CHAPTER 6

AARVI'S POV -

The soft rustle of fabric brushing against skin was the only sound in the room.

I stood quietly, unsure of what to do with myself. The room was still, draped in silence, and smelled faintly of lavender and something deeper—like rain on stone. The walls were cream-colored. The furniture minimal. Clean. Elegant.

I thought… maybe this was where he lived.

It seemed too calm, too perfect to belong to someone who’d picked me off the roadside like a ghost. But the silence held no threat. No hidden footsteps. No eyes watching from behind doors. No prayers, no punishments, no chants that made my skin crawl.

Maybe this was normal for people like him. Maybe men like him lived in places like this—soft-lit rooms, polished marble floors, quiet air that didn’t crack under cruelty.

I had never known normal.

What he gave me to wear lay folded gently on the edge of the bed. A lavender Anarkali suit. Not just a dress—but something that shimmered faintly as though it belonged in a world that didn’t bruise.

I changed slowly. The fabric slid over my skin like water, whisper-light. The embroidery along the neckline and cuffs was delicate—tiny threadwork in silver that danced when I moved. The dupatta matched. Thin as mist. I didn't know how to wear it properly, so I let it fall over one shoulder, unsure if that was correct.

In the ashram, we wore dull, rough cottons. Recycled. Re-sewn. Always in faded colors—muddy browns, grey-whites. We were told beauty was sin. Vanity a trap. But this… this was the kind of cloth that made me feel like I was someone else. Someone alive.

When I turned toward the mirror, I barely recognized the girl staring back.

She looked… young. Frail. Not the ghost I always thought I was, but not whole either. Her collarbones were visible. Her cheeks hollow. Her eyes wide with something too old to belong to her age.

I heard him before I saw him.

Soft footsteps.

He had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room this entire time. Not watching. Just… waiting. Like he’d promised.

I turned slightly.

He walked toward me with something wooden in his hand. A comb.

"Can I?" he asked, voice low. Careful.

I nodded.

He stepped behind me and began combing my hair. It was slow. Almost ritualistic. The comb tugged through the knots gently, unraveling months—years—of neglect. No one had ever touched my hair like that. Not kindly. Not patiently.

"You have beautiful hair," he said quietly.

I didn’t reply. My throat was too tight.

When he finished, he set the comb down on the table.

Then he did something I hadn’t expected.

He held out his arms.

I looked at him, unsure.

Then he moved closer and gently slid one arm under my legs, the other supporting my back. His warmth startled me. I hadn’t been held like that before—like I was something fragile, not broken.

I tensed instinctively.

"It’s okay," he whispered near my ear. "Just rest."

I didn’t understand where he was taking me. I thought this place was his home. I thought I’d already arrived.

But I said nothing. My fingers clutched at the collar of his shirt, holding on to something I couldn’t name.

His scent was subtle—clean, dark, like forests at midnight.

I closed my eyes, letting myself sink into that stillness.

And for the first time in years, I didn’t feel like I had to run.

VIRANSH'S POV -

She thinks this is my home.

I can see it in the way she looks around—like she’s trying to memorize every inch of this temporary safehouse, as if it’s where I live, where I sleep, where I keep my secrets.

She doesn’t know it’s just a property I use when I need silence.
A place no one else knows about.
Where I take people who need protection before the world starts watching.

She doesn’t ask. But her eyes ask everything.

This isn’t where I live, Aarvi.

Where I live… is something much more complicated.

And right now, I’m not sure it’s a place she’ll feel safe in.

But I’ll change that.

I carried her down the quiet hallway of the suite, each of my steps echoing soft against the marble floor. Her fingers were still curled around my shirt, light and unsure. Her breath was warm against my shoulder.

When I reached the car parked just outside, I opened the door myself. No driver today. No staff. No questions.

I wasn’t letting anyone see her. Not yet.

I laid her gently in the backseat, letting her rest against the cushions. She didn’t fight it. She looked around once, briefly, then leaned her head against the window.

