MEERA POV

The rain is still drumming against the metal roof of the Jeep, but the silence inside is even louder. I am huddled in the back seat, my clothes dripping, my heart doing a marathon in my chest.

The interior of the jeep smelled of expensive leather, cold rain, and him-a scent like sandalwood. I pressed my back against the door, clutching my mother's khanjar so hard the bone of the handle bit into my palm.

Kya zaroorat thi tujhe gaadi mein baithne ki, Meera? I scolded myself. Ek musibat se nikal kar doosri mein khud chalkar aa gayi.

He clears his throat, his tone becoming serious. "Kahan jaana hai?" (Where do you want to go?)

I stay silent. If I tell him the truth, what if he's working for my uncle? What if he's taking me somewhere even worse? I just shake my head, my lips pressed into a tight line.

He doesn't seem angry. He doesn't even look back. He just starts listing options like a cold, calculating machine.

"Railway station?" I shake my head no frantically. Too many people. Too easy to be caught.

"Hospital?" Again, no.

"Police station?" My eyes go wide. If I go there, they'll just call my family. I shake my head so hard my neck hurts.

"Airport?" I look at him blankly and shake my head again.

"Bus stand?"

I pause. The bus stand. My only way out. I quickly, desperately nod my head 'yes.'

"Theek hai," he mutters, turning the wheel sharply. "Lekin pehle apko saaf kapde aur khana chahiye. Is haal mein aap kahin nahi ja sakti."

Kahi ye mujhe bali chadane le ja raha kya? I sit stiffly, my fingers clutching the small dagger hidden inside my dupatta. The metal feels cold against my palm. Comforting.

I steal a glance at the rearview mirror. His face looks like it was carved out of stone. His jaw was like a sharp line, and his eyes.... they weren't looking at me directly, yet I felt like they were seeing right through my soul.

Through the mirror, our eyes meet for a second. Sharp. Observant. Calm. Too calm. Why is he looking at me like that?

I immediately looked down. Don't stare. Don't show fear. Criminals smell fear.

Maar doon kya? The thought pops in my head so casually that even I surprise myself. If I struck now, I could run.

Par isne abhi abhi bachaya mujhe. No, wait. He just saved me. But so what? Kidnappers also save people first sometimes. Stories mein dekha hai maine.

Par ye akele kyun aaya? Woh dusra aadmi kahan gaya? Kahi ye mujhe kahi aur toh nahi le ja raha? Haan! Ye pakka planning wala type lagta hai.

Nahi nahi.... maar de Meera. Pehle hi maar de. Chance mat le. Self-defense.

"Agar aap soch rahi hain ki us khanjar se aap mujhe maar sakti hain, toh aapko bata doon.... hamare paas bhi talwar hai," his voice cut through the silence, cold and calm.

(If you are thinking you can kill me with that dagger, let me tell you.... I have a sword too.)

I gasped, my heart nearly leaping out of my chest. I looked up, meeting his eyes in the mirror for a fraction of a second before I ducked my head. I look down so fast I almost give myself whiplash.

Isse kaise pata chala? Definitely a kidnapper. Or a mind reader. Or both. My mind spiraled. He didn't even look back. Or.... Kya ye koi bhoot hai?

He raises one eyebrow slightly. Kya ye mere dimaag mein ghus gaya hai? Pakka ye mujhe kidnap karke le ja raha hai. Kya karu ab?

I glance at the door handle, my fingers trembling. Kood jaoon kya? Haan, kood ja. Heroine log aise hi karti hain. Par chot lag jayegi bahut. Par kam se kam bach toh jayegi tu! Kood ja Meera. Kood ja.

I slowly shift toward the door, pretending to adjust my dupatta. Okay. Teen ginti mein kood jaungi. 1... 2.... 3.....

Nahi nahi nahi. Pagal hai kya? Haddi toot gayi toh? Kaun uthayega tujhe is keechad mein?

I swallow and move back.

"Agar aap gaadi se kudne ki koshish kar rahi hain toh ruk jaiye," he said again, his voice bored, almost clinical. "Yahan ka rasta kharab hai, maut bhi ho sakti hai. Aage jaakar kud jaiyega. Wahan mitti naram hai,"

What. The. Hell.

I freeze. He is not even looking at me. Just driving. How does he know my thoughts?

"Kahin shamshaan toh nahi le ja raha?" I whisper under my breath.

"Main aapko shamshaan nahi le ja raha."

I gasp. "Aapne suna?"

"Haan. Aap dheere nahi bolti."

Embarrassing. I sit straight. Control Meera. Control. I pull my feet up onto the seat, trying to stay as far away as possible.

"Aap.... aap bhoot hain?" I whisper, my voice trembling so much I can barely get the words out. (Are.... are you a ghost?)

Bhoot toh zyada safe hua aaj kal.... kam se kam insan toh nahi hai.

I see his hands tighten on the steering wheel. Is he.... is he laughing? No. A bhoot wouldn't laugh. Or would they?

"Filhaal toh insaan hi hoon," he replies, a hint of something-maybe amusement-in his voice. "Lekin agar aapne wo khanjar chalaya, toh bhoot banne mein der nahi lagegi."

(For now, I am human. But if you use that dagger, it won't take long for me to become a ghost.)

I look at the dagger, then at the back of his head. Toh ye bhoot nahi hai? Then how did he know?

"Aapko kaise....?" I start, but stop.

(How did you....?)

"Mirror," he says simply. "Aapki shakal par sab likha hota hai."

(Mirror. Everything is written on your face.)

I touch my face. Is it? I need to practice my scary face more.

"Waise," he says casually, "agar aap mujhe maarne ka plan bana rahi hain.... toh pehle training kar lijiye. Grip galat hai. Aise pakdegi toh khud ko chot lag jayegi."

The audacity. "Main aapko maarne wali nahi hoon," I snap.

"Achha hai," he replies. "Mujhe bhi aapko bandhne ka mann nahi tha."

Bandhne?! The word hits me like a slap. He wants to tie me up? Like an animal?

Before I can think, before my fear can stop me, I lunge forward. I reach over the seat and press the cold, jagged edge of my khanjar right against the side of his neck.

A thin, dark red line of blood instantly beads up against the steel.

"Aap.... aapka khoon nikal raha hai,” I stutter, my hand trembling.

To be continued....

~Next chapter~

"Toh pichhe kaun soya hai?" they ask, stepping closer. (Then who is sleeping in the back?)

I shift my weight, blocking their view of the window. My eyes turn cold. "Hamari dharam-patni hai," I lie, the words feeling strange on my tongue.

Thank you for reading.