and deliberate. Soft lights glowed from the ceiling, reflecting off polished floors and glass railings that led upstairs. The open staircase curved gently, disappearing into the upper floor, its transparency making the space feel endless.
It was beautiful.
Too beautiful.
Kinjal stood still near the edge of the room, unsure where she was allowed to sit, unsure where she belonged. Everything looked untouched, like it was meant to be seen—not lived in.
Pankhuri stayed close to her, a quiet anchor in the middle of unfamiliar luxury. Aditya leaned against the railing near the stairs, hands in his pockets, unusually silent.
Rudra moved toward the center of the room and stopped.
"There are a few things you need to know," he said, his voice calm but unmistakably firm.
Kinjal straightened immediately.
"You'll be staying here only for a short while," he continued. "This is temporary."
She nodded.
"The guest room upstairs is yours," Rudra said, gesturing briefly toward the staircase. "That's where you'll stay."
His eyes met hers—not unkind, but distant.
"The rest of the house is off-limits."
The words settled into the room quietly.
"No wandering around," he added. "No entering spaces that aren't yours. And no unnecessary interaction."
Kinjal's fingers tightened around the fabric of her dupatta.
"Yes," she said softly.
"If you need something," Rudra went on, "you speak to Pankhuri. Or Aditya."
He paused for a fraction of a second.
"Not me."
The rule wasn't harsh.
It was final.
Kinjal nodded again, her gaze dropping briefly to the floor. She didn't argue. She didn't question him.
She had learned, long ago, that questions rarely made things better.
Pankhuri glanced at her gently. "It's just for now," she said quietly. "You'll be okay here."
Kinjal looked around once more—the spotless sofas, the shining lights, the staircase leading to a place she didn't know yet.
"I understand," she whispered.
Rudra gave a single nod, as if that closed the discussion.
"I'll show you the room," he said, already turning toward the stairs.
As they moved away, the living room remained exactly the same—bright, expansive, flawless.
And strangely empty.
***
Upstairs felt quieter than the rest of the house.

The moment Kinjal stepped into the room, the silence changed. It wasn't heavy like downstairs. It was softer. The warm light from the lamps settled gently against wooden furniture and neutral walls, making the space feel calm—almost protective.
She paused near the doorway, unsure, before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed.
Pankhuri stayed close, adjusting the pillow gently.
"You can rest here," she said. "Bathroom's attached. Take your time."
Kinjal nodded.
As her breathing steadied, her eyes drifted to the two men standing a little away from the bed. She realized something then—no one had properly introduced them yet.
Pankhuri noticed the hesitation immediately.
"Oh," she said softly, almost to herself. "I didn't introduce you properly."
She turned to Kinjal. "This is Rudraksh Khurana."
Kinjal looked up.
Rudra stood near the door, tall and unreadable. He met her gaze briefly—not cold, not warm—then gave a slight nod in acknowledgment before looking away again.
Then, as if unable to resist, he added, "Also—the
the one whose car hit you."."
"Adi," Pankhuri warned softly.
"What?" he shrugged. "Technical detail."
Kinjal's lips curved into the faintest, hesitant smile before she could stop herself.
Rudra shot Aditya a look. "Enough."
Adi raised both hands. "Okay, okay. Done."
Pankhuri turned back to Kinjal. "And he's Aditya."
"Adi," he corrected with an easy grin. "Everyone calls me that."
Kinjal nodded. "Kinjal," she said softly.
Rudra stepped back slightly, clearly ready to give the room space. "If you need anything," he said, his voice low, "you tell Pankhuri."
He didn't wait for a response.
Aditya followed him toward the door, pausing for a second. "Try to rest," he said, quieter now. "You're safe here."
The door closed softly behind them.
Rudra stood still for a moment, staring at the wooden surface like it might say something back. Then he exhaled slowly and turned toward the corridor.
Aditya leaned against the railing, arms crossed, eyes thoughtful for once.
A beat of silence passed.
Then Adi spoke.
"Bhai," he said casually, "sundar toh hai."
(Brother… she is beautiful.)
Rudra didn't look at him.
"Adi."
"What?" Adi shrugged. "Observation hai. Main facts pe kaam karta hoon."
(Just an observation.)
Rudra finally turned, his expression flat. "Itni achi lag rahi hai toh apne ghar le ja."
(If you like her so much, take her to your own house.)
Adi grinned. "your car hit her, bhai. According to universe she is your problem."
Rudra shook his head slightly and started walking. "You talk too much."
"Someone has to," Adi replied, falling into step beside him. " you'd scare people into silence."
Rudra stopped near the stairs and glanced back toward the closed door—just once.
"Don't make this lighter than it is," he said quietly.
Adi's smile faded a little. "Yeah," he said softly. "I know."
The silence returned.
But this time…
it wasn't as heavy.
The room was quiet again.
Kinjal sat on the bed, her hands folded tightly in her lap. The warmth of the room hadn't reached her completely yet. Her eyes followed the closed door for a few seconds before she finally looked at Pankhuri.
There was hesitation in her gaze. And something else—fear mixed with guilt.
"Why… why are you doing this?" Kinjal asked softly.
Pankhuri looked at her. "Doing what?"
"All this," Kinjal said, her voice barely steady.
"Helping me. Bringing me here."
She paused, swallowing hard. "You don't even know me."
Pankhuri didn't interrupt.
Kinjal's fingers clenched slightly. "I feel like… like he didn't want this."
Her eyes flickered toward the door again. "Rudraksh."
She took a small breath. "It feels like I'm forcing my presence here. Like I don't belong."