She didn’t ask where we were going.

Maybe she didn’t care.

Maybe she was just too tired.

Or maybe… she trusted me a little more than she realized.

The drive to the mansion was slow, careful. I kept glancing at the rearview mirror. Her fingers moved occasionally, twitching as if replaying a memory. Her expression remained unreadable, but not cold. Just… blank.

"Aarvi," I said softly.

She turned her head. Her eyes met mine in the mirror.

"You don’t have to talk," I added. "But if you ever want to… I’m here."

She didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.

But her gaze lingered a second longer before she turned back to the window.

It was enough.

When we reached the mansion, I didn’t take her through the main gates. I had arranged for the side entry—secluded, secure, away from the staff and the hallways she wasn’t ready for.

This place was my real home.

The one built on power and blood.
On inheritance and secrets.
On darkness that never left the corners of the rooms, no matter how much light I installed.

I carried her again.

She didn’t resist this time.

The guest wing had been prepped. Heated floors. Soft sheets. Curtains drawn. Minimal staff. I had instructed everyone not to enter unless personally called.

When I set her down on the bed, she didn’t speak. She shifted to the corner, pulling her knees up.

"Aarvi," I said gently. "This room is yours. You can lock the door from inside. You have clothes in the wardrobe. Food will come when you ask. No one will enter unless you want them to."

She looked at me.

Finally, she spoke.

"I don’t understand why you’re doing this."

Her voice was quiet. Raspy. But not broken.

"Because you ran onto my road," I answered honestly. "And because I looked into your eyes and realized you’d forgotten what it means to be seen."

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t hollow.

It was searching.

I walked toward the door. I didn’t want to overwhelm her.

But her voice stopped me.

"Wait…"

I turned.

She hesitated. Her fingers clutched the bedsheet.

"Can you… stay?"

I blinked. Something sharp twisted in my chest.

I nodded and walked back. I didn’t sit beside her. I sat on the floor, leaning my back against the bed.

Minutes passed.

Then her breathing slowed.

Sleep finally claimed her.

But not me.

Because now that she was in my world…

I knew I’d burn it all down before I let it swallow her too.

AARVI'S POV -

I hadn’t left the room since last night.

It was still hard to tell time in here. The windows were tall, the curtains sheer, but the silence was so complete it made everything feel timeless. Like the world outside had paused, waiting for me to catch up.

Someone had left a tray of food near the door. Covered. Silent. Like everything else here.

I didn’t touch it. Not at first.

I wasn’t used to eating when I wanted. Food was given when we deserved it—or more often, when we didn’t ask for it. And even then, it came cold. Watery. Silent like punishment.

But this tray…

I lifted the lid slowly, half-expecting a scolding voice to follow. Nothing came.

There was rice. Warm and soft. Simple sabzi. A bowl of dal. And a small piece of something sweet—gulab jamun.

My throat tightened.

I hadn’t tasted sweetness in years.

I picked up a spoon, hands trembling. The first bite was strange. Real. Warm.

Tears stung the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away.

I didn’t know why he was feeding me.

But right now, my body needed something to hold on to.

And this warmth—however fleeting—was something.

Later, a knock came.

Not a bang. Not a shout. Just a knock. Barely there.

I stood frozen for a moment. My instincts told me to hide. But something else… something gentler told me to listen.

"It’s me," his voice said.

That was all.

No demand. No command. Just words. Soft.

I opened the door slowly.

He stood there, holding something in his hand. A shawl.

"You’ve been indoors too long," he said. "Thought you might want some air."

Air.

It sounded like such a luxury.

I didn’t speak, but I stepped out. The corridor was warm under my bare feet. He didn’t lead me through the main house. We walked along the quieter sides, past carved pillars and shaded archways. He didn’t speak, and I didn’t ask where we were going.

Eventually, he pushed open a door.

And the world bloomed.

A garden. Hidden behind the stone walls.

It was… breathtaking.

