"In this world, a place where love can bloom freely, yet anger is forged just as easily, and we can keep our own hearts clenched tight in our fists for a lifetime—holding the hurt, the grudge, the ache—never letting it go.
You're not asking a wrong question. You're asking the one question every human heart eventually whispers: "How do I find peace when everyone around me is carrying the same clenched fist?"
The reason no one hands you a clean answer is exactly what you said—because we're all in the same storm, just in different boats. The people you ask are still gripping their own fists too.
But here's what I've seen in the quiet moments when people finally loosen their grip.
The main reason is the thought of how I can let it slide, how I convince myself to forgive someone who hurt me, who hurt someone else.
Should I just let them go just because forgetting about what they did can remove the burden from my own heart, but will it make the world a better place? Well, if the answer is no, I refuse to loosen my fist no matter how hard it squeezes my heart."
"But the question still hanging is…" His voice came out muffled, tired, the same sentence he'd been looping for twenty minutes now. "Are there things in this world that can give me peace without me losing anything? Is there really no other way to feel full… without emptying myself first?"
From the opposite side of the room, Priyanka leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with half-amused, half-exasperated eyes. She tilted her head toward Mary.
"How long has he been on this track?" she whispered.
Mary shrugged, not taking her gaze off Amitesh. "Since the second Zoey carried him through the door like a runaway groom. Word for word. I think he's actually trying to wear the sentence out until it stops hurting."
Priyanka pressed her knuckles to her lips to smother a laugh. Her shoulders shook anyway.
"He's literally dying of embarrassment," she managed. "Look at him. I've seen boiled lobsters with more dignity."
Zoey, standing near the coffee table with her arms folded tight across her chest, finally let out a long breath.
"Amitesh," she said, voice firm but not unkind. "It's not the end of the world. Stop acting like a kid who got caught stealing cookies."
He lifted his head just enough to glare at her through the fringe of his hair. "Acting like a kid? You literally carried me. In your arms. Bridal style. Across the entire lobby. People saw. People filmed. I want—" His voice cracked on a groan. "I just want to disappear. Poof. Gone. No save point."
Zoey took one threatening step forward. "Say that same line one more time and I swear I'll pick you up again. This time I'll walk straight to the terrace and yeet you off the top floor. See how fast you stop philosophizing about inner peace."
Priyanka quickly slid between them, laying a gentle hand on Zoey's shoulder.
"Easy, warrior princess." She glanced back at Amitesh, softening her tone.
"He just needs a minute. Or ten. Maybe an hour. The male ego takes time to recover from public princess-carrying."
Amitesh dropped his face back into his knees with a theatrical scream. "I'm never leaving this bed. Ever. This is my new address. Send mail here. I'll die here. Quietly. Poetically. Of shame."
Mary snorted, finally breaking. "You're so dramatic. It was kind of cute, honestly."
"Cute?!" Amitesh's head snapped up again. "Cute?! really."
Zoey rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You're welcome, by the way. Next time I'll just let you face-plant in the fountain."
He stared at her, wide-eyed, betrayed. Then slowly—very slowly—he sank backward until he was lying flat on the bed, arms spread like a starfish in full surrender.
"I hate all of you," he muttered to the ceiling.
Priyanka grinned, patting his ankle as she passed. "We love you too, drama king."
The room settled into a warm, slightly awkward quiet. Somewhere in the background, the vanilla candle kept flickering, and Amitesh—despite everything—didn't actually disappear.
Not yet, anyway.
shadow stretched long and thin across the rumpled bedsheets, pooling over Amitesh like spilled ink. He stirred, eyelids fluttering open, still heavy with the fog of half-sleep. At first he thought it was just the dim hallway light playing tricks. Then the shape resolved.
A girl stood at the foot of the bed.
Same dark hair, same sharp jawline he'd glimpsed earlier in the gun storage room. But something was wrong—terribly, quietly wrong. Her eyes were closed. Not squeezed shut in concentration or pain. Simply… closed.
As if she were still dreaming, yet perfectly upright, perfectly still.
