I watch the screen. Fingers hover above the keyboard, the weight of my words heavy in my chest before I finally press send.
"Enjoying Hawaii while beating someone to death but not killing them, huh?"
"Maybe that person didn't make it after all. Touching what's mine..."
"Death will be the only option."
The message vanishes into the ether-undetected, untraceable, cloaked beneath firewalls no one will ever break.
Silence.
I lean back, exhaling slowly, my eyes are fixed on the screen. Every second stretches thin. My pulse hammers.
Then-buzz.
I can almost see it. Siara's face as she reads: her lips parting in shock, eyes flickering with recognition, her breath catching sharp in her throat. The tension crawling back into her posture. The realization hit her chest like a stone.
She'll know exactly what those words mean.
She'll know exactly who they're from-proof or no proof.
Across the room, Tiziano's arms are folded, his sharp gaze cutting into me like he's searching for the pieces I don't show.
"What are you doing?" His tone is clipped, cautious.
I look up, lips curling into a faint smirk. "Cleaning up a mess."
He exhales through his nose, shaking his head-but says nothing. His face betrays it: that sharpness in his eyes, the crease between his brows.
Because he knows.
He always knows.
Whatever happens next-Siara won't be able to ignore it. Not me. Not anymore.
Flashback-On the beach
The sun hung low, painting gold across the waves, the ocean humming like background static.
Tiziano and I sat at the bar, empty glasses sweating on the table. The air was easy-until it wasn't.
The shift came suddenly. No sound. No movement. Just... instinct.
I looked up.
And there they were.
Siara and Sara, walking along the shore. Unaware. Calm. Shadows stretched behind them-and two men followed.
Strangers. Intruders.
My jaw tightened, my hand curling into a fist against the table.
The first mistake: one man's hand grazing Siara's arm.
The second mistake: the other step toward Sara.
My blood ran cold.
I shot up from my chair-but Sara moved first.
Her face twisted in raw fury, she slammed her fist into the guy's nose. The sickening crack echoed across the sand. He staggered back, blood streaming.
Beside me, Tiziano muttered a curse under his breath, already rising. But neither of us stopped her.
Because Sara wasn't stopping.
Her face hardened, jaw clenched, eyes blazing-she was relentless. Another hit. Then another. Each blow is more savage than the last.
Siara reeled for a second, a flash of shock flickering in her wide eyes, body stiff with the sting of the kick she'd taken. But Siara never stayed down.
She spell a word maybe shitt.
Her expression shifted-the calm cracking into fury. Her brows furrowed, lips pressed into a tight line. Then she launched.
Her fists flew-sharp, precise, merciless. The second man staggered, eyes wide with disbelief before she tore him down.
I felt it then.
Satisfaction uncoiled in me, deep and steady. My lips curved into something between pride and hunger.
Not just admiration. Not just tension.
Pure, vicious gratification.
Watching them reclaim their ground, watching the fear in the men's faces as realization struck-it was intoxicating.
Beside me, Tiziano smirked, shaking his head. "I shouldn't be enjoying this."
I huffed a low chuckle, but my eyes never left the fight.
Because I wasn't just watching.
I was memorizing.
The fire in their eyes. The rage in their faces. The power in their fists.
Because tonight was not the end.
It was the beginning.
Flashback ends-
*******
In the private room
The air is heavy. Dense. The kind of silence that seeps into the bones and makes every breath feel like a risk.
They sit across from me, bodies stiff, faces tight with fear they can't quite hide. The bruises across their skin glow dark in the low light, sweat clinging to their temples. Exhaustion weighs on them now-more than the pain itself.
Good.
Tiziano stands beside me, arms crossed. His usual smirk is gone, his face cut into a hard, unreadable mask. He hasn't spoken since we locked them in here, only watching them with that cold, sharp stare that strips a man down to nothing.
Because this isn't just my problem.
They touched Sara.
And for Tiziano? That alone is unforgivable.
He exhales slowly, jaw tightening, eyes dark with something sharper than irritation. "I could've broken his jaw," he mutted, voice low, edged. "Would've been a fair trade."
I don't answer. I just watch.
Let them sit in it. Let them drown in their regret.
Finally, I break the silence. My voice is calm. Controlled. Deadly.
"Touching what's mine..."
I let the words settle, my gaze holding theirs until they drop their eyes.
"That was your first mistake."
One of them shifts, lips parting like he wants to speak-but the flicker of panic in his eyes betrays him. He shuts his mouth again.
Tiziano scoffs, taking a step forward, his shadow stretching across them. "You thought she wouldn't fight back?" His tone sharpens into ice. "That was your second mistake."
