If She Doesn't Come Back
Twinkle woke with a jolt.
Najma's bed was still empty.
The realization hit harder in daylight—sharp, undeniable.
"She would've come back by now," Twinkle whispered to herself.
But the room answered with silence.
She ran downstairs two steps at a time.
"Saraswati aunty," she blurted, "have you heard from Najma?"
Saraswati froze mid-step. "No."
The word felt heavier than it should have.
Ranveer joined them moments later, his expression already dark. "Her phone's off."
Twinkle's chest tightened.
"No," she said quickly. "She's just angry. She'll come back."
But even she could hear how thin the excuse sounded.
By afternoon, worry had spread through both households.
Sasha had quietly alerted the family security team.
Raghav made calls.
Kapoor canceled meetings.
Ranveer paced.
And Twinkle sat on the edge of the couch, knees pulled to her chest, replaying her words again and again.
Disappear from my life.
The phrase echoed like a curse.
"I need to find her," Twinkle said suddenly, standing.
Ranveer turned sharply. "Where would you start?"
Twinkle swallowed. "Everywhere."
She grabbed her bag and ran.
She checked Najma's favorite café.
The library.
The small park where Najma liked to read alone.
Nothing.
Each empty place scraped something raw inside her.
By evening, fear had replaced anger entirely.
Her hands shook as she dialed Najma's number again.
The number you have dialed is unavailable.
Twinkle slid down against a wall, tears blurring her vision.
"I didn't mean it," she sobbed. "Please come back."
Night fell.
Twinkle wandered back toward campus, exhausted, eyes burning.
She didn't notice the shadows following her.
Didn't hear the footsteps closing in.
"Hey," a voice called.
She turned.
Three boys blocked her path.
Her breath caught.
"We've been watching you," one of them smirked.
Twinkle stepped back. "Move."
They didn't.
Her heart slammed wildly.
"Please," she whispered.
A hand grabbed her wrist.
And suddenly—
"Let her go."
The voice was calm.
Cold.
Familiar.
The boys froze.
A figure stepped out of the dark.
Najma.
Her eyes were unreadable. Her stance—dangerously still.
"Walk away," Najma said quietly.
The boys laughed.
That was their mistake.