Amitesh's breath caught. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the mattress creaking under him.
Across the room, Priyanka's eyes went wide, the color draining from her face in one quick sweep.
"What the hell is Agrata doing here?"
Her voice came out thin, almost a hiss. "Mary—did you forget to tie her leg again?"
Mary, already on her feet, shook her head frantically. "No, I tied it properly. Double knot. The good rope."
Their gazes dropped in unison to the girl's ankle.
There it was—the rope. Still looped around her skin, frayed ends dangling like broken promises. The knot had held. The rope itself had not.
Agrata hadn't untied it. She'd simply… torn through.
Amitesh slid off the bed slowly, bare feet touching cold floorboards. He circled her at a cautious distance, studying her like some rare, dangerous exhibit in a midnight museum.
"So this is Agrata," he murmured, half to himself. "All this time Kai was yelling about her, and I thought—okay, dramatic friend group, whatever. But this…" He glanced back at Priyanka, eyebrows raised. "Does she have a sleepwalking condition or something?"
Priyanka nodded once, jerky. She took two careful steps backward, never taking her eyes off the motionless figure.
Agrata's head tilted—just a fraction. Not enough to wake someone. Just enough to make the hair on Amitesh's neck stand straight.
Priyanka nodded once, sharp and quick. She swallowed. "Yeah. And it would be really nice if you stayed at least three meters away from her right now."
Amitesh blinked, eyebrows shooting up. "Huh? Why? It's my first time seeing an actual sleepwalker up close. This is kind of fascinating. Like, scientifically."
Priyanka's eyes flicked between him and Agrata. "Fascinating is one word for it."
Agrata didn't move. Didn't twitch. Just stood there in the middle of the room, head tilted ever so slightly, as if listening to music no one else could hear.
Mary edged closer to Priyanka, voice dropping to a whisper. "Last time she broke the rope she walked straight into the kitchen, picked up a knife, and just… held it for twenty minutes. Didn't cut anything. Didn't say anything. Just stood there smiling in her sleep."
Amitesh froze mid-step. "Smiling?"
Priyanka nodded again, slower this time. "She smiles when she's dreaming something nice. Or when she's about to do something very not-nice. Hard to tell the difference."
Agrata took one slow, deliberate step forward.
Amitesh took one instinctive step back.
The room went very quiet except for the soft creak of the floor under her foot.
He raised both hands, palms out, like he was calming a wild animal. "Okay. Okay. Interesting. Very interesting. But maybe… maybe we guide her back to bed? Gently? Without touching?"
Priyanka let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a exhale. "Yeah. Good plan, genius. Just don't wake her up."
Agrata tilted her head the other way now, lips curving into the faintest, dreamiest smile.
Amitesh swallowed hard.
"Got it," he whispered. "No sudden moves."
Agrata's hand shot out faster than anyone expected—fingers curling into the front of Amitesh's shirt collar with surprising strength. The fabric twisted under her grip. Amitesh went rigid, every muscle locking at once, eyes wide like he'd just been caught in a spotlight.
He didn't dare breathe too deeply.
He flicked a desperate glance toward the others. Priyanka was pressed flat against the wall again. Mary had one hand over her mouth. Zoey stood rooted near the bed, expression unreadable.
"What… what should I do now?"
Amitesh whispered, voice barely clearing his throat.
No one answered.
Zoey slowly brought her palms together in front of her chest, fingers steepled in mock prayer. She closed her eyes for dramatic effect.
"Hey God," she said solemnly, "your dear child is about to come meet you real soon. Please take good care of him up there in the heavens. Forgive him for all the sins he committed in this world—especially the ones involving bad decisions and worse timing."
Amitesh's jaw dropped. "I'm not dying! She just grabbed my collar!"
The words were still hanging in the air when Agrata moved.
One smooth, almost casual yank—and Amitesh's feet left the floor.
BOOM!!
The door doesn't open it exploded as Amitesh was thrown on it.