Wild in parts, neat in others. Trees arched like protectors over beds of white lilies. There was a stone path, some benches, and a small koi pond where the water shimmered like broken glass. Wind moved softly through the leaves.

I took a step forward, almost afraid it would vanish if I blinked.

"This is where I come when the house feels too loud," he said behind me.

I turned to look at him.

He wasn’t watching me. He was watching the koi fish, hands in his pockets, like this was nothing new. Like he wasn’t waiting for a thank you or a smile.

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t need to.

I walked ahead and sat down on the stone bench. He sat on the grass nearby. Close, but not touching.

And for the first time… the silence between us didn’t feel like a wall.

It felt like peace.

I closed my eyes and tilted my head toward the sky. The sun was mild. The breeze cool. The scent of earth was grounding.

Minutes passed. Maybe hours.

I didn’t speak.

But a strange thing happened—
I didn’t want to go back inside.

I didn’t want to be anywhere else.

VIRANSH'S POV -

She didn’t speak a single word the entire time we were in the garden.

But she didn’t need to.

Her silence was softer now. Less guarded. It wasn’t hiding. It was healing.

When she sat on the bench, I watched her shoulders slowly relax. Her hands didn’t tremble as much. She blinked more freely. She even tilted her face to the sun like someone who wasn’t afraid of being seen.

I didn’t interrupt.

Let her have this.

The girl who’d come to me trembling, broken, wild-eyed—
Today, she just looked… human again.

When we returned inside, I noticed the empty plate in her room.

She had eaten.

It was such a small thing.

But to me—it felt like the start of something.

That night, I kept the corridor lights dimmed.

I didn’t know if she’d sleep again, but I hoped she would. Her body was still in recovery. Her wounds had been cleaned, but scars don’t fade as fast.

Around midnight, I heard it.

A sound. Soft at first.

Like a breath catching.

Then sharper.

A choked scream.

My pulse shot up.

I rushed to the guest wing, pushing her door open without knocking.

She was sitting up in bed—back against the headboard, eyes wide, gasping. Her fingers clawed at the sheets, nails digging into her own palms.

"Aarvi," I said quietly, stepping closer.

She didn’t look at me.

Her eyes were somewhere else—somewhere dark. Her lips moved, whispering something over and over.

“No… please… no… I’ll be good…”

The words gutted me.

I knelt beside her, gently cupping her wrists.

"Aarvi, it’s okay. You’re safe. It’s me."

She flinched.

Her breathing came in short bursts now. Her whole body was shaking. Her dupatta had fallen to the floor. Her hair clung to her face like damp threads.

"I’m not going to hurt you," I whispered, voice breaking.

Slowly, carefully, I lifted her into my arms again.

She didn’t resist.

She didn’t respond at all.

Just trembled like a leaf caught in wind.

I carried her through the quiet hallway, into my own room. The walls here were darker. The lights warmer. I didn’t turn on the big chandelier—just a side lamp.

My bed was wide. The sheets heavy. I lowered her into the center and sat beside her.

"Aarvi," I said again, gently brushing hair from her face.

She finally looked at me.

Not with fear.

But with something worse—
Defeat.

“I’m sorry…” she whispered. “I didn’t mean to be loud.”

God.

That’s what she thought this was about?

"You have nothing to be sorry for," I said firmly, cupping her cheek. "Nothing. Do you hear me?"

She nodded faintly, but her lip trembled.

“I… I didn’t do anything wrong… I swear…”

"You didn’t," I said again, pulling her gently into my arms. "You didn’t."

She collapsed into me, arms weak around my waist, head tucked beneath my chin. She didn’t cry. Not loudly. But I felt the wetness against my shirt.

I leaned back against the headboard, letting her curl into me. My hand found her hair and began to comb through it slowly, the way I had earlier.

"Sleep," I murmured. "You don’t have to be afraid. Not here."

And somehow, she did.

Within minutes, her breathing evened out.

She stayed in my arms.

I didn’t move.

Because that night…
Holding her felt like the only way I could hold the broken pieces together.

For her.
And for myself.