Disha

Who would have thought Rudra would actually leave me alone in the train? The thought alone makes me want to curse myself for letting my guard down in his presence last night.

 Foolish and naïve me who trusted him only to be left alone. If i can rewind the time, i would peel myself out of his grip, and lock my heart back into the cage where it belonged. Then maybe I wouldn't feel this hollow sting gnawing at me now. 

I had woken to the shrill voice of a tea vendor calling down the aisle—"Chai... chai... garam chai... adrak wali..." The sound pulled me out of uneasy sleep into a morning that felt far too crowded.

Last night the entire coach was nearly empty and I had enjoyed that strange silence where i could give myself a pity party. When i blinked awake, there were eyes on me, indian aunties judging me. They can't miss a chance to gossip about someone. I should have grown immune to it by now, but instead, I find myself leaning into their judgment, almost feeding off it. If they wants me to be scandalous, then I would give them reasons to talk.

My mother always said, "The more people talk behind your back, the higher you'll rise." But in truth, life doesn't always work that way. Still, I cling to her words like armour, even when the reality burns differently.

Instead of heading straight to the mansion, I chose to finish some pending work. Because I knew if I stepped into a bed too soon, the exhaustion would swallow me whole. But dragging this heavy suitcase everywhere has turned out to be its own punishment. My shoulders ache, my palms burn from the handle, and the weight follows me like a curse. 

Worse of everything, What if Rudra intends to throw me into that burnt room? The one I had reduced to ash with my own hands. He would, wouldn't he? He would relish my misery.

I push those thoughts aside and finish the paperwork for a new bank account. Now, I trail behind a bank employee, a young woman with clipped voice, who leads me towards the lockers room. She gestures politely, asking me to leave my suitcase outside before unlocking the corridor of numbered vaults. 

 She points at my locker and offers me privacy before walking away.

I glance around, checking to make sure no one is around before stepping closer. I put my mother's birth date as password then press my thumb against the scanner. A soft beep breaks the hush and the door swings open. 

The sight of file folders stack neatly, waiting to be touched. Before leaving Delhi, six years back, i had left my all the important documents in this locker. It looks exactly the way i left. And there, in the corner lies a set of keys. 

A toy grape keychain with tiny ghunghroos still attached. It's the key of our old apartment. I pick them up and shake them lightly. The familiar tinkling sound pierces through my chest, a sharp pan of memory cutting deep. That apartment wasn't perfect or painless but it was ours. The one corner of the world where my mother and i existed without begging for belonging with someone. 

It was left by him. My father. Wait. No—not father. A man who chose to abandon us. The apartment was in my mother's name, and we didn't even known it existed until a lawyer delivered the papers when i was fourteen. 

For years, i thought, my mother accepted it because it was convenient and saved our monthly rent. But now... now i see it differently. She accepted it because it was the only thing he had left for her. The last trace of a life she could never truly escape. And she bore that weight silently, never once letting me see the cracks in her heart. I couldn't even imagine how much broken my mother has been or she still is. She never said no, when i told her i wanted to leave this city, after i lost my only chance at a career. She just packed her own grief away and followed me. 

My throat tightens, i slip the keys into my purse and shake off the heaviness clawing at me. 

I scan through the rest of the papers which are property documents, identification, old financial records. Then finally, my fingers gaze the spine of a small pocket diary. Relief floods me as i pull it out. 

The pocket size diary is cramped with scribbled details having my old Gmail accounts from high school and college, forgotten passwords, my PAN and Aadhaar numbers, bank details. Even the charred corner of a page where i once tucked away my password details, and the plane ticket to Paris. The one i had burnt that night, thinking i was erasing my escape route. 

I clutch the diary tightly, as if it's the only thread left tying me to who i was before Rudra. Before everything. 

I slip the pocket sized diary into my purse. With a steadying breath, i close the locker, hear the reassuring click and step back. I quickly sign my out-time in the register, retrieve my suitcase, and drag it's weight behind me towards the sunlit glass doors. 

