CHAPTER 7

VIRANSH'S POV -

The dream was quiet.

Not the kind of quiet that brings peace, but the kind that creeps beneath your skin, like dusk slipping between your ribs. In it, she stood under a tree—barefoot, trembling slightly, her lavender dupatta fluttering in the wind like a flag of surrender.

Aarvi.

She turned slowly, eyes searching for something—someone. Me? Maybe. I tried to reach her, my hand stretching through the haze of whatever this place was. But no matter how fast I moved, she only drifted further into the mist, disappearing behind the trees, her silhouette swallowed whole.

Then came the whisper.

Not hers.

Another voice—low, vile, echoing with something ancient and cruel.

“She was never meant to leave.”

I jerked awake.

The first thing I felt was warmth—real, tangible, breathing warmth—resting against my chest. Her. My arm had somehow coiled around her in my sleep, protective even in unconsciousness. Her head nestled beneath my chin, her hand resting lightly over my heart. As if she were trying to feel if I was real.

She didn’t stir. Her breathing was soft. Peaceful.

God, how could someone sleep like this after living through what she had?

I didn’t move for a long moment, afraid even the rustle of a bedsheet might shatter whatever fragile calm had settled over her. But my phone buzzed. Again. And again. A chain of alerts I had ignored for the past hour.

I sighed quietly, then peeled away from her slowly, making sure her head was still cushioned on the pillow. She didn’t even flinch. The way she curled into the mattress made her look almost childlike—so far from the broken girl I found bleeding on the road.

I crossed the room, stepping into the attached bathroom. The cold water against my skin helped wash away the dream, but not the weight in my chest. Something about that voice haunted me.

After dressing in a black shirt and trousers, I glanced back into the room through the slightly ajar door.

Still asleep.

Good.

I picked up my phone. 14 missed calls. 3 texts.

All from Karan.

I read the last message aloud under my breath. “We got them. Back of the mansion.”

My jaw tightened.

The same men who chased her that night?

They had dared to follow her here?

Without wasting another second, I slipped out quietly, alerting no one. My footsteps echoed down the long, marble corridor, past the decorative silence of ancient paintings and antique vases. But the further I walked toward the back entrance, the thicker the air felt.

By the time I stepped into the secluded yard behind the mansion, the morning sun had fully risen—but the scene in front of me was darker than night.

Three men. All bound. Knees dug into gravel. Ropes around their wrists and ankles. Blood splattered on their shirts, lips cracked, one with a broken nose, another with a gash on his forehead. But even now... they laughed.

My men stood silently beside them, eyes sharp, shoulders squared.

Karan stepped forward.

“They followed your car that night,” he said. “But didn’t expect the switch-up in routes. Took us time to track them. Found them trying to bribe someone near the outskirts. Thought it was best not to call you until we had them.”

I stared at the men, my voice low. Controlled. Dangerous.

“Who sent you?”

The one with the least blood spat to the side and chuckled. “No one sent us. We follow signs.”

“What signs?”

“She’s cursed,” he whispered, a sick grin spreading across his face. “They kept her hidden in the temple for years. Locked away. Do you know why?”

I didn’t answer. My hands clenched.

“She brings death wherever she goes,” he went on. “That girl shouldn’t be walking in the world of men. She belongs in the shadows.”

Rage rose in me like a storm.

I stepped forward, gripping the collar of his bloodied shirt. “What do you know about her? WHO told you this?”

He grinned wider. “No one. Everyone.”

Useless filth.

I shoved him back down.

I turned to the others. “Did she escape the temple? Or did someone help her?”

Silence.

One of the others—a younger man, maybe no older than twenty-five—muttered under his breath, “She’s... she’s the girl they whispered about for years. No one was allowed near the inner sanctum. They said she was a… curse. That if she ever stepped out, the gods would be angered.”

“And yet you were chasing her with knives,” I snapped.

He flinched.

“She’s just a girl,” I growled. “Not a myth.”

They didn’t respond.

Because they didn’t know anything. Just fed lies wrapped in fear, passed from one blind follower to another.

I signaled Karan. “Keep them here. No police. Not yet. I want background on all three—family, temple links, every corner they’ve crawled through.”

Karan nodded. “And the girl?”

My jaw tightened. “No one goes near her unless I say so.”

As I turned to leave, one of the men called after me.

“You think she’s yours now? Just wait. She’s never been touched by the world. You think she’ll survive it?”

I didn’t even glance back.