I tilt my head slightly, eyes narrowing, face unreadable. "And now you're here."
The single overhead bulb flickers, throwing jagged shadows across the walls, shrinking the room until it feels like the walls themselves are closing in.
They won't die here.
That would be mercy.
No-here, they'll sit in silence.
Every second pressing deeper into their skin.
Beside me, Tiziano folds his arms again, exhaling with a mocking smirk tugging at his lips. "Funny, isn't it?" His tone is casual, but his eyes gleam dark. "You thought touching them was your choice."
Neither of them moves.
I watch them. Their clenched jaws. Their twitching fingers. The shallow, uneven rhythm of their breathing. The sweat dripping down their brows. The shame burning in their faces.
"You thought it ended in the sand," I say softly, every word deliberate, cutting.
One of them swallows hard, throat bobbing.
"It doesn't end until we decide it does."
The flickering bulb stutters again. Shadows distort across their faces, making their fear more raw, more naked.
One shifts forward, like he's about to beg-then freezes when I tilt my head just slightly.
That's all it takes.
Tiziano chuckles, the smirk fully returning now. "Smart move."
The silence thickens again, suffocating, their uneven breathing the only sound in the room.
I step closer-slow, measured, controlled. My gaze doesn't waver as their shoulders stiffen, as their eyes widen.
"You touched what isn't yours," I murmured, almost gentle.
"Now you don't get to touch anything."
No escape.
No control.
Only silence.
Only the weight of knowing.
Because this?
This isn't punishment.
It's a lesson.
One that will brand itself into their bones.
Not tomorrow.
Not ever.
*******
We step out of the private room.
The air is still thick behind us, suffocating the two men trapped inside.
No one speaks as we walk down the hall. The silence clings, heavy.
Tiziano rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling, his smirk finally flickering back. "That was... satisfying."
I don't answer. Just a faint nod, the corner of my mouth twitching. I push open my door, the cool night air rushing in, pressing against the weight in my ribs.
The second I enter my room-my phone buzzes.
Heer.
I drag a hand down my face before answering. "...Yeah?"
A heartbeat of silence. Then her voice cuts in-soft, but sharp enough to slice through me.
"You sound off."
I lean back against the wall, closing my eyes. My jaw tightens before I mutter, "It's late, Heer. What do you need?"
She doesn't reply right away. I can hear her frown in the silence.
Then-
"You tell me. Something's wrong."
My grip on the phone hardens. My shoulders roll back, like I can push down the tension pressing against me.
She knows me too well.
Always has.
And right now? That's the last thing I want.
But Heer never lets me off easy.
She sighs, exasperated. "Who is it this time?"
My jaw clenches. "It's handled."
Her sharp inhale is followed by flat disbelief. "That's not an answer."
I push off the wall, pacing. My eyes drift to the city lights bleeding through the window. "It's the only one you're getting."
Her silence stretches-louder than any argument.
Finally, she speaks.
"Fine. But remember this, bhai... whatever control you think you have? It only lasts until someone takes it from you."
Her words sink like lead.
I don't reply. Because deep down, I know she's right. And I hate that.
But worse?
I know she already feels what's coming.
And so do I.
I brace myself, because Heer never just calls to chat. And sure enough-her tone shifts, brimming with excitement and command.
"Toh sun," she says quickly, not letting me get a word in. "Himanshu ki shaadi fix ho gayi hai. Ek mahine baad. Delhi mein."
I rub my forehead. "...Heer-"
"Main mana nahi sunungi, bhai. You're coming. No maybes."
"Main Hawaii mein hoon," I counter, already reaching for excuses. "Deadlines hain, kaam hai-"
"Kaam ka bahana mat do aap," she snaps, her voice rising. "Shaadi hai. Tum mere bhai ho ya hologram?"
I snorted despite myself, lips twitching. "Batao... tumhari woh nand bhi hogi, na?"
There's a pause. I can hear her glare through the line.
"Ha ha... mujhe hi sab kyun pata hota hai, bhai?" she mutters, irritation simmering. "Toh chup chap ha bol."
I chuckle, leaning back on the bed, eyes softening. "Tu gusse mein aur bhi zyada dramatic ho jaati hai, you know that?"
"Shaadi mein nahi aaya na, toh main tere company ka Wi-Fi band karwa dungi," she threatens, her tone playful but her words edged with affection.
I sigh, shaking my head, a reluctant smile tugging my lips. "...Fine. I'll think about it."
