Unedited!!
Author's Pov:
The next few days passed in a haze of silence and rain.
Reyaksh came and went like a shadow. Sometimes she heard the soft click of a door at dawn, sometimes the hum of encrypted transmissions bleeding faintly through the walls at night. He never explained where he went or what he did. He only returned with the same calm detachment — bruised knuckles, a faint cut across his brow, and eyes that looked like they hadn’t slept in years.
Sayeera stayed mostly in the small room, quiet and careful not to get in his way. The first morning after the attack, she found a folded bundle placed near the cot — clean clothes, a towel, and antiseptic. No note. No words. Just there.
The clothes were a little too big, but they were soft, smelling faintly of soap and smoke. She changed in silence, her reflection in the cracked mirror barely recognizable — color returning to her cheeks, the faint bandages wrapping her wrists and arms.
Reyaksh said little. He checked her wounds twice, his touch impersonal but precise. Every movement was controlled, almost mechanical, as if emotions were something he had long since filed away with the rest of his secrets.
By the fifth day, Sayeera could walk without stumbling. Her wounds had started to heal, though the nightmares still came — flashes of darkness, rough hands, the sound of boots. Sometimes she’d wake up gasping, only to find him sitting across the room, cleaning a gun or staring at nothing in particular. He never said anything. Never asked. But he was there.
One morning, the rhythm changed.
When she woke, Reyaksh was already dressed in black, his gloves half-pulled on, a new weapon holstered at his belt. The air carried a strange tension — not danger exactly, but something final.
He noticed her watching. “Your wounds are healed,” he said quietly, closing the laptop and tucking a small drive into his pocket.
She nodded, unsure what to say.
He picked up his bag, slung it over his shoulder, and moved toward the door. “You’ll stay here until the transport arrives. Supplies will last a few days. After that, you’re on your own.”
The words landed heavier than he intended.
Sayeera stood slowly, clutching the blanket tighter around herself. “You’re... leaving?”
He paused, his back still to her. “I have work.”
Her voice was small. “Where will I go?”
“That’s not my concern.”
Something in her chest cracked. “You saved me,” she said quietly, like she was reminding him of something he’d forgotten. “You can’t just—”
“I did what I had to do,” he interrupted, turning slightly. His gaze met hers for a fraction of a second — unreadable, distant, tired. “Don’t make it something more.”
Sayeera’s throat burned. She bit her lip to stop the trembling. “I don’t even know your name.”
“Good,” he said, his tone colder now. “Keep it that way.”
He opened the door, the wind pushing against it as if trying to hold him back. The forest outside looked darker, quieter ...the kind of silence that swallows everything.
“Stay out of sight,” he added, stepping through the threshold. “And don’t follow me.”
Then he was gone.
The door swung shut behind him with a dull thud.
Sayeera sank slowly back onto the cot, the sound of rain beginning again outside. The place felt emptier now ... like the walls themselves had lost their warmth.
For the first time since he found her, she was truly alone.
The days that followed blurred together.
When Reyaksh left, the cabin felt too large, too still. The only sounds were the ticking of the clock on the wall and the occasional rustle of wind against the window. For a while, Sayeera stayed inside, afraid that if she stepped out, something....or someone...would come back for her.
She tried to think of what to do next.
There was one place that came to mind ...the orphanage. The one she had run from months ago when she thought she could build a life of her own. It wasn’t much, just a fading building on the outskirts of the city where the sisters spoke softly and everyone learned to survive on little.
If she could reach it, maybe she could start again. Maybe they would take her back.
But when she closed her eyes, the memories came rushing ... the alleyway, the men, the rough laughter, the helplessness that had burned into her skin. The thought of facing those familiar faces, their questions, their pity... it made her stomach twist.
What would she say?
That she survived because a stranger pulled her out of hell? That she didn’t even know his real name?