But in my mind, her sleeping form flashed again—the way she’d curled into the warmth of the blankets beside me. Fragile. Pure. Safe. And I’d do anything to keep her that way.

AARVI'S POV -

The first thing I saw when I opened my eyes was soft light filtering through gold curtains.

The second thing… was emptiness.

The place beside me on the bed—where he had been—was cold now.

I sat up slowly, still wrapped in the same Anarkali suit from yesterday. The room was too grand, too quiet. I blinked a few times, expecting to hear the loud chants or bell gongs of the temple. But all I heard was the ticking of a distant clock.

Was I alone again?

No.

A silver tray rested on the nearby table. Steam curled up from a bowl of something white and milky—kheer?

I hesitated.

Food had always come with rules. Silence. Punishment if wasted. Shame if desired.

But this… this wasn’t the ashram.

My stomach tightened, both from hunger and fear. I reached out slowly, fingers trembling as I lifted the spoon.

The first bite was small.

Sweet. Warm. Creamy.

It melted on my tongue like a memory I never had.

I ate more. Bite after bite, until the bowl was nearly empty.

Tears welled in my eyes without warning.

Not from the taste.

From the kindness.

Nightfall

The day passed in stillness.

He didn’t come back.

I stayed curled near the window, watching as the sky turned indigo. The stars began to bloom one by one.

But when the darkness fell fully, the walls seemed to lean closer.

The memories returned—how they always did at night.

The whip of a stick. The locked doors. The whispered chants. The eyes that watched me like I was a prophecy… or a punishment.

I pressed my hands to my ears, curled into myself.

My breathing grew shallow.

I wanted to scream, but no sound came.

Then—before the panic could crush me entirely—the door opened.

He stood there. Eyes fierce. Jaw tight. But the moment he saw me, everything inside him softened.

“Aarvi,” he said gently.

I didn’t even realize I had started crying until he crossed the room and knelt before me.

“I’m here.”

I clung to him. No words. No pride.

Just the desperate need to not be alone in that moment.

He lifted me—strong arms around my back—and without hesitation carried me out of the guest wing.

Not back to that bed.

But to his.

His own room. Warmer. Lived-in.

He laid me down gently, then slid beside me, wrapping both arms around my shaking body.

“You’re safe,” he whispered into my hair. “No one will ever hurt you again.”

I didn’t answer.

But for the first time in years…

I believed it.

The morning air inside the room felt warmer than before.

I hadn’t realized when I’d fallen asleep again last night, buried safely in his embrace, but when my eyes opened, the space beside me was empty. The blanket still held his warmth. The pillow still smelled faintly of sandalwood and something deeper—earthy, unfamiliar, comforting.

I didn’t panic this time.

I only lay there for a long while, clutching the soft edge of the blanket, eyes fixed on the ornate ceiling above me. This place… this silence… it wasn’t like the ashram. The silence there used to crush my breath. Here, it was gentle. Almost like it waited for me to speak.

Still, I said nothing.

I didn’t even know what to say.

I sat up slowly, feeling the lavender anarkali swirl around me. My fingers traced the embroidery at the hem again. Soft, intricate, careful… Who had picked this color? Why had he…?

Just then, the door opened. I stiffened.

But it wasn’t him.

It was a woman—older, dressed in a simple saree, her eyes kind and curious. She didn't speak, but her hands carried a tray with a silver plate. Steam rose from it—roti, sabzi, something fragrant and spiced with ghee.

My stomach clenched. Not in fear. In hunger.

I looked up at her.

She gave me a gentle nod, placed the tray on the side table, and turned to leave. No questions. No loud instructions. No pulling or pushing like before.

I waited for her to close the door.

Then I crawled to the tray like a child unsure of her own hands. I touched the edge of the steel plate, then the soft fold of roti.

I took a bite.

And that first taste of real food—warm, oily, spiced—made my chest ache. It was the kind of food I had seen others eat through the iron slits of the temple kitchen. Never served to me.

Tears rolled down my cheeks before I even knew they were coming.

I didn’t know what to do with so many feelings at once.

So I kept eating, slowly. One piece at a time. Until the plate was empty and my heart felt heavy… but less hollow.

He hadn’t returned yet.

I noticed at edge of the bed where a cream suit led with pink embriodery on itm, i waited for a moment and then changed into it.

I curled up on the edge of the bed again, tucking the blanket around me.

Maybe I was safe.

Maybe this wasn’t a dream.

But still—who was he?
Why was he doing all this?