His body sailed backward like a ragdoll caught in a sudden gust. The wooden door didn't even have time to protest; it exploded inward in a shower of splinters and cracked panels as Amitesh's back slammed through it. Agrata went with him, still holding fast, until they both crashed against the opposite wall of the hallway. Plaster dust puffed out in a small cloud. The hallway light flickered once, twice, then steadied.
Silence. Then a low, pained groan from the wreckage.
Mary was the first to move. She bolted across the room, vaulting over a fallen chair, and dropped to her knees beside the pile of broken door and dazed boy.
"Amitesh? Are you okay?"
He blinked up at the ceiling through a haze of dust motes. One arm was pinned awkwardly under his own back; the other dangled limply. A thin line of blood was already trickling from a shallow cut above his eyebrow.
"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," he rasped. "Just… tell me no one's become a poster behind this door. I don't want my obituary photo to be me flattened like roadkill."
Mary let out a shaky half-laugh, half-sob of relief. She reached down.
"Here."
Her hand hovered in front of him, open, steady.
Amitesh stared at it for a second—like he wasn't entirely sure it was real—then grasped it. She pulled. He winced as he unfolded himself from the debris, joints popping in complaint.
Priyanka slowly composed herself.
"Okay," she said quietly. "New rule. From now on, we triple-knot. And maybe add chains."
Zoey crossed her arms, surveying the scene with clinical detachment.
"Or we just stop letting him stand within arm's reach of her. Ever."
Amitesh, still leaning heavily on Mary's shoulder, managed a weak, crooked grin through the dust on his face.
"Solid plan," he muttered. "I vote for that first one. All in favor?"
No one raised a hand.
Agrata tilted her head slightly, as though listening to some distant, pleasant tune only she could hear.
Then, without another sound, she turned and began walking—slowly, gracefully—back toward the bed like a sleepwalker who had finished one small errand and was now ready for the next.
The hallway light buzzed overhead.
Amitesh watched her go, one hand pressed to the cut on his forehead.
"I think," he said faintly, "I'm starting to understand why Kai yells her name like that."
Mary patted his back—gently.
"Welcome to the club, poster boy."
"
Here's a refined, more natural and novel-like version of your scene. I've smoothed out the dialogue, added subtle emotional layers, improved flow, and made it feel like it belongs in a contemporary coming-of-age or light romantic comedy novel.
The room smelled faintly of vanilla candles and the sharp citrus of someone's perfume. Amitesh sat curled on the edge of the couch, knees drawn up, forehead pressed against them like he could fold himself small enough to vanish.
"But the question still hanging is…" His voice came out muffled, tired, the same sentence he'd been looping for twenty minutes now. "Are there things in this world that can give me peace without me losing anything? Is there really no other way to feel full… without emptying myself first?"
From the opposite side of the room, Priyanka leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with half-amused, half-exasperated eyes. She tilted her head toward Mary.
"How long has he been on this track?" she whispered.
Mary shrugged, not taking her gaze off Amitesh. "Since the second Zoey carried him through the door like a runaway groom. Word for word. I think he's actually trying to wear the sentence out until it stops hurting."
Priyanka pressed her knuckles to her lips to smother a laugh. Her shoulders shook anyway.
"He's literally dying of embarrassment," she managed. "Look at him. I've seen boiled lobsters with more dignity."
Zoey, standing near the coffee table with her arms folded tight across her chest, finally let out a long breath.
"Amitesh," she said, voice firm but not unkind. "It's not the end of the world. Stop acting like a kid who got caught stealing cookies."
He lifted his head just enough to glare at her through the fringe of his hair. "Acting like a kid? You literally carried me. In your arms. Bridal style. Across the entire lobby. People saw. People filmed. I want—" His voice cracked on a groan. "I just want to disappear. Poof. Gone. No save point."
Zoey took one threatening step forward. "Say that same line one more time and I swear I'll pick you up again. This time I'll walk straight to the terrace and yeet you off the top floor. See how fast you stop philosophizing about inner peace."
Priyanka quickly slid between them, laying a gentle hand on Zoey's shoulder.