The more she thought about it, the heavier it felt. The orphanage would ask her to be whole again, to be someone normal. But she wasn’t that girl anymore. She couldn’t be.
Her heart knew it before her mind did.
She couldn’t go back.
So she stayed.
The days dragged. The food he left ran out, and with it, the thin sense of safety that clung to the place. Her body trembled from hunger and weakness, but her feet refused to take her toward the city and its memories.
By the third morning, the ache in her stomach grew too sharp to ignore. She wrapped the shawl tighter around herself and stepped out into the rain-soaked path leading downhill. Her hands shook as she held the edge of the fabric near her face, shielding herself from the mist.
The village appeared like a blur through the drizzle ...crooked roofs, muddy streets, and the distant sound of people talking. For a moment she froze on the edge of it all, feeling like an intruder. She could turn back. Hide again.
But her hunger won the argument.
Her eyes caught the faint glow of a tea stall at the corner, steam rising from the pot as an old woman poured chai into small glasses. People laughed there... tired laughter, but real. It felt like something she had forgotten.
Sayeera stood there for several seconds, heart pounding, before she forced herself forward.
The bell above the stall jingled faintly as she entered. The old woman looked up, eyes sharp but not unkind.
Behind the counter, a woman in her late fifties stirred the pot, her bangles clinking softly with every movement. Her eyes flicked up for a second, taking in Sayeera’s wet shawl, the tired slump of her shoulders, and the tremor in her voice when she spoke.
“I... I’m looking for work,” Sayeera said, clutching the edge of the counter.
The woman didn’t reply at first. She kept stirring, watching the tea rise and fall in the pot before turning down the flame. Then she faced her properly, one eyebrow slightly raised.
“Work?” she asked, her voice rough but steady. “You don’t look like you’re from around here.”
Sayeera hesitated. “I’m not.”
“Name?”
“Sayeera.”
“Where are you staying, Sayeera?”
She looked down, fingers tightening on the edge of her shawl. “In the forest. Near the old path... there’s a small cabin.”
The woman frowned. “That place? Nobody stays there. It’s not safe.”
“I know,” Sayeera said softly. “It’s... just temporary.”
The woman studied her for a long moment, eyes narrowing slightly. “You don’t talk much, do you?”
Sayeera shook her head.
“People usually come asking for work because they want money. You don’t look like you even want to be here.”
“I just need food,” Sayeera whispered.
That made the woman pause. The sharpness in her gaze softened, if only slightly.
“What can you do?” she asked after a beat.
“Anything,” Sayeera said quickly. “Clean, wash, serve tea... I’ll learn whatever you tell me.”
The woman let out a quiet sigh and looked around the small stall , the stack of unwashed glasses, the muddy floor, the trays waiting to be scrubbed. Then she glanced back at Sayeera, at her trembling hands and pale face.
“Fine,” she said finally. “You clean the place and wash the glasses. I’ll give you food and a few rupees at the end of the day. If you cause trouble, you leave. Understood?”
Sayeera nodded quickly. “Yes.”
The woman turned back to the stove. “My name is Shanta Bai. Don’t make me regret this, girl.”
Sayeera almost smiled ...not fully, just a faint twitch of relief in the corner of her mouth. “Thank you.”
Shanta didn’t look at her. “Don’t thank me. Just work.”
And so, she picked up the broom resting against the counter, her fingers still trembling from the cold. The rain outside had slowed, but her heartbeat hadn’t. For the first time since everything happened, she had a place to stand... even if it wasn’t hers.
The days had folded into weeks, and then into months. Sayeera had learned the rhythm of the small village... the morning whistle of the milkman, the rustle of temple bells, the chatter of customers at Shanta Bai’s tea stall. Her palms browned from the sun, and the ache in her body had been replaced by something quieter... a slow, dull kind of strength.
At night, she slept in a small room behind the stall, the faint smell of chai leaves clinging to the air. Sometimes she still woke with a start, her chest tight, as if pulled back into the darkness she had barely escaped. But she had learned to breathe through it, whispering to herself that she was safe now.