The blast of heat outside slaps me instantly. The midday sun hovers overhead, merciless, and my throat feels parched the moment I step onto the pavement. I walk a few minutes, the wheels of my suitcase rattling over uneven ground, my eyes scanning for an auto rickshaw.

It doesn't take long before a driver slows down, his gaze darting to my pale hair, his smile opportunistic. When he demands, Two hundred? My jaw clenches. The distance isn't small, but not that far. He clearly thinks I am some foreigner ripe for exploitation.

I shake my head and move on, ignoring the calls of two more who demand the same inflated fare. Finally, one stops with a more reasonable tone—"100, madam."

 I arch a brow, switch to Hindi, and say firmly, "Saath (sixty)." His eyes widen for a moment, taken aback, before he argues and reluctantly agrees.

The ride stretches twenty-five minutes, swallowed by traffic, the air thick with dust and honking horns. I rest my forehead against the side bar, exhaustion weighing down my eyelids. The suitcase handle digs into my palm like an anchor I cannot shake off.

When the massive gates of the mansion swing open at my arrival, an involuntary sigh escapes me. Relief, hunger, and fatigue crash into me at once. My body screams for food and rest, but the thought of cooking feels like torture. I clutch the small packet of chips I had bought from the station and decide that will be my meal. Chips and water seems enough to keep me upright until i gain my energy.

But fortune rarely bends in my favor. The first face I encounter is Jessica's.

She appears in the hallway as though she had been waiting for me. I quicken my pace, eyes forward, willing myself to walk past her without a word. But something gnaws inside me, claws at my throat until my feet refuse to obey. My grip on the suitcase handle tightens until my knuckles ache.

I turn. She does the same. Her face is unreadable, carved in neutrality, giving me nothing to grasp. Still, I force the words out.

"I am sorry about last time. I shouldn't have said some words to you like that."

Something unexpected happens as her mouth curves upward almost making me believe that my eyes could be betraying me.

"Your anger was expected. Anyone in your place would have done same."

The lump in my throat grows heavier. I had braced myself for silence. Not this. Not words that almost feel like understanding. But a shadow of suspicion still coils in me. Is this genuine? Or just another one of Rudra's schemes, delivered through her calm face?

"Please don't think i will suddenly start trusting you. I won't meddle in your business and i would expect the same in return."

I turn to leave. 

Her voice comes again, slowing my steps, "Rudra hasn't been home since you left. He must have gone abroad. Do you want me to inform him about your return?"

I continue to walk, refusing to look back and unaffected. 

How could he have gone to abroad when he was with me last night. Is she lying? Or Rudra had been fooling her too? 

Confusion burns inside me, But before i can untangle it, i push open the door to my room and my jaw drops. 

The room is completely transformed. A queen sized bed dominates the center, draped in silk sheets of deep blue, the colour of twilight. Sky blue curtains sway gently with the breeze, softening the light that filters through. The walls carrying black burn scars now glow in fresh shades of lavender and white. The old dressing table is gone, replaced by a wall sized LED-lit mirror, flanked by sleek cabinets. 

No one would believe this is the exact room i had destroyed in flames. 

Atleast, he hasn't condemned me to rot in the ashes of my own fire. But the irony lingers. It will never be me who suffers from my sins. No matter what i do, it will be always him who will absorb the consequences. 

At Night...

I slept most of the day after a long shower, sinking into the comfort of the new room that still doesn't feel like mine. When I finally woke up, evening shadows had already stretched across the walls. Hunger gnawed at me, so I forced myself to cook a simple dinner, ignoring Jessica's soft insistence that she could prepare it for me. It would have meant, Trusting her again, which is definitely Impossible for me after everything.

After dinner, i was restless so i wandered through the mansion gardens. My feet led me to the back where roses bloomed in full. I knew what would happen if i went too close, but still i leaned in and inhaled their heavy fragrance. 

The reaction was immediate, constant nose burning sneezing, itching crawled over me like fire ants. I stepped back and walked further into the part of garden i haven't explored yet. 