"Easy, warrior princess." She glanced back at Amitesh, softening her tone. "He just needs a minute. Or ten. Maybe an hour. The male ego takes time to recover from public princess-carrying."
Amitesh dropped his face back into his knees with a theatrical moan. "I'm never leaving this couch. Ever. This is my new address. Send mail here. I'll die here. Quietly. Poetically. Of shame."
Mary snorted, finally breaking. "You're so dramatic. It was kind of cute, honestly."
"Cute?!" Amitesh's head snapped up again. "Cute?!"
Zoey rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth twitched. "You're welcome, by the way. Next time I'll just let you face-plant in the fountain."
He stared at her, wide-eyed, betrayed. Then slowly—very slowly—he sank backward until he was lying flat on the couch, arms spread like a starfish in full surrender.
"I hate all of you," he muttered to the ceiling.
Priyanka grinned, patting his ankle as she passed. "We love you too, drama king."
The room settled into a warm, slightly awkward quiet. Somewhere in the background, the vanilla candle kept flickering, and Amitesh—despite everything—didn't actually disappear.
Not yet, anyway.
Let me know if you want it more serious, more funny, longer/shorter, or with a different tone!
Executed code
A shadow fall on amitesh he slowly open look at him the same girl from the gun storage but somthing was off her eyes where close.
"What is agrata doing here, mary did you forget to tie her leg.?."
"No i tie it properly."
Their eyes then fall on her leg where the rope was still their broken.
Amitesh slowly stood up from bed circling her
"Oh so this is agrata I was thinking this whole time just who is this agrata kai was yelling about." He then turn to priyanka.
"Dies she have a sleep walking condition."
Priyanka nods taking a few steps back.
"And it will be nice if you stay away from her."
"Huh? Why it's my first time seeing a sleep walking person it's really interesting."
1 / 2
A shadow slid across the dim room, heavy and sudden, like someone had turned off half the lights without warning.
Amitesh stirred on the bed, eyelids fluttering open. His vision cleared slowly—first the ceiling fan blades slicing lazy circles, then the figure standing at the foot of the mattress.
It was her. The same girl from the gun storage room earlier that night. But something was wrong. Her eyes were closed. Not squinted, not sleepy—completely shut, lashes resting against pale cheeks. She stood perfectly still, arms loose at her sides, breathing shallow and even.
Amitesh sat up so fast the bedsprings groaned.
"What the hell… Agrata?" His voice cracked on the name. He shot a look toward Mary, who was already on her feet near the door. "Mary, did you forget to tie her legs or what?"
Mary's face paled. "No. I tied it properly. Double knot. The good rope."
Everyone's gaze dropped in unison.
There, coiled around Agrata's bare ankle like a shed skin, was the rope—intact at the knot, but cleanly snapped a few inches above it. The frayed end dangled uselessly against the floorboards.
Amitesh slid off the bed, bare feet hitting cold wood. He circled her slowly, keeping a cautious distance, like she was a statue that might suddenly animate.
"So this is Agrata," he muttered, almost to himself. "All this time Kai was screaming her name like she was the final boss, and I'm just now meeting her." He glanced over at Priyanka, who had backed up until her shoulders touched the wall. "Does she… have a sleepwalking thing?"
Priyanka nodded once, sharp and quick. She swallowed. "Yeah. And it would be really nice if you stayed at least three meters away from her right now."
Amitesh blinked, eyebrows shooting up. "Huh? Why? It's my first time seeing an actual sleepwalker up close. This is kind of fascinating. Like, scientifically."
Priyanka's eyes flicked between him and Agrata. "Fascinating is one word for it."
Agrata didn't move. Didn't twitch. Just stood there in the middle of the room, head tilted ever so slightly, as if listening to music no one else could hear.
Mary edged closer to Priyanka, voice dropping to a whisper. "Last time she broke the rope she walked straight into the kitchen, picked up a knife, and just… held it for twenty minutes. Didn't cut anything. Didn't say anything. Just stood there smiling in her sleep."
Amitesh froze mid-step. "Smiling?"