It was on one of those nights that everything shifted again.
A storm had rolled over the horizon, dark clouds twisting across the sky. Sayeera was cleaning up after closing time, stacking steel cups and sweeping the floor. Shanta Bai had gone home early, leaving her to finish. The wind howled through the cracks in the door. Then she heard it... a low, heavy thud outside, followed by a faint groan.
Her heart jumped. For a moment, she froze, broom in hand. Then came another sound... the scrape of boots against gravel.
She hesitated, her instincts screaming to stay inside. But something made her move. She pushed the wooden door open just enough to peek out. The rain had already begun, soaking the earth. And there, barely visible in the dim light of the flickering streetlamp, was a man slumped against the wall opposite the stall.
Blood trailed down his arm. His face was half-hidden by the shadows.
Her first thought was to run. But something about the way he sat... the way his head tilted, heavy with exhaustion... felt familiar.
She stepped closer, the rain drenching her in seconds. Her eyes widened.
It was him.
The same man who had rescued her, and left behind a silence that had followed her like a shadow.
He was breathing hard, his shirt soaked with blood, his left hand pressing tightly against his right bicep. The wound was deep, a clean shot that had torn through muscle.
“Aap…” she whispered, unsure if she was dreaming.
His eyes flicked open at the faintest sound... a whisper that shouldn’t have reached through the storm.
His muscles went rigid. For a moment, he thought it was the rain playing tricks on him. Then he looked up.
And everything inside him went still.
Through the blur of rain and fatigue, her face emerged.. fragile, drenched, trembling, yet achingly familiar. The same face that had haunted the edges of his memory... the one he had tried to forget and failed every single night.
Sayeera.
Her hazel-brown eyes met his, wide with shock and something unspoken. It felt unreal, seeing her again ...the same eyes that once stared at him in fear now filled with something softer, almost disbelieving.
For a second, he forgot the pain burning through his arm. The noise around him faded, and the air between them thickened with a silence too heavy to bear.
The guilt hit him like a delayed blow. The memory of leaving her behind... that broken look in her eyes as she tried to breathe through pain he couldn’t erase. He had told himself it was mercy. That she’d be safer without him. But now, seeing her standing there, soaked and alive... the lie didn’t hold.
She took a hesitant step closer, her lips parting as if to speak, but her voice caught somewhere between fear and disbelief.
Without thinking, she moved forward, her hands trembling as she tried to help him stand, but before her hand can make contact..
“Don’t…” he muttered, his voice rough. “It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine…” she said, the words barely audible.
“Let me help you,” she said finally.
Reyaksh blinked, forcing his focus back. The warmth that threatened to rise in his chest was buried beneath the discipline of years. He straightened, pushing himself off the wall with his uninjured arm.
“No,” he said flatly, shaking his head. “Go inside.”
She frowned, confused, taking another small step. “You’re bleeding... you can’t even...”
“I said go,” he cut in, his tone cold enough to slice through the air. His eyes stayed on her, unreadable, as he pulled his hood over his head. The rain plastered his shirt to his skin, blood still dripping from his arm, but he didn’t flinch.
For a moment, she just stared at him, her hands clutching the edge of her shawl, torn between fear and something else... something like defiance.
But he turned away first. His steps were heavy but measured as he walked past her, back toward the dark lane that led to the old abandoned shelter ... the same place where he’d left her months ago.
The wind howled around him, carrying the metallic scent of blood. He could still feel her gaze on his back, that fragile pull he didn’t want to name.
He didn’t look back. He couldn’t.
Sayeera stood frozen long after he disappeared into the rain. The sound of his boots fading into the storm was all that lingered ...sharp, deliberate, final. For a few seconds, she just stood there, her pulse drumming in her ears, the cold water soaking through her clothes until she could barely feel her skin.