And what would happen… if I remembered everything?

VIRANSH'S POV -

“She was kept where?” I asked sharply, voice low and dangerous.

The man’s face was swollen beyond recognition, but his eyes flicked up at me, blood trailing from his lip. “A… temple,” he whispered, coughing. “She was never allowed outside.”

I stared at him, fists clenched behind my back.

My guards stood still, watching for my next move. Three of them were present. Two more were outside, making sure the place was secure. The back courtyard of my estate, where we kept the most unwelcome guests, smelled of dried blood and silence.

“You said she was caged there?”

The man coughed again, barely able to nod. “Yes… a girl with no name. Never stepped out. They said she was special… or cursed. We don’t know more.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Who said that? Who gave the orders?”

He hesitated.

That was enough.

A swift, clean kick from one of my men sent him sprawling. Not unconscious. Just a reminder.

“They didn’t tell us,” the man hissed, curling into himself. “We were paid to… to track her if she escaped. But no one knew her real name. Just ‘the girl in the white room’.”

White room.

The image hit me hard—her sitting on the bed in my house, the way she flinched when I turned on a lamp, her fear of mirrors.

I stepped back.

There was more to this. Much more.

But the trail was growing cold.

No names. No temple records. Nothing but whispers and shadows.

I needed to find out who had kept her like that. And why.

Because no girl ends up like that without someone being complicit. Someone who benefited.

And I was going to burn every name, every place, and every lie until I found the truth.

AARVI'S POV -

He returned by late afternoon.

I heard the soft rustle of his boots across the floor, the click of the door. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My eyes stayed fixed on the window, where the sunlight had begun to slide down the glass in long golden streaks.

I expected him to speak.

But he didn’t.

Instead, I felt the bed shift gently as he sat beside me. I could smell the faint trace of something iron—blood?

He didn't touch me. Just sat there. Breathing slowly.

A strange warmth settled between us. Not words. Not touch. Just the closeness of two broken things trying not to fall apart.

“You ate,” he said quietly.

I nodded once.

“Good.”

Another pause.

I turned my face slightly, meeting his gaze for the first time in hours. His eyes weren’t cold. But they weren’t soft either. They were calculating… worried… and hiding something.

I looked away.

He let me.

After a moment, he said, “Will you come with me? There’s a place I want to show you.”

VIRANSH'S POV -

I hadn’t planned to take her to the garden.

But something about her eyes—clouded, restless—made me change my mind.

She followed me without question, steps small and hesitant. I opened the back door myself and led her down the curved marble steps into the heart of the estate’s private garden—lush with wild blooms, thick trees, and a stone bench under a weeping willow.

The sky was orange now. Golden-pink, like a painting still wet.

She looked around slowly, wide-eyed. Her soft pink dupatta flowing , she was wearing a cream coloured suit with pink embriodry. I had arranged everything the very morning when i planned to ttake her here to my mansion.

Birds chirped softly. The wind stirred the leaves. Sunlight kissed the petals of a lone lavender flower near her feet.

She bent down, almost instinctively, fingers brushing it.

I watched her, silent.

Then she turned to me. “What is this place?”

“My mother’s garden,” I said. “No one else comes here. Not even the staff.”

She looked around again. Then back at me.

“I can stay here?”

“If you want.”

She didn’t answer. But her fingers curled gently around the flower’s stem, like she was holding something precious for the first time.

That was enough.

AARVI'S POV – Nightfall

The nightmares came faster this time.

I had tried to sleep alone in the guest room again, but the shadows felt heavier tonight. My breath became sharp. The white walls blurred into the old temple walls. The smell of incense returned. The coldness. The echo of chanting that used to rattle through my ribs.

I gasped, eyes wide open.

No escape.

I stumbled out of bed, trembling. The halls were dark. I didn’t know where to go.

But my feet took me back to the only place that had felt safe.

His room.

His door.

My hand barely knocked before it opened. He must have heard me. Or maybe… he never slept deep.

He didn’t ask anything.

He just stepped aside.

I walked in, hands clenched tight, knees weak.

He pulled back the blanket without a word.

I slid in, eyes burning.

He lay beside me—still, quiet—like before.

But this time, I didn’t stop myself. I curled into him, trembling. My head against his chest. His heartbeat—steady, strong.

His arm came around me slowly, carefully, like I’d break if he held me wrong.

He didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

He just held me.

And for the first time in years… I closed my eyes not out of fear…

…but with a flicker of peace.