Priyanka nodded again, slower this time. "She smiles when she's dreaming something nice. Or when she's about to do something very not-nice. Hard to tell the difference."
Agrata took one slow, deliberate step forward.
Amitesh took one instinctive step back.
The room went very quiet except for the soft creak of the floor under her foot.
He raised both hands, palms out, like he was calming a wild animal. "Okay. Okay. Interesting. Very interesting. But maybe… maybe we guide her back to bed? Gently? Without touching?"
Priyanka let out a shaky laugh that sounded more like a exhale. "Yeah. Good plan, genius. Just don't wake her up."
Agrata tilted her head the other way now, lips curving into the faintest, dreamiest smile.
Amitesh swallowed hard.
"Got it," he whispered. "No sudden moves."
Brunette bedroom hi-res stock photography and images - Alamy
The Midnight Knock
A woman in black and white is standing in the shadows · Free Stock Photo
Dramatic Rope Tension Stock Photos - Free & Royalty-Free Stock Photos from Dreamstime
The tension hung thick in the air, broken only by Agrata's next slow, silent step.
Whatever dream she was walking through, it clearly wasn't finished with her yet.
Agrata grab his collar making Amitesh freeze
He turned to ladies for assistance
"What should I do now."
Non of them say anything.
Zoey joint her hands.
"Hey god your dear child is soon coming to meet you please take good care of him in the heavens, forgive him for all his sins he comited in this world."
"I am not dieing she just grab my collar."
As he speaks, his body was thrown,on the door the door breaks with him as they both hit the wall.
Mary rush to check his condition.
"Amitesh are you ok .?"
"Yeah yeah i am fine. Just tell me no one becomes a poster behind this door."
"Here."Mary extend her helping hand.
Agrata's hand shot out faster than anyone expected—fingers curling into the front of Amitesh's shirt collar with surprising strength. The fabric twisted under her grip. Amitesh went rigid, every muscle locking at once, eyes wide like he'd just been caught in a spotlight.
He didn't dare breathe too deeply.
He flicked a desperate glance toward the others. Priyanka was pressed flat against the wall again. Mary had one hand over her mouth. Zoey stood rooted near the bed, expression unreadable.
"What… what should I do now?" Amitesh whispered, voice barely clearing his throat.
No one answered.
Zoey slowly brought her palms together in front of her chest, fingers steepled in mock prayer. She closed her eyes for dramatic effect.
"Hey God," she said solemnly, "your dear child is about to come meet you real soon. Please take good care of him up there in the heavens. Forgive him for all the sins he committed in this world—especially the ones involving bad decisions and worse timing."
Amitesh's jaw dropped. "I'm not dying! She just grabbed my collar!"
The words were still hanging in the air when Agrata moved.
One smooth, almost casual yank—and Amitesh's feet left the floor.
His body sailed backward like a ragdoll caught in a sudden gust. The wooden door didn't even have time to protest; it exploded inward in a shower of splinters and cracked panels as Amitesh's back slammed through it. Agrata went with him, still holding fast, until they both crashed against the opposite wall of the hallway. Plaster dust puffed out in a small cloud. The hallway light flickered once, twice, then steadied.
Silence. Then a low, pained groan from the wreckage.
Mary was the first to move. She bolted across the room, vaulting over a fallen chair, and dropped to her knees beside the pile of broken door and dazed boy.
"Amitesh? Are you okay?"
He blinked up at the ceiling through a haze of dust motes. One arm was pinned awkwardly under his own back; the other dangled limply. A thin line of blood was already trickling from a shallow cut above his eyebrow.
"Yeah… yeah, I'm fine," he rasped. "Just… tell me no one's become a poster behind this door. I don't want my obituary photo to be me flattened like roadkill."
Mary let out a shaky half-laugh, half-sob of relief. She reached down.
"Here."
Her hand hovered in front of him, open, steady.
Amitesh stared at it for a second—like he wasn't entirely sure it was real—then grasped it. She pulled. He winced as he unfolded himself from the debris, joints popping in complaint.
