Rishi wiped his tears and quietly began eating. After all, hunger is a ruthless thing—it crushes even the strongest pride. That's exactly what Rishi was feeling now. After eating, he sat on the bed. As he reached for the table lamp to grab some water, he suddenly saw his phone. He was shocked. He quickly picked it up. The phone was perfectly fine. He touched the screen—it worked smoothly. His face lit up.
He immediately dialed Vedant's number, and on the other end, Vedant picked up the call in a flash.
"Rishi, are you okay?"
"Ved! You... where are you, brother? Are... are you alright?"
"I'm fine. Are you okay?"
"I've been kidnapped."
"So have I."
"I know. Kabir kidnapped you. But if you have a phone, why didn't you call someone for help?"
On the other end, Vedant let out a faint laugh, as if mocking his own helplessness.
"I can't call anyone except you. Maybe the same applies to you too." Rishi understood now why the phone was there. He took a deep breath, accepting everything.
"So what now, Ved? What should we do?"
"Getting out of here is nearly impossible, Rishi. I'm in Kabir'sl penthouse. I don't think there's any way out from here."
"I don't even know where I am."
"Across the road is Hotel Rajmahal. That's how I figured it out."
"That's right in the middle of the city."
"Hmm."
"Do you have any idea?"
"Kabir won't let me go before the elections, Rishi. But I won't let them get away with this. They think they can silence us by kidnapping us."
"You're right, Ved. These people are playing a massive game in the name of politics. If Kabir wins this election, we won't be able to do anything for the next five years. We can't just sit here with our hands tied." Rishi clenched his fists.
It was evening. Since morning, Rishi had been losing his mind. He was someone who couldn't sit still even for a moment. Now, frustration was boiling inside him. He wanted to smash every piece of furniture in the room. The closed door angered him the most. In rage, he kicked the door.
Suddenly, the door creaked open. Rishi was startled. With cautious steps, he moved forward. A long corridor curved downward ahead of him. Hanging above was a massive crystal chandelier. The place was dimly lit. Rishi was stunned. He stepped out of the room, fear gripping him. Everything was eerily silent, as if someone had died and the house was mourning.
Inside, a strange chill lingered. Though there were still two hours left before nightfall, it already felt dark. Rishi found everything unsettling. Against his will, he hoped someone would appear. Otherwise, this haunting silence would kill him before anything else.
Gathering courage, he walked down the corridor. A short distance ahead, he saw a large door—slightly ajar. It reminded him of a basement from a horror film. Rishi peeked inside but couldn't see clearly. Still, driven by some unknown force, he stepped in.
What he saw left him speechless. Even his college library wasn't this massive. It felt like this library had swallowed the entire city. A towering three-story structure filled with books as far as the eye could see.
As he walked through the aisles, his eyes drifted toward a corner where a man sat with his back turned—typing furiously on a laptop. His fingers moved so fast, they seemed like a supercomputer in motion. Rishi stared at him in disbelief.
But he didn't realize that on the wall behind him, a four-legged creature clung silently. Its long tongue dripped with saliva. Rishi was the prey of a beast that hadn't eaten in days.
Night had fallen, and the atmosphere had turned terrifying. Rishi stood in the library, watching the writer, unaware that behind him, that strange creature was watching him hungrily. It clung to the wall, inching closer, its eyes fixed on Rishi like a predator ready to feast.
Suddenly, the writer's fingers stopped. Though his face was still masked, the silence in the room deepened. Rishi straightened up, about to turn around.
"Don't turn," the writer shouted sharply.
Rishi froze. The writer rushed toward him, eyes locked behind Rishi. Rishi tried to turn, but the writer grabbed his hand and pulled him close.
Rishi couldn't understand what had just happened. The writer's eyes were fixed on the creature. It slithered away into the shadows.
Certainly. Here's the accurate and immersive
"You shouldn't have come out like this. There's a lot here you won't be able to handle," the writer said.
"Just say you have secrets you don't want exposed," Rishi replied in the same tone, but the writer ignored him and walked back to his seat. He began typing on his laptop again.
"Do whatever you want, Mister Writer. I'll find out everything about you. One day, your deeds will be a sensational headline in the media." The writer said nothing. He simply took a slow sip from the wine glass on the table, the liquid trickling down his throat at a glacial pace.
Rishi felt like smashing his head against the bookshelf or throwing all the books at the writer's face.
"At least tell me your name."
"For what joy?"
"For the joy of kidnapping me."
"Now that's the spirit." The writer spun around in his chair.