"You'll do it," she corrects, firm. "Aur ek sherwani pehenna. Proper wali. With color."
I groan. "Ab tu style dictate karegi?"
"Yup." Then, softer, after a beat. "...Aur bhai?"
"Haan?"
"I want you there. No excuses. We're not doing another wedding without you."
The silence after that is heavier. Real. It strips away all my clever dodges, leaves me bare.
"...Okay."
Because little sisters don't just win.
They know how to pull you home.
And damn it-Heer always does.
The call ends. The phone buzzes again almost immediately.
Yuvraj.
Not a coincidence. Not at this hour.
I answer, my voice is low. "Jiju?"
He doesn't waste time. His tone is tight. Serious. "I'm not calling about the wedding, Rudra. This is about Siara."
My body goes still. Every muscle locks.
"She's been... different," he says carefully. "Avoiding calls. Locking herself in. Even when Heer sees her, something's off. Her words, her eyes-it doesn't add up."
I start pacing again, jaw set, eyes narrowing at the shadows stretching across the floor.
"I know my sister," he continues, voice steady but heavy. "And she's hiding something. Something serious."
"She's always been distant," I murmur.
"This isn't a distance. This is deeper."
His words cut clean. Then he pauses, deliberate.
"You still have that house in Defence Colony, right? The one next to hers?"
My jaw tenses. I already know where this is going. "...Yeah. Haven't used it in a while."
"Use it now. Move in."
I say nothing. The silence is answer enough.
He presses on, voice low. "She's shutting us out. Barely speaking. Routine's mechanical. This isn't stress-it's isolation. And I don't trust what it means."
I close my eyes, forehead resting against the cold wall. "She's always been private."
"This isn't privacy, Rudra. It's something else. Something dangerous."
And he's right. I've felt it too. Even from afar. That quiet unraveling behind her practiced smiles.
"I want you there," Yuvraj says, voice quieter now, almost pleading. "Not to push. Not to interrogate. Just... watch. Be near. If something goes wrong, I want you close enough to stop it."
My hand tightens around the phone, knuckles white. "...She's not going to let me in. Not anymore. She barely even looks at me."
"I know," he admits. Then softer-the line that cuts through everything:
"But deep down? She still hears you. Even when she pretends she doesn't."
My throat tightens. My fingers curl into the windowsill, the night air biting through the glass.
He isn't wrong. She can lock every door, fake every smile-but I've always been able to hear the silence between her words.
"I don't want to push her further," I mutter.
"You won't," he says firmly. "But sometimes strong people... break harder. I just need someone who can read between her lines."
I stare out at the city lights, the weight of his words heavy on my chest. Finally, I nod to myself.
"I'll move in tomorrow."
Because whatever she's hiding-whatever storm she's burying-
I've seen the cracks already.
And I'll keep watching.
Until I know why.
Because she might keep the door closed.
But I've stood in her silence before.
And this time?
I'm not walking away.
The Resort Room
The resort room is dim, lit only by the soft bleed of city lights through sheer curtains. Beyond the walls, life goes on-laughter, clinking glasses, faint bass from the underground lounge.
But none of it touches me.
I sit by the window, book open but unread, eyes fixed on nothing. I haven't turned the page in twenty minutes-maybe longer. My hand keeps tugging at the cuff of my sleeve, the old nervous habit I thought I'd buried. It only resurfaces when I feel like I'm drifting too far off the ground.
I'm tired. Not the kind sleep heals. Not the kind of vacation fix.
The book closes quietly. I stand.
Sara's asleep on the bed, breathing finally steady, her face soft with the first piece she's touched all day. For her sake, I pretend that's enough.
The drawer protests with a low groan as I pull it open. The white bottle waits beneath folded scarves, too familiar. My fingers graze its surface, cool and smooth, like an old secret I shouldn't still keep.
I unscrew the cap. My throat knots. For a breath, the weight of it dangles in my hands-control disguised as an escape.
No.
I close it again. Slide it back. The drawer shuts with finality.
Control is still mine.
Arms crossed, I drift back to the window. My gaze falls on the courtyard below-quiet, harmless-until movement cuts through the stillness.
A shadow.
Not staff. Not tourists. That house next door was supposed to be empty. And yet-the faint glow of lights, a curtain shifting too deliberately.
A prickle climbs my spine.
Not paranoia. Recognition. The air thickens with a presence I know too well. The weight of being seen.
I don't need proof.
My lips press into a thin line, breath shallow. My eyes harden.
"Mr. Ghos-" I whisper, jaw tight.
Because of course it would be you. No knock. No warning. No permission. Just a shadow sliding back into my life like you never left.