Strangely, i found another fountain hidden between multiple flowers i can't name. It was beautiful, something which almost felt like humane in this devil mansion. 

A large tree, spread branches from where water was falling down on a young girl seated under  tree staring at the small plant. That sight felt too familiar and closest to my heart. It felt like i have seen this somewhere but where?

 After a long staring into that fountain, i couldn't gather my thoughts so i came back to living room to work on some things. 

Then hours stretched so fast as i started searching for the jobs in firms, companies, anyone willing to hire a graphic designer with experience. The only offers were from the small firms that don't respect the designers who believes it's a child's game. They barely have good salary package. Still, i sent applications, clinging to whatever little hope they offered. 

Finally i shut the laptop and the mansion's silence hit me. It's the kind of silence that presses on your ribs until you wonder if you are still alive. This house can be called many things. Lavish. Grand. And Intimidating but never a home. 

But still, this silence tonight feels like an ally to me. Because i had been waiting for everyone to vanish into their rooms, to leave the halls deserted. Rudra isn't back yet which gives me chance to explore the forbidden upper floor. The place that breathes just above my head, making me all curious and restless. 

I place my laptop carefully on the coffee table, but even the soft thud, seems deafening. My pulse spikes as i tiptoe towards the stairs. Every step is measured to make no noise. My hand grip the cold railing to anchor my nerves. 

It's just upper floor, Disha. Nothing will happen. 

The first step feels like a dragging a stone, then the second step feels lighter. By the fifth, my feet move with a rhythm that almost convinced me that i belong here. But when i reach the final step, my breath freezes at the sight. 

The corridor ahead is drowned in darkness except the one thing. A dim red glow seeped from hidden fixtures, bleeding across the walls, painting everything like a warning. The air here is colder and sharper as if this part already resents my presence. 

I pull out my phone from my pajamas and switch on the flashlight. It's thin beam slice through the dark, trembling in my unsteady grip. I move forward with cautious steps, each freak of the floor echoing too loudly. 

I stop in front of the first room. Twisting the handle, i find it lock. Then i turn my head towards the corridor to count the rooms. 

There are total seven rooms here. Which means seven heart attacks i will get. 

God, why does this feels like a horror movie. 

I slap my head mentally to push aside the sarcasm from my mind.

I turn to the next door only to find it locked as well. 

One after another i check all the doors until I top in front of a sixth door. As expected it's sealed  just like others. The silence here roars in my ears mixed with the thunder of my heartbeat. 

My own footsteps sounds monstrous, like i am walking in someone else's nightmare. Trust me, i haven't even glanced behind. I know if i did, i will lose my all bravery and run away because this is everything which can be called creepy and haunted. 

As i drag my feet to last door, it feels like everything around me is telling me to back away. My body is trembling, and the air around me is already trying to warn me by waking the goose bumps on my skin. 

But with my stubbornness, i clutch the phone tight in one hand and reach for the knob with other, wrapping my cold fingers around the handle. 

I twist it and the sound of it's click echoes, making me have a instant heart attack. I just have been praying to have at least one room unlocked. Now finally this one is just before my, i am losing my shit. 

I push slightly, door gives away with a drawn creak that feels like a scream mirroring my own in my head. 

Before i can push it open fully and peak inside to see. Music explodes from inside, loud, classic and a tune that is foreign, blasting my ears. 

Terror ripped me completely this time. 

A scream tore out of my throat, phone slipped from my hand clattering to the floor. Dim light starts to flicker around me. 

Immediately, i turn and bolt towards the stairs with all my bit of strength. Before i could take more than two steps ahead, something catches me. 

A hard unyielding pull drags me back into the cold, steel like arms. 

Before i can cry out again, there comes a sharp pressure against my neck. My feet give away until i go limp with consciousness slipping like water through my fingers. My vision blurs, darkness starts to flash before my eyes. 

In the haze, i feel a warm breath grazing my skin. The gentle cold press of something against the crook of my neck followed by a sinister foreign whisper. 

"Heureux de te revoir, petite."

Happy to see you again, little one.