He tilted his head slightly and stared into Rishi's eyes. A faint smile crept across his lips.
"I can answer that question. The truth is, I kidnapped you for my own pleasure. Do you know what gives me the most joy?" Rishi said nothing.
"Creating helpless, broken characters like you." At this, Rishi took a deep breath to control his anger.
"I know you must be furious with me. But baby, you will have to accept your fate." With that, he turned back to his work.
Rishi didn't know what to say. He decided it was better to stay quiet. The writer's fingers began flying across the keyboard again. Rishi watched him closely from behind.
After a few moments, accepting his situation, Rishi began browsing the books in the library. Soon, he was so absorbed in them, it felt as if he had come there just to read.
The writer glanced at Rishi through the gaps in the racks. Rishi was focused on a book. The writer turned his chair again, picked up his wine glass, and took another sip. As he swirled the wine inside the glass, his eyes lingered on Rishi's innocent face. His gaze paused at the small black mole beneath Rishi's eye. The wine trickled slowly down his throat, visible with every drop.
The expression in the writer's eyes was strange—impossible to read. His gaze shifted from Rishi to the wall, where the creature was hanging upside down, tied with a rope. Yet even in that position, its saliva dripped onto the floor as it stared hungrily at Rishi.
The writer's eyes hardened. His pupils turned blood red, and the creature let out a painful shriek that echoed through the library.
Rishi dropped the book from his hands and immediately looked at the writer, who was still engrossed in his work. Rishi wondered if it had all been his imagination. He scanned the library, sensing an eerie presence all around.
He took a deep breath and walked toward the writer. The truth was, he was genuinely scared now.
Standing a few feet away from the writer, he glanced at him once more and then turned to the rack of books nearby. Suddenly, his eyes landed on a book titled "The Mystery Man." Rishi squinted. He picked up the book and sat on a nearby chair.
The cover showed a shadowy figure holding a strange dagger in one hand and a stopwatch in the other. The book looked intriguing, but what surprised him was that even this book had no author name.
Rishi grew frustrated. Everything here was strange. Still, he turned the page—and before he knew it, midnight had arrived.
It was two in the morning. The writer was staring at Rishi, who had fallen asleep with his head resting on the table. His long eyelashes looked so delicate that the writer's gaze lingered on them for quite some time. Rishi's hair was unusually soft and brown, scattered gently across his forehead. A silver earring shimmered in his ear. On his wrist was a sacred thread, which Vedant had brought from the temple just yesterday.
The writer observed every detail with great attention. Was Rishi truly the way he had imagined, or was he something far beyond his own imagination?
Suddenly, the writer stood up and walked over to Rishi. He gently lifted him into his arms. Rishi stirred slightly but didn't wake up. Instead, he clutched the writer's t-shirt tightly against his chest. The writer's seductive eyes glanced at Rishi once more, and then he walked into the room where Rishi had been staying.
He placed Rishi softly on the bed and pulled a blanket over him. He ran his fingers across Rishi's cheek and gazed at his lips with a lingering intensity.
"You'll never truly know who I am, but I'll give you every chance to find out, Rishi Thakur. This universe holds many secrets, and I am one of them. I hope you survive these two months with me," he whispered, then stood up, turned off the light, and walked out.
Rishi's eyes opened.
"Whatever your secrets are, I'll expose them, Mister Writer. I'm eagerly waiting for the unveiling of your truths," Rishi said to himself and turned over to sleep again.
It was eight in the morning. Vedant sat in front of the television, which was still broadcasting the same election wave that had become breaking news on every channel. His face was stern, yet he had already flipped through nearly every news station. All of them were showing glimpses of Kabir.
Vedant couldn't understand how Kabir had become so famous, especially when he hadn't done anything particularly significant yet. All he had done was raise a few important issues through his social media handles and asked questions to the government that the media had long forgotten to cover.
But the youth, especially, had rallied behind him. One thing Vedant had noticed was Kabir's ever-smiling face. A smile that never left his dimpled cheeks. How could someone smile so much? Vedant muttered in frustration.
Kabir's habit of walking among the public, helping anyone at any time—it didn't suit the image of a politician. His father owned a shoe company that was an international brand. They had hotels and restaurants. Yet Kabir had chosen this path. He could have lived a luxurious life. So why was he so interested in politics, which was bound to be nothing but a headache for him?
Vedant angrily turned off the TV and sat on the bed. His mind was spinning. Both Rishi and Vedant had been disappearing at night, but now they were locked in a room. How long would they keep sitting idle like this?