Aahil didn't say a word as he opened the car door and drove her to the safe house.
The safe house was small and dim, still carrying the faint scent of mothballs and sterile linens—like a place that had been cleaned but never truly lived in. Once a refuge. Now, every inch of it dragged old grief to the surface like salt dredged from a wound.
She hadn't spoken since their confrontation on the street. Her confessions clung to the air—unspoken now, but heavy, like storm clouds bloated with grief refusing to burst.
Aahil stood in the corner of the room, arms folded, watching her with unreadable eyes. The silence between them was thick. Uneasy. Restless.
She reached for a shawl, worn sandals, and a few dog-eared books. Her fingers trembled—just enough to betray her calm.
She didn't expect him to speak.
But he did.
"You know," he said finally, voice low and razor-thin, "sometimes... it's vengeance that keeps people breathing."
Her hand froze midair.
He didn't look at her as he continued. "People talk about forgiveness like it's a badge of honor. Like letting go is noble." His lips curled into a wry smile. "But sometimes, being vengeful—putting yourself above everyone else—is exactly what you need to survive."
His voice wasn't angry. Just... calm. The kind of stillness that hides cemeteries behind it.
Raneya turned slowly to face him. Her eyes searched his face for any hint of warmth. There was none.
But there was honesty.
Raw. Unfiltered. Brutal honesty.
"I thought if I kept choosing people, someone would choose me back," she whispered. "That they'd value my dream."
He scoffed. "The world doesn't reward goodness, Raneya. It devours it."
She bit her lip, staring at the floor.
Then he stepped closer—just enough to make her breath hitch.
"But don't misunderstand," he said coldly, his tone shifting back into steel. "This isn't charity. I don't care for sob stories."
She looked up, startled.
"This," he gestured toward the room, "is a transaction. I owe my grandmother. Not you."
Her heart sank.
He leaned in slightly, and for a moment, his voice dropped to a near whisper, brushing against her skin like a winter breeze.
"You saved my Dadi's life. That's it. Don't get any fancy ideas."
Her throat tightened, but she swallowed the sting.
"You don't have to worry about that," she murmured, trying to sound steady.
He stared at her for a beat too long—his jaw clenched, his eyes glinting with something indecipherable.
And then, just like that, the wall went up again.
His entire demeanor shifted.
Cold. Impassive. Distant.
They didn't speak in the car.
Raneya sat in the passenger seat, the wind whipping through the half-open window, carrying with it the bitter taste of unspoken thoughts. But even though he didn't say it… Even though he acted like her pain meant nothing to him… Something in the way Aahil looked at her—in the way he had listened, without judgment, without interruption—lingered in her chest like a spark refusing to go out.
But then, to her utter disbelief, he drove to a luxury mall.
"What… what are we doing here?" she asked, disoriented.
"Dadi expects more than one pair of clothes," he replied without emotion. "I don't intend to be scolded."
Raneya blinked, confused. "What? No—I don't need—"
"I don't care what you need," he cut her off coldly. "If you return with nothing, Dadi will turn the house upside down. And I hate drama."
Just as she opened her mouth to thank him, his expression turned stony again. He flicked a platinum card toward her feet with calculated detachment.
"Two hours. Use it wisely," he said.
Raneya stared at the card like it was a grenade, a whirlwind of emotion spinning in her chest.
"Take it," he said. "Call it… compensation. For keeping your secrets intact."
Raneya bent down to pick it up, her pride resisting but her logic winning.
"You don't owe me anything," she said quietly.
"I don't," he replied icily. "But my grandmother does. So consider this her gesture, not mine."
She looked at him then, really looked at him—at the mask of indifference, at the carefully crafted cold exterior.
But now she knew.
Somewhere behind those walls was a man who had also been broken once.
And he was never going to let anyone see it again.
"Thank you… for listening," she whispered, almost to herself.
He didn't answer. Didn't blink. Just turned on his heel and vanished into the glass façade of a high-end restaurant—like she didn't exist at all.
She shopped modestly, only grabbing a few essentials. Clothes. A pair of shoes. Hair ties. But when she saw the bookstore—she couldn't help herself. It was almost like it called to her soul. It was as if, for the first time in weeks, her heart beat for something other than survival.
The bookshelves whispered like old friends who remembered her better than anyone else ever had.
She ran her fingers across leather-bound covers, paperbacks, collector's editions. She touched every genre like a child exploring wonderland. Fantasy. Thrillers. Biographies. Romance. She disappeared into the pages like falling into another world. A world where girls like her had agency. Power. Destiny.
While other stores claimed fifteen minutes, the bookstore held her hostage for forty. For a fleeting moment, she was Raneya again—the dreamer. Not the fugitive. Not the pawn. Just a girl who loved words more than the world had ever loved her.
But in the shadows of the café across the street, Aahil watched her through the glass wall—silent, still, and unreadable.
Across the street, in the dim shadows of a sleek café, Aahil watched her through the glass façade—like she didn't exist at all.
Aahil Shah watched her like a hunter tracking a flame that refused to go out—with eyes colder than steel, and curiosity sharp enough to cut through glass.