Behind them, Agrata had already released his collar. She stood motionless again in the ruined doorway, eyes still closed, that same faint, dreamy smile curving her lips. As if nothing at all had happened. As if she hadn't just used a grown man as a human battering ram.
Priyanka finally peeled herself off the wall and crept forward, peering at the destruction.
"Okay," she said quietly. "New rule. From now on, we triple-knot. And maybe add chains."
Zoey crossed her arms, surveying the scene with clinical detachment.
"Or we just stop letting him stand within arm's reach of her. Ever."
Amitesh, still leaning heavily on Mary's shoulder, managed a weak, crooked grin through the dust on his face.
"Solid plan," he muttered. "I vote for that one. All in favor?"
No one raised a hand.
Agrata tilted her head slightly, as though listening to some distant, pleasant tune only she could hear.
Then, without another sound, she turned and began walking—slowly, gracefully—back toward the bedroom like a sleepwalker who had finished one small errand and was now ready for the next.
The hallway light buzzed overhead.
Amitesh watched her go, one hand pressed to the cut on his forehead.
"I think," he said faintly, "I'm starting to understand why Kai yells her name like that."
Mary patted his back—gently.
"Welcome to the club, poster boy."
Mary slowly carry him, agarat has already settled on his bed
"First this girl throw me and now she captured my bed i hate girls now."
"Easy their, and don't worry their are other bed to settle."
"Just tie her hard this time."
Mary kept her arm firmly around Amitesh's waist as she half-guided, half-carried him back inside. His steps were wobbly, one hand still pressed to the shallow cut on his forehead, the other clutching the torn collar of his shirt like a badge of dishonor. Dust still clung to his hair and clothes in faint gray streaks.
Agrata, meanwhile, had already claimed the bed.
She lay curled on her side in the exact center of the mattress, knees drawn up slightly, hands tucked under her cheek like a child who'd finally found the perfect nap spot. Eyes still closed. That same serene, distant smile ghosting her lips. The broken rope lay discarded on the floor like an afterthought.
Amitesh stopped short in the doorway, staring.
"First this girl throws me through a door like I'm a human javelin," he muttered, voice hoarse with disbelief, "and now she's captured my bed. I hate girls now. Officially. Petition signed. Done."
Mary snorted softly, easing him toward the small armchair in the corner instead. "Easy there, Casanova. Breathe. And don't worry—there are other beds in this house. You're not homeless yet."
He let her lower him into the chair with a groan, every joint protesting. The cushion sighed under his weight.
"Just tie her harder this time," he said, pointing a shaky finger at Agrata without looking directly at her. "Like, industrial-strength. Chains. Padlocks. Maybe hire a security guard. I'm not kidding."
Priyanka, who had followed them in, crouched to pick up the frayed rope and examined the clean break with a frown. "This wasn't even stretched. She just… snapped it. Like string cheese."
Zoey leaned against the doorframe—arms crossed, one eyebrow arched. "You want chains? Fine. But you're the one who's going to explain to her why she woke up looking like a bondage art installation."
Amitesh shot her a withering look. "I'd rather explain that than explain to my spine why it feels like it's been through a car wash on the heavy cycle."
Mary straightened, brushing dust off her hands. She glanced at Agrata—still blissfully asleep in the middle of the bed—then back at Amitesh.
"Look," she said, gentler now, "she doesn't do this on purpose. Sleepwalking's not exactly a choice. And she's… harmless. Mostly."
"Mostly," Amitesh echoed, deadpan. "Great. My new life motto: 'Mostly harmless.' I'll get it tattooed right under 'I survived being yeeted through a door.'"
Priyanka stifled a laugh behind her hand.
Zoey pushed off the frame and walked over to the bed. She studied Agrata for a long moment, then—carefully, slowly—pulled the thin blanket up over the sleeping girl's shoulders. Agrata didn't stir.
"New plan," Zoey said quietly. "We let her sleep it off. We triple-knot the next rope—maybe quadruple. And you—" she jabbed a finger toward Amitesh "—stay in the armchair until sunrise. No heroics. No standing near her. No breathing in her general direction if you can help it."
