Urvi's Farmhouse – Just After Sunset
The sky draped itself in deep purples and molten gold as Mihir's sleek black car glided through the wrought-iron gates of Urvi's lavish farmhouse. Fairy lights curled around tree branches, twinkling with a deceptive charm, while muffled bass beats thumped from within.
The car pulled to a smooth stop just off the stone path that led to the main steps.
Mihir stepped out first, suave in his open-collared black shirt and tailored blazer, barely sparing a glance behind him as he headed toward the terrace—toward Urvi.
She stood waiting, resplendent in blood-red silk that clung to her like temptation itself. "My baby finally made it," she purred, her eyes lighting up at the sight of him.
But behind him, Maira had just climbed out of the passenger side, brushing off her kurti, adjusting the chain at her throat.
And then—
A strange warmth.
She froze.
The locket at her collarbone... was glowing faintly.
Her breath caught. She looked around—and her eyes landed on the smooth stone path ahead. To anyone else, it was normal.
But not to her.
Not with the locket pulsing like this.
And as she focused, the shimmer appeared—a faint, ghostly witch circle, almost invisible unless looked at with Reeva sight. It was drawn with precision... and Mihir was just a breath away from stepping into it.
"No!"
Maira surged forward and pulled him back—roughly.
"What the—!" Mihir snapped as they stumbled.
He lost his balance, crashing against the car door.
Maira fell with him—landing squarely on top of him.
Time stopped.
Their faces were inches apart. Her hair had fallen loose, brushing his cheek. His hands gripped her waist from the reflex of the fall, her palms splayed against his chest.
For a fleeting second, he stared at her—brows narrowed, lips parted. Not in affection. In complete, boiling irritation.
"Are you done?" he bit out coldly.
Maira blinked, startled. She scrambled up, flustered. "I—I thought you were about to trip. There was something—"
"Don't make up stories to touch me, Sharma," Mihir snapped, adjusting his shirt and brushing dust off his pants. "You've clearly lost it."
She straightened, the sting immediate.
"I'm your PA. If I see something dangerous, it's my job to act," she said, trying to stay calm.
"Oh, so now you're my bodyguard too?" he shot back. "Or is this your new hobby—falling into people uninvited?"
Her face hardened, but she didn't flinch. "Would you rather I let you fall into a trap?"
Mihir froze for a fraction of a second. "What trap?"
She held her breath. "Forget it. It's not important."
He scoffed. "Then stop playing the damsel with delusions. You're here to take notes and hold my schedule—not throw yourself at me."
Maira opened her mouth—then shut it.
From the terrace, Urvi was watching—her eyes wide, mouth slightly parted. Not at Maira's stumble. But at the moment they'd just shared.
Or rather, the one Mihir refused to let happen.
"Sir," Maira said softly, "Whatever you think, I wasn't trying to—"
"Just keep your boundaries clear," he said coldly. "Don't assume every part of my life is yours to jump into."
And with that, he turned and walked away—toward Urvi.
But Maira didn't move.
Because behind her, the spot where he nearly stepped now shimmered—then crumbled into black ash. The locket's faint light dimmed again.
She'd saved him.
And he didn't even know it.
Urvi's Farmhouse – Private Corridor, Just Before the Party
The music had already begun pulsing outside when Mihir stepped aside near the garden shed with two boys—both staff interns, unfamiliar faces who looked more eager than wise.
"You want us to what?" one of them asked nervously.
Mihir handed over a folded wad of notes, his voice low and sharp. "Just scare her a little. Pretend you're harassing her, get her panicked. Record it. Once she begs or screams, send it to me—and then walk away. Don't touch her. Don't get caught."
The taller boy exchanged a look with his friend. "And... you're sure she won't report us?"
"She's my employee," Mihir said coldly. "I'll handle it."
They hesitated—then pocketed the money.
"Five minutes," Mihir added. "She's standing near the drinks. Make it believable."
As they walked off into the crowd, Mihir took a long sip from his glass, his eyes narrowing at the distant figure of Maira.
> "Let's see how you handle fear, Miss Sharma."
Urvi's Farmhouse – Main Lawn, Party in Full Swing
Laughter and music spun through the air like perfume—lively, intoxicating, loud. Guests danced near the pool, flirted by the drinks counter, and toasted to a night no one would remember clearly.
Maira stood still amid it all—vigilant, uneasy. Her lavender dress caught the breeze softly, and her eyes kept drifting toward the patio, searching for Mihir.
Then came the sudden splash.
Cold red wine struck her chest and shoulder, seeping quickly into the fabric.
"Oh no, I'm so sorry!" a tall, wiry boy gasped with exaggerated guilt. His glass dangled loosely in one hand, the smirk on his lips belying his tone.
Maira stepped back, clearly displeased. "It's alright," she muttered flatly.
"Let me help," the boy said, already guiding her toward a side hallway. "There's a washroom down this way. It's quieter too."
Reluctantly, Maira followed—her instincts prickling, but her mind too clouded by the night's unease to resist.
The hallway was dim and empty.