Her mind was chaos.
Reyaksh... here.
Bleeding. Alone. Refusing help.
She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, trying to steady her breathing, but it only made the ache sharper. She had spent months trying to push that night out of her head, burying it under routine and silence — sweeping floors, boiling milk, smiling when Shanta Bai told her to smile. But now, seeing him again, all of it came crashing back... the darkness, the fear, and the strange safety that had come from his presence.
He had saved her when she had lost her all hopes. He hadn’t owed her anything, yet he had pulled her out of that place. And even if he had left after... he had given her life back when she had already stopped fighting for it.
How could she just watch him walk away now?
She turned back toward the stall, her wet slippers slapping against the mud as she pushed through the door. The small room behind it looked dim and fragile, the single bulb flickering weakly. She grabbed the towel hanging near her bed and wiped her face, but her hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
He said not to follow.
He didn’t want help.
But what if he collapsed before he reached anywhere safe? What if the blood loss...
She shook her head. “No,” she whispered to herself, the sound breaking in her throat. “I can’t just sit here.”
Her gaze darted toward the old tin box under her cot... her small collection of things. She knelt, pulling it out quickly. Inside were a few bits of cloth, some coins wrapped in paper, a tiny bottle of oil, and a tin of haldi paste Shanta Bai had given her for cuts and burns. She hesitated for only a second before scooping it up, along with a strip of clean cotton cloth and a small packet of painkillers from the shelf.
She wrapped everything inside a piece of old fabric, then grabbed the thick blanket from her bed. The rain outside had grown heavier, hammering against the roof like warning drums, but she didn’t stop to think. She tied the fabric bundle tight and slipped her shawl over her head.
Before stepping out, she paused at the door, her hand resting on the latch. A small, unsteady breath left her lips.
She wasn’t doing this to repay him.
It wasn’t about owing anyone anything.
She just couldn’t watch another person suffer when she could do something about it... not after what she had lived through.
With that thought burning quietly in her chest, she stepped into the storm.
The village was almost unrecognizable now ... dark, rain-soaked, every lamp flickering like a dying ember. She held the bundle close to her body, her shawl clinging to her skin, and followed the narrow path leading toward the outskirts... the same direction he had gone.
Each step sank into mud, the cold biting into her feet, but she didn’t slow down. The memory of his pale face, the blood running down his arm, replayed in her mind with every gust of wind.
The road wound deeper into the dark, lined with old trees that leaned like silent witnesses. Somewhere far away, a dog barked, and the thunder rolled again. She kept moving, her breath visible in the cold air, her heart pounding faster with every turn.
At last, the outline of the old shelter came into view ...the same place where her life had changed once before. Its tin roof glinted faintly under the storm’s light. She stopped for a second, shivering from both cold and the memories pressing in.
Then she saw it ... the faint flicker of movement near the doorway.
She tightened her grip on the bundle and took a deep breath.
No turning back now.
Sayeera hesitated at the doorway, her breath shallow, her hands trembling from the chill and fear. The rain dripped from the ends of her shawl, each drop echoing faintly in the hollow quiet of the shelter.
Inside, the faint glow of a lantern threw uneven light across the room. Reyaksh sat on the floor near a cracked wall, his back half-turned to her. His shirt was torn near the shoulder, the fabric darkened with blood. He was trying to clean the wound himself ...a rough attempt, no bandages, just pressure from a strip of his own sleeve.
She stood still for a moment, watching. The sight twisted something deep inside her. His movements were rigid, sharp with pain, but his face stayed hard, expressionless.
Sayeera stepped in quietly, her breath held as though afraid to disturb the air itself. The small lantern in the corner flickered... its light spilling over the uneven walls and catching on the figure sitting near them.
Reyaksh.
He sat still, the faint yellow glow tracing the sharp lines of his face — the curve of his jaw, the dark strands of hair falling messily over his forehead, the glint of sweat along his temple. The light turned his presence into something both raw and distant... almost unreal.