Amitesh sank deeper into the chair, tipping his head back against the cushion. "Fine. I'll just sit here and marinate in my trauma. Send snacks."
Mary patted his knee as she passed. "I'll get you something for the head. And maybe a new shirt. That one's officially retired."
As the girls moved around the room—quiet murmurs, the soft clink of rope being gathered—Amitesh watched Agrata from across the dim space. She looked small now. Peaceful. Almost fragile.
He rubbed at the ache in his chest where the collar had twisted.
"I still hate girls," he muttered under his breath.
But the words came out softer this time. Less certain.
Amitesh slumped deeper into the armchair, the worn fabric cool against the back of his neck. The ache in his ribs had dulled to a low throb, but every breath still pulled at the fresh bruises blooming under his skin. Agrata slept on undisturbed in the center of what used to be his bed, breathing slow and even, as if she hadn't just turned him into a human wrecking ball.
His eyelids grew heavy. The room blurred at the edges—Priyanka's quiet footsteps fading toward the kitchen, Mary murmuring something to Zoey about extra rope, the faint buzz of the hallway light still flickering through the shattered doorframe. Exhaustion finally won. His head tipped back, and the world slipped sideways into darkness.
Inside his mind, the space wasn't empty.
It felt like stepping into a vast, dimly lit cavern—cool stone underfoot, distant echoes, a faint metallic tang in the air like old blood and rust. And there, lounging against an invisible wall with arms crossed, was the voice he knew too well.
A shadowy figure, more outline than person, red-tinged edges flickering like embers. Raktbeej. Always dramatic, always annoyed.
Amitesh's mental voice came out tired, edged with complaint.
'Hey, Raktbeej. Why aren't you healing me this time? I feel like I got hit by a truck. Twice.'
The figure snorted—a sound like dry leaves scraping concrete.
'Just what do you think I am? Some kind of magical protein factory? I don't conjure muscle and blood out of thin air, idiot. Eat something with actual nutrients. I don't have enough raw material left to patch you up fast. You're running on fumes.'
Amitesh groaned inwardly, rubbing at his phantom ribs.
'Fine. Whatever. Starve me why don't you.'
His attention drifted downward. Even here, in this head-space, the broken handcuffs still encircled his wrists—cold metal biting into skin, one cuff intact, the other mangled and split open where the chain had snapped during Agrata's casual toss. The jagged edge glinted faintly in the cavern's low light, a reminder that the physical world hadn't quite let go.
'But first,' he thought, flexing his fingers experimentally, 'I have to do something about these damn things.'
The broken cuff dangled loosely now, chain links twisted and fractured like they'd been torn apart by something far stronger than human hands. He lifted his wrist closer to his face, studying the damage. The metal was scratched, bent outward in places—evidence of impossible force.
Raktbeej's voice rumbled again, half-amused, half-exasperated.
'You're welcome, by the way. That little surge when she threw you? That wasn't all her. You held together just enough not to turn into paste. Call it a loan. Pay me back in calories.'
Amitesh ignored the jab. He hooked a finger under the broken cuff and tugged experimentally. The metal groaned but didn't give further. Still attached, still annoying.
'Yeah, yeah. Hero of the hour. Just help me get these off before I wake up and have to explain to the why I'm wearing jewelry from a bad action movie.'
A low chuckle echoed through the cavern.
'Figure it out yourself, host. I'm not your locksmith. Besides…The shadowy form leaned closer, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. You might want to keep one piece. Souvenir of the night a sleepwalker used you as a battering ram. Very romantic.
Amitesh rolled his mental eyes.
'Hilarious. Remind me to laugh when my wrists stop throbbing.'
The cavern began to fade at the edges—reality tugging him back. The ache in his body sharpened again, pulling him toward wakefulness.
He let his head loll to the side in the armchair, eyes still closed, fingers absently tracing the rough edge of the broken cuff.
'One problem at a time,'he thought. 'First, food. Then freedom. Then maybe—just maybe—figuring out how to survive a house full of girls who treat doors like optional architecture.'