He opened a door. "Just in there."
She stepped through.
Then froze.
It wasn't a washroom.
The room was wide and tiled, barely furnished, faintly musty.
And then the door clicked shut behind her.
Another boy leaned against the wall, smirking, arms folded. "Took you long enough."
Maira's body tensed. "Excuse me?"
The first boy stepped closer, casual. "Don't freak out, sweetheart. We just wanted to talk. Have some fun."
The second boy added, "You've been acting all high and mighty since you walked in. Our boss wanted a little video to remind you of your place."
Maira blinked slowly.
And then her hand flew.
Crack.
The first boy staggered back, clutching his cheek in shock.
Before the second could react—Crack.
She turned sharply and slapped him too, with equal force and none of the hesitation.
Both stood stunned.
Maira's eyes burned with fury.
"You dare corner a woman and call it fun? Is this the kind of 'lesson' you think women need? Let me teach you one."
They recovered quickly, defensively puffing their chests, but Maira didn't flinch.
"You try to scare me in a locked room—and expect to walk out without consequence?" she snapped. "Listen closely: women are not the weaklings you imagine us to be. We are fire. And fire doesn't tremble—it burns."
One of them tried to mutter something—she stepped forward again, jaw tight, voice rising.
"You record this for your boss—tell him his plan backfired. Tell him I don't bend. I break the ones who think I'm disposable."
Her locket pulsed faintly against her skin, the protective charm humming like quiet thunder—empowered by her rising strength.
The boys scrambled back, their confidence now fully shattered.
Maira gave one final glare and turned, flinging the door open.
The music and chatter spilled into the hallway—but now, everything sounded distant.
Her heart beat loud with fury.
And somewhere outside, Mihir stood on the balcony, watching—though he hadn't heard what she said, he'd seen the tail end of it. Her storming out, breath ragged, fists clenched.
For the first time in a long time... he didn't feel in control.
He felt curious.
Maybe even... impressed.
But Maira wasn't looking for his approval.
Not tonight.
Girls' Hostel – Hansraj Medical College, Delhi, 8:00 PM
The hallway lights flickered lazily as Teju stepped out of the small first-aid room tucked beside the common hall. She still wore her white lab coat over her kurti, her ID swinging against her chest: Tejasvini Kakkar – MBBS, Year 1.
Her shift had gone longer than expected—not that she was doing surgeries, but she'd been asked to observe a mild case of dehydration, take vitals, and help with filing under a resident's watch. Still, for a first-year student, it felt like she was doing something real. Something that mattered.
She stretched her arms with a soft yawn as she reached the courtyard. Just then—
"Teju!"
The familiar voice made her turn.
Savi, her always-energetic hostel-mate from the room down the hall, jogged over, slightly breathless. Her hoodie was unzipped over her pajamas, her hair in a side braid like she'd just rushed out.
"Hey—slow down. What happened?"
Savi grinned sheepishly. "Tomorrow's my mom's birthday. I forgot to get her a gift. Everything's been so hectic, and now it's already 8 PM and I don't know what to do."
Teju blinked. "It's 8 PM, and we're in Delhi. Not exactly the best time for two girls to be running around."
"I know!" Savi groaned. "But the stalls near Lajpat Nagar stay open till at least 9:30, right? Come with me? I need moral support—and fashion advice."
Teju hesitated. "We're not technically supposed to leave the hostel after seven..."
"Technically," Savi smirked. "But we're medical students. We'll just say it was a case of emotional urgency. Plus, I've been saving to get her something special."
Teju chuckled—then fell quiet. Her fingers unconsciously brushed the pendant tucked beneath her collar.
A different kind of ache stirred—not of loss, but of longing. Ojas—her mother—had always loved birthdays. Lavish celebrations at their well-appointed home in bandhap, designer cakes, candles lined up like fairy lights across the lawn.
But those days felt like another life.
Now Teju lived on her own, in a cramped hostel room with peeling paint and shared bathrooms—but it was hers. She'd chosen this path. Not out of rebellion, but with purpose.
And only one person had supported her in that choice.
Her mother.
She could still hear Ojas's whisper that night: "Go. If this is what your heart wants, I'll make sure no one stops you."
Teju blinked away the memory and nodded. "Let's go."
Savi beamed. "You're the best."
A few minutes later, they slipped out the side gate of the hostel, hearts light but unaware of what shadows might trail them. The Delhi night was humid, but alive—the distant honks, the murmur of foot traffic, and the glowing signage of shops still open along the main road.
As they reached the corner of the street, an auto rickshaw slowed to a halt.
"Lajpat Nagar?" Savi asked the driver.
"Thirty rupees each," he replied with a lazy nod.
"Hop in," Teju said, already climbing inside.
As the vehicle pulled away from the curb and merged with the Delhi night, Teju glanced up at the stars hidden behind city haze and whispered under her breath, "She'll love whatever you get her, Savi."
And quietly, to herself:
"I hope you're proud of me, Maa. I'm really trying."
Courage. Compassion. And a thread of destiny tugging her ever closer to the unknown.