Sayeera froze where she stood. For a long, suspended moment, she simply watched him. The way his hand moved to press against his wound, the tension in his shoulders, the quiet strength in every breath he took.
He looked different under the lantern’s glow — not just the man who had pulled her out of the dark that night, but someone carrying his own weight of silence, his own battle.
Her heart clenched painfully, a strange ache she couldn’t name. The yellow light wavered again, brushing across his face like a whisper, and she thought ...for just a heartbeat... that he looked... tired. Not weak, not broken, but human in a way she had never seen before.
Something inside her stirred ... the urge to speak, to move closer — but her throat tightened. She couldn’t find words.
So she stood there, half-hidden by the doorway, staring at him as if time itself had slowed.
It was only when the lantern hissed and sputtered that she realized she’d been holding her breath.
That was when she finally whispered, “Suniye…”
(Listen)
Reyaksh’s hand froze mid-motion. He turned sharply, his eyes narrowing as they met hers.
“What are you doing here?” His tone was low, cold, laced with the kind of warning that made her heart jump.
Sayeera stepped in slowly, clutching the bundle against her chest. “You’re bleeding… I brought something that might help.”
“I told you to stay back,” he said, his voice tightening. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I know,” she murmured, keeping her eyes lowered. “But I couldn’t just sit there while you’re...”
“Enough,” he cut her off, pressing his hand back against his wound. “You don’t understand what you’ve walked into.”
Her eyes flickered up at him.
His jaw clenched, the rain outside filled the silence between them. His breathing was uneven now, heavier, the strain visible in the set of his shoulders.
She took a hesitant step forward. “Just let me clean it. Then I’ll go.”
Reyaksh’s eyes locked on hers again, unreadable. For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, without a word, he turned his gaze away.
That was enough.
Sayeera knelt beside him carefully, setting the bundle on the floor. She unwrapped the cloth, revealing the small tin of haldi paste, the medicine, the blanket. Her fingers trembled as she opened it, but her touch was steady when she reached for his arm.
Her voice came out soft but steady, “You need to open your shirt... I have to apply the paste.”
Reyaksh’s eyes lifted slowly, meeting hers. For a moment, he didn’t move... just stared, brows furrowed as though weighing whether to argue. Then, without a word, he gave in. His fingers went to the buttons, slow and deliberate, each one opening with a faint metallic click.
She tried to help him when she saw him struggling but one stare from him and she backed away. Reyaksh is not fan of physical contacts.When the fabric finally slipped off his shoulders, Sayeera froze. Her breath caught midway. The lamplight traced across his chest ... strong, taut muscles lined with old faint scars, the kind that came from years of violence and discipline. His skin gleamed faintly with sweat, each movement precise even in pain.
For a few seconds, she forgot why she was there at all. Her gaze followed the harsh lines of his body, the steady rhythm of his breath... until his voice cut through the silence.
“You going to stare or do what you came for?”
Her eyes widened, heat flooding her face. She instantly looked away, fumbling for the haldi paste. “Sorry... I just...” she murmured, focusing on the task before her.
s she dipped her fingers into the paste, he spoke again, voice firm and low. “The bullet’s still in... left bicep.” He reached beside him, pulling out a small knife. “You’ll have to get it out.”
Her hands trembled slightly. “What... with this?”
He nodded, his tone cold but calm. “There’s no other way possible right now. Do it quick, or it’ll fester.”
Sayeera swallowed hard, staring at the knife, then at the wound. Her heart thudded painfully as she realized what she was about to do.
"I can't.." she said.
"Then go back" Reyaksh said with uninterested tone.
"I can call someone for help...or may be ambulance..."
"NO" he snapped." If you want to help then do it otherwise leave"
Sayeera closed her eyes helplessly and decided to help him.