And the worst part?
Some part of me always knew you'd return.
---
Next Morning - Airport Departures, Hawaii
The airport hums with chaos-rolling suitcases, last-minute gate calls, someone crying into a neck pillow nearby. The trip has ended, but its weight hasn't.
Sara paces, shuffling boarding passes like she's holding the world together by sheer organization. Tara and Adi bicker over missing headphones. Roop scrolls through photos while Zafar lugs both their bags, patient as ever. Simran and Raj whisper at the back, heads tipped together, lost in their own current.
"Are you sure you're okay?" Tara asks again, eyes sharp with suspicion.
"I'm fine," I lie with a tired smile that doesn't reach my eyes.
Sara studies me, her brow furrowed. "You only think you are."
Zafar's laugh is quiet, but his gaze lingers too long. "You okay, Si?"
"Fine," I answered too quickly.
The silence that follows is the worst kind-everyone pretending to believe me, no one is actually convinced.
We board. One by one. Leaving paradise behind. Returning to jobs, obligations, and the kind of messes you can face with both hands.
New York - 10 Hours Later
Jetlag drags at my bones. My half-unpacked suitcase slumps open in the corner of my penthouse, clothes spilling out like it surrendered on the way home. Two days pass in a blur of pretending-smiling at colleagues, sliding back into routine, pretending my skin doesn't crawl at shadows.
Finally, I ride the elevator to the 30th floor-home. My sanctuary.
The doors slide open. For two years, my hallway has been silent, safe. The penthouse across from mine-dark, forgotten, blissfully unoccupied.
Not tonight.
Its door is ajar. Fresh paint. A new lock. A coat hanging just inside.
My pulse skips.
And then-him.
Rudra.
He steps into view like he belongs here, a mug of coffee in his hand. Casual. Effortless. His gaze finds mine, calm, unreadable-like he planned this exact moment.
My keys dig too tightly into my palm. I can't move.
He raises a brow, lips twitching into the faintest ghost of a smile before sipping from his mug. Leaning lazily against the doorframe, he looks at me as though this is nothing more than a neighborly coincidence.
But it isn't.
The silence between us is not empty-it drips with years, endings, and unfinished wars.
His voice finally breaks it, smooth and deliberate. "Welcome home, Siara."
I don't respond. I just walk past him, jaw set, the tension in my face betraying nothing but the steel in my silence.
Yet inside, I know it instantly-whatever fragile peace I had left in this building has shattered.
Because Rudra's return isn't chance.
And this isn't just proximity.
It's war.
Beautiful. Quiet. Personal war.
I hear the elevator ding before I see her.
Then-footsteps. Familiar. Measured. A suitcase rolling softly across the hallway floor, wheels brushing against marble as if she's trying not to disturb the air itself.
But I'm already there.
Leaning against my doorframe, mug in hand, the skyline bleeding through the penthouse glass behind me. An audience of steel and light.
And then-her.
Siara steps out.
Black wide jeans. Oversized shirt. Hair pulled back in that messy knot she wears when she wants to look careless but isn't. She's never careless. Not with me.
Her gaze lifts-locks onto mine.
One heartbeat.
Two.
Her breath hitches, subtle, but I catch it. The keys in her hand tighten. Her lips part as if to speak, but close just as quickly. A flicker-recognition, disbelief, something heavier threading through.
But not surprised.
No, she knew. She's always known. She just didn't want confirmation-not like this. Not under Manhattan morning light with me standing exactly where I shouldn't be.
I tilt my head, let my voice cut through the silence-low, steady, unreadable.
"Welcome home, Siara."
Her jaw tightens, her lashes lowering for half a second too long. No words. Just movement-controlled, almost graceful-as she brushes past me.
The silence doesn't break. It thickens. It clings. Every unsaid thing between us presses in like smoke-sharp, heavy, impossible to ignore.
Her door shuts.
But not before I see it.
The tiniest tremor in her fingers. The kind of shake she'd rather die than let me notice.
I take another slow sip of coffee, eyes still on that closed door.
Let her breathe. Let her spin.
Because I'm not knocking.
I already live next door.
And this time-I'm not leaving when it gets hard.
I'm staying until she lets the truth out- Or burns trying to hold it in.
TO BE CONTINUED...
*********
So do you like the obsesstion?
What about the heer sarcastic words?
Worrying about siara?
The hellucation presence of mr.ghost?
Welcome home scene?
Next update: Thrusday
You must've ignored that grammar mistake the same way you ignore your crush-like they never shattered your heart in the first place.
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