AUTHOR POV
The flight from London to India took almost 9 hours.
Nine hours of turbulence.
Nine hours of replaying her cries in his head.
Nine hours of realizing what he had done.
It was 6:40 a.m. when Vikram’s flight landed in Jaipur.
By the time he cleared immigration and drove home, it was almost 8:15 a.m.
The morning sun was rising.
Birds were chirping.
The world looked peaceful.
His house did not.
He stood at the gate, his hands trembling as he pressed the doorbell.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
He swallowed.
“Smriti…” he whispered to himself. “Please open the door.”
Silence.
He rang again.
Then suddenly—
He noticed.
The main door wasn’t locked.
He remembers that two days before, he had left the door unlocked without a password.
His heart skipped.
He pushed it open slowly.
“Smriti?” he called out, stepping inside.
No response.
The house felt… wrong.
Too quiet.
He walked further in.
“Smriti!” he called louder now, his voice cracking.
He checked the bedroom.
Empty.
Kitchen.
Empty.
Living room.
Empty.
His breathing grew uneven.
Then—
It hit him.
Like a punch to his chest.
The storage room.
His face turned pale.
“Oh God…” he muttered. “No… no… no…”
He ran.
His footsteps echoed loudly as he reached the back of the house.
The storage room door stood there.
Closed.
Locked.
His hands began shaking violently as he searched his pocket for the key.
“Smriti…” he whispered in terror. “Please… please be okay…”
The key fell from his hand once.
He picked it up with trembling fingers.
Unlocked the door.
The door creaked open slowly.
Darkness.
And then he saw her.
Smriti was lying on her back on the cold floor.
Unmoving.
Pale.
Her lips dry.
Her body weak and lifeless.
For two days.
Two days she had been there.
Without food.
Without water.
Without light.
Without knowing why.
“Smriti…” his voice broke.
He rushed toward her and fell to his knees beside her.
“Smriti! Please… get up… please…”
He gently shook her shoulders.
No response.
Tears blurred his vision.
“Smriti, I’m sorry… I’m so sorry… please open your eyes…”
Nothing.
His breathing turned into broken sobs.
He carefully lifted her into his arms — bridal style — holding her fragile body against his chest.
For the first time…
He felt how light she had become.
Too light.
“Stay with me…” he whispered desperately as he carried her to the bedroom.
He laid her gently on the bed.
Her head tilted to the side.
Her eyelashes didn’t flutter.
His hands trembled as he dialed a number.
“Uncle… please… please come fast…” he choked into the phone.
Dr. Rajendra.
His father’s closest friend.
“What happened, Vikram?” the older man asked seriously.
“I… I made a mistake… please just come…”
“I’m coming.”
The call ended.
Those 15 minutes felt longer than the 9-hour flight.
Vikram sat beside Smriti, holding her hand tightly.
“I’m here,” he whispered through tears. “I came back. I’m here… please don’t leave me…”
He brushed her hair away from her face.
Her skin felt cold.
“Please… punish me later… shout at me… hate me… but open your eyes…”
The doorbell rang.
Vikram rushed to open it.
Dr. Rajendra entered quickly with his medical bag.
His eyes widened when he saw Smriti lying unconscious.
“What happened?” he asked sternly.
Vikram lowered his gaze, unable to answer.
Rajendra checked her pulse immediately.
His expression grew serious.
“Vikram,” he said firmly, “you wait outside.”
Vikram nodded silently.
His legs felt weak as he stepped out of the room.
The bedroom door closed.
He stood in the hallway.
Alone.
Listening to every small movement from inside.
For the first time in his life…
He was scared of losing something money couldn’t buy.
And somewhere inside that room—
A fragile life was fighting quietly.
Unaware that it was never just Smriti at risk.
____________________________________
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