Pankhuri moved closer and sat beside her on the bed.
"Listen to me," she said gently. "No one is doing this because you forced them."
Kinjal looked unconvinced.
"Yes, Rudra didn't plan this," Pankhuri admitted honestly. "And no, he doesn't like people in his space."
Kinjal's shoulders tensed.
"But," Pankhuri continued softly, "he wouldn't have agreed if he didn't think this was the safest option right now."
"Kinjal hesitated. "He feels… uncomfortable. Like he doesn't want me here."
"That's just who he is," Pankhuri said. "Quiet. Closed. Difficult."
Then she added, almost smiling, "But not unkind."
Kinjal shook her head faintly. "It doesn't feel that way."
Pankhuri reached for her hand, holding it firmly this time. "I wouldn't leave you here if I thought you weren't safe."
Kinjal's grip tightened around her fingers.
"You don't know me," she repeated, softer now.
Pankhuri met her eyes. "I know enough."
The room fell silent again.
Pankhuri didn't speak immediately.
She let the silence settle, let Kinjal breathe through the thoughts crowding her mind. Then she said quietly, "Rudra isn't good at explaining himself."
Kinjal looked up, uncertain.
"He didn't grow up learning how to be gentle with people," Pankhuri continued. "He learned how to survive. How to keep distance. How to protect his space."
Kinjal's fingers twisted together. "He looks… angry."
Pankhuri smiled faintly. "No. He's tired."
Kinjal frowned, not sure she understood.
"He lost people early," Pankhuri said, choosing her words carefully. "And he never learned how to replace them. So now he keeps everyone at arm's length."
There was no sympathy in her tone. No justification. Just truth.
"That doesn't make him easy," she added. "And it doesn't make him warm. But it does make him careful."
Kinjal hesitated. "Then why did he agree?"
Pankhuri met her eyes. "Because when it mattered, he didn't walk away."
Kinjal swallowed.
"He could have," Pankhuri said gently. "But he didn't."
The room felt quieter after that.
"I know he feels distant," Pankhuri continued. "And I know it feels uncomfortable being here. But Rudra won't hurt you. He won't cross lines. And he won't pretend to care if he doesn't."
Kinjal's voice was barely a whisper. "That doesn't sound reassuring."
Pankhuri smiled softly. "It is. Because when he does care… it's real."
Kinjal looked down, absorbing that.
"You don't have to understand him," Pankhuri added. "You just have to rest. Let tonight pass."
Kinjal nodded slowly.
For the first time, the knot in her chest loosened just a little—not because she trusted the house, or the man downstairs—
—but because she trusted the woman sitting beside her.
Pankhuri glanced at her watch and stood up slowly.
"I have to go back," she said gently. "My night shift starts soon."
Kinjal stiffened instantly.
Her eyes lifted, wide and uncertain, as if she hadn't fully registered the words. "You're… leaving?" she asked, her voice barely audible.
Pankhuri smiled softly. "Only for a few hours. I'll be back."
Kinjal's fingers curled into the bedsheet without her realizing it. She hesitated, then reached out and held Pankhuri's wrist lightly—almost afraid to ask.
"You said…" she began, then stopped, swallowing.
"You said you wouldn't leave me."
There was no accusation in her tone.
Only fear.
Pankhuri sat back down immediately and covered Kinjal's hand with both of hers. "Hey," she said gently, meeting her eyes. "I'm not leaving you. I'm just going to work."
Kinjal's grip tightened a little. "I don't know anyone here," she whispered. "Everything feels… too much."
"I know," Pankhuri said softly. "And that's exactly why I'll come back as soon as I can. Three hours. That's it."
She squeezed Kinjal's hand reassuringly. "You'll be asleep before you even realize I'm gone."
Kinjal didn't look convinced, but she nodded slowly.
"You're not alone," Pankhuri added. "I promise."
After a moment, Kinjal loosened her grip. "Okay," she said quietly.
Pankhuri stood up again, this time more slowly, as if giving Kinjal time to adjust. She straightened the blanket around her shoulders and brushed a stray strand of hair away from her face.
"Try to rest," she said. "I'll see you soon."
Kinjal watched as Pankhuri walked toward the door.
She didn't stop her this time.
Pankhuri stepped out of the room and gently closed the door behind her.
Rudra and Aditya were waiting in the corridor.
"She's settled," Pankhuri said softly. "But she's still scared."
Rudra nodded once. "I know."
Pankhuri hesitated for a moment, then spoke, calm but firm.
"If she needs anything—water, medicine, anything at all—please make sure she gets it."
Rudra met her gaze. "She will."
That was all he said.
But it was enough.
Pankhuri turned to Aditya. "Can you drop me back to the hospital?"
Adi nodded immediately. "Of course."
She looked back toward the closed door once more. "Just… keep an eye out tonight."
Rudra didn't answer in words. He simply gave a short nod.
Pankhuri took a breath, then followed Aditya toward the stairs.
Rudra remained where he was, standing outside a room that had never held a stranger before.
KINJAL'S POV.
I sat on the edge of the bed, my feet barely touching the floor.
Everything that happened today felt too much to process. The accident. The hospital. Strangers. This house. This room.
Nothing felt real.
The room was quiet, warm even. But my chest still felt tight. I hugged my knees, trying to calm myself.
Just for tonight, I told myself.
I don't have to trust anyone. I don't have to understand anything.
I just have to stay.
I lay back slowly, staring at the ceiling, listening to the unfamiliar silence around me.
Tomorrow felt far away.
For now…
this pause was all I had.
If you're still here, thank you for reading 🤍
See you in the next chapter.