The docks were nearly silent, only the creak of ropes and the gentle splash of water against wood.
Vikram Das held his daughter tight, his strong arms trembling ever so slightly.
"My little lotus… you are a flower that blooms even in the harshest soil."
From his robe, he pulled out a leather‑bound book and pressed it into her hands.
"A rare gift from an Arab trader," he whispered. "In his land, women can study medicine… even become healers. He gave me this when I told him about you."
His voice wavered.
"Never forget who you are."
Leena hugged the book to her chest. Her eyes burned, but she refused to cry.
If she cried now… she might never let go.
The boat pushed away from the dock.
Vikram's figure grew smaller and smaller under the moonlight, until the fog swallowed him whole.
Hours later, the river opened into the sea. The salty wind bit at their cheeks. The world smelled of wet wood, brine, and freedom… yet Leena's chest felt unbearably heavy.
Then—
"Madam…" Maya's weak voice broke the night.
Leena turned.
Her maid was clutching her stomach, face pale as paper.
"I… I don't feel well…"
Before Leena could move, Maya's legs gave out.
She collapsed onto the wooden deck with a dull thud.
Leena's blood ran cold.
The journey had only just begun…
…and already, death might be on board.
The sea roared like an angry beast.
Waves slammed against the wooden boat, and the wind howled, tearing at Leena's veil.
She clutched the railing with numb fingers.
Behind her, Maya retched again, her thin body trembling like a leaf.
"Madam…" Her maid's voice was barely a whisper, lips dry, skin blazing with fever.
Leena's heart sank.
She knew these symptoms—fever, vomiting, weakness.
Typhoid.
If the illness spread… the entire ship could become a floating grave.
"Stay here, Maya," Leena ordered, forcing her voice to be steady.
She turned to the deck, where merchants clung to crates and rigging.
Chinese, Persian, Indian, Arab… all stared at that young woman suddenly taking charge.
"There is sickness aboard!" Leena shouted over the storm.
"I need a separate space for the patients. Now!"
As if summoned by her words, a Chinese noblewoman collapsed into her servant's arms.
"Miss! Miss!" The maid panicked. "No one touches my lady!"
The noblewoman's trembling hand lifted weakly.
"…Let her… help…"
Leena didn't waste a second.
She dragged the sick into a small storage cabin, the air thick with damp wood and salt.
From her wooden medicine box, vials and herbs glinted like fragile treasure.
She crushed bitter leaves, mixed powders, and boiled them over the tiny ship's fire.
The smell of sharp herbs and smoke filled the cabin.
"Drink," she urged Maya first, tilting the steaming mixture to her lips.
"Cool the fever. Fight the poison."
Hours bled into the night.
The boat groaned under the storm.
Water leaked through the planks.
Leena wiped sweat from Maya's brow again and again, whispering prayers in the darkness.
Then—finally—Maya's breathing eased.
The noblewoman's crimson face faded to pale.
By dawn, both could speak.
The passengers surrounded Leena in awe.
"You saved them!" a merchant exclaimed.
"Are you… a saint?" another whispered.
The noblewoman, still weak, clutched her hand.
"You saved my life. If fate allows us to meet again… I will repay any debt."
Leena allowed herself the smallest smile. For a moment, hope returned.
That night, the deck came alive with food and music to celebrate the miracle.
But in the shadows, three Indian men did not join.
Their cold eyes followed the healer.
One leaned toward the other, voice low in Hindi:
"Ram Sharan will not be pleased to hear this…
…She will not escape him for long."
--------------------------------------------
* The next morning *
The morning sun painted the bustling Tang port in gold.
Leena stepped off the boat—and froze.
Red lanterns swayed in the breeze.
The air carried the scent of incense, roasted duck, and river mist.
Maya clutched her arm.
"Madam… everyone is staring."
She was right.
The people of Chang'an slowed their steps to gawk at the veiled foreign beauty with the wide, dark eyes.
Some whispered. Some smiled.
But to Leena, it felt like stepping into another world.
"Leena!"
She turned to see Merchant Bao, her father's old friend, a man with a kind smile and an ink‑stained beard, waving from the crowd.
He led them through winding streets and wooden gates into his spacious estate.
The courtyard was a painting come to life:
A small pond with floating lotus blossoms, a white stone bridge reflected in the water, bamboo swaying softly, whispering secrets.
"This will be your room," Bao said, sliding open a polished wooden door.
"You may rest here as long as you need."
Leena bowed. "Thank you. Please, tell me how I can repay you."
Bao chuckled. "Help me with the shop and errands. That will be enough."
But then, his tone shifted.
"Do not wander the streets at night," he warned, voice low.
"Not now."
Leena's heart skipped.
As she closed her bedroom door, she didn't know that from the rooftops above, a pair of sharp eyes already watched her every move…
The hunter had found his prey.