Somewhere in the real world, Agrata shifted slightly in her sleep, letting out a soft, contented sigh.
Amitesh's lips twitched despite everything but the broken cuff on his wrist felt a little less like a restraint and a little more like proof he was still in one piece.
Mary returned a few minutes later, balancing a folded white shirt on one palm and a small first-aid kit in the other. She handed the shirt over without ceremony.
"Here. It's clean. Should fit you better than the one that's now basically a crop top."
Amitesh took it with a grateful nod, disappearing into the tiny attached bathroom. The door clicked shut behind him. A minute later it opened again, and he stepped out rolling up the sleeves of the fresh shirt—crisp cotton, a little big in the shoulders, but worlds better than the torn, dusty mess he'd been wearing.
He tugged at the collar, smoothing it down self-consciously.
"This white shirt is pretty nice. Thanks, Mary."
She gave a small smile, already busy unpacking the kit on the coffee table.
"No problem. Well… how's your back?"
He twisted experimentally, wincing as the motion pulled at bruised muscles. "Not really hurting anymore. But definitely not in good condition." He flexed his shoulders once, twice, then let his arms drop. "Feels like someone used me to test a new demolition technique."
Mary winced in sympathy. "You're lucky it was just a door and not a wall. Or a window."
"Yeah. Small mercies." His gaze drifted down to his wrists. The broken handcuff still hung there on the left side—jagged chain dangling like an ugly bracelet, the intact cuff on the right side chafing his skin raw. He lifted both hands toward her. "Do you have anything to cut these off? Bolt cutters? Angle grinder? A very determined hacksaw?"
Mary paused, chewing her lip in thought. She glanced around the room as if the answer might be hiding behind the curtains.
"Hmm… oh yes." She brightened. "I have cutting pliers. The heavy-duty ones—wire cutters, basically. They're in the toolbox under the sink. Should do the trick on that chain, at least."
Amitesh's eyebrows shot up. "You just… keep industrial wire cutters lying around?"
Mary shrugged as she headed for the kitchen. "This house has seen weirder nights than this. You'd be surprised what ends up useful."
She returned quickly, holding a pair of matte-black handled pliers—long, serious-looking, with jaws that looked like they could bite through rebar if they had to. She twirled them once, almost playfully.
"These bad boys have cut through bike locks, fence wire, and once—don't ask—someone's attempt at a homemade chastity belt. They'll handle your little souvenir just fine."
Amitesh stared at the tool, then at his wrist, then back at her.
"I'm choosing not to ask about that last one for sure."
"Smart choice." Mary motioned for him to sit on the edge of the armchair again. "Left wrist first. The broken one's easier."
He extended his arm carefully. Mary knelt in front of him, steady and focused. She positioned the jaws around the remaining chain link—right where it met the intact cuff—and squeezed.
A sharp metallic snap echoed in the quiet room. One link gave way. The broken half of the chain clattered to the floor like loose change.
Amitesh exhaled, long and relieved. "God, that feels better already."
Mary moved to the right cuff. This one was still whole, locked tight around his wrist, the key long gone. She angled the pliers, found the weakest-looking spot on the hinge, and bore down again.
Another crack. The cuff split open with a small pop. She gently pried it apart and slid the ruined metal off his skin.
Red welts circled his wrist—raw, angry—but free.
Mary set the pliers aside and inspected the marks with a frown. "That's gonna bruise. I'll get some arnica gel in a sec."
Amitesh flexed his newly liberated hands, rolling his wrists in slow circles. The relief was almost dizzying.
"You're officially my favorite person in this house right now," he said, voice soft but sincere.
Mary stood, brushing her knees off. "Wait till Agrata wakes up and decides she wants to borrow your new shirt. Then we'll see who's favorite."
He glanced over at the bed. Agrata hadn't moved—still curled peacefully, still smiling that faint, dreamy smile in her sleep.
Amitesh rubbed at the fresh welts on his wrists, then looked back at Mary.
"Fair point. But for now… thank you. Seriously."