"Fine"..." I'll do it, Just tell me what to do,” she whispered.
She took the knife and cleaned it with antiseptic she brought with her.
His eyes didn’t soften, but something in his voice did. “Hold it steady... push just enough to find the edge of the bullet. Don’t hesitate.”
Her hands shook as she positioned the blade. He didn’t flinch... just stared at her with the same quiet intensity, every muscle in his body drawn tight, like a storm held still.
Sayeera took a deep breath, trying to steady her trembling fingers. The room was silent except for the faint rustle of the wind outside and the low hum of the lantern. Her palms were slick with sweat. She pressed the knife carefully against his arm... the cold steel barely touching his skin.
Reyaksh didn’t move. Not a sound escaped him. His jaw tightened, and his hand clenched into a fist at his side, veins straining against his wrist.
The moment the blade cut into the skin, Sayeera’s breath hitched. Blood welled instantly, dark and warm against her shaking hands. Her vision blurred for a second, but she forced herself to continue... whispering broken apologies under her breath.
He sat still... breathing through the pain, the muscles in his shoulders taut as iron. The air around them grew heavy, the sound of her quiet gasps mixing with his harsh, controlled breaths.
Finally, the tip of the knife hit something hard. She froze.
“I... I think I found it,” she whispered, voice quivering.
“Good. Pull it out,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and strained.
Her hands trembled as she did what he said. The bullet came free with a faint metallic clink, landing on the floor beside them. She stared at it, unable to believe she had done it.
He exhaled sharply, the tension in his body easing just a fraction. Sweat beaded his forehead, and his breathing turned shallow. Without thinking, she pressed the cloth she had brought against the wound, her hands gentle but firm.
“Hold still... please,” she said quietly.
He didn’t respond... only looked at her, eyes unreadable. There was pain in them, but also something else... a strange kind of patience, as if he was used to tending his own wounds and didn’t know how to accept someone else doing it.
When she finished wrapping the bandage, her fingers brushed lightly against his skin. He tensed immediately and looked away.
Afterwards she gave him the painkillers. Many questions clouded her mind but she didn't know how to voice them out.
Sayeera hesitated before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. “What... what happened to you?”
He didn’t look at her. “Work.”
She frowned, a little frustration bleeding into her tone. “Work doesn’t get people shot.”
This time his gaze flicked to her, sharp and cold. “Sometimes it does.”
The bluntness in his voice made her falter. He wasn’t angry, just final ... as if every word was chosen to end the conversation, not start it.
“But... you could have died,” she said after a pause, her fingers fidgeting with the corner of her dupatta. “If I hadn’t found you—”
“You shouldn’t have,” he interrupted, his voice low but hard. “You shouldn’t be here at all.”
The silence that followed was heavy. He turned his head away, his expression unreadable.
Sayeera swallowed, eyes glistening slightly. “Why do you keep saying that? You saved me once... doesn’t that mean something?”
His gaze returned to her, colder than before. “It means I did what needed to be done. Nothing more.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. The distance in his tone cut through whatever courage she had gathered.
Reyaksh shifted his arm, testing the bandage. “You can go now,” he said quietly. “It’s late.”
Sayeera stared at him for a long moment, her heart twisting at the calm indifference in his voice. She wanted to ask more — wanted to know why he looked at her like that, why he sounded as if he carried the weight of something he would never speak of — but his expression made it clear that no question would be answered tonight.
So she gathered her things in silence, her fingers brushing over the blood-stained cloth before standing up.
“I’ll leave the rest of the medicine here,” she murmured, her voice small but steady.
He just stared at floor giving no response.
She covered him with the blanket she brought.
When she turned to go, the wind outside picked up again, fluttering the lantern flame. For a fleeting moment, Sayeera thought she saw something in his face — not warmth, but weariness... the kind that comes from too many nights alone.
But before she could be sure, his mask was back in place. Cold. Distant. Untouchable.
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