~Sparks and Fire.~

"The only difference between a spark and fire is - one is a fragile beginning and the other is a fatal ending," ~ Panchi.

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(Zaid's POV)

"Please speak, I'm ready to hear everything, you have to say," she whispered.

Instantly refining her verbal response, I smiled. A smile appearing so innocent, like a pure, untouched but wilted flower coming back to life with a miracle's boon - the boon she granted me with just her simple words.

'I'm ready to hear everything, you have to say.'

Her voice reverberated in my head. Her simple, astonishing words, spoken in a barren voice, were a boon but a curse at the same time.

Why do they have to be so barren, so empty?

I tightened my arms around her, pulling her closer, she was soft, delicate, and warm. It was not the warmth of any touch, it was something special, something desirable, something meant to entice dangerous beings, something I just want, no matter what.

My arms had always ached from the impending loneliness, carrying a deserted void. I can’t remember the warmth of any kind of embrace except the warmth of her compassion. It is the only real warmness, I have ever felt and held.

Now, I have that compassion captured, secured, away from the evil world. So, I will never let it go. It's only mine.

"Zaid," her voice pulled me out of the trance, and I concealed my face into the shade of her dark locks, her fragrance sheltering the troubled nomad of my senses, keeping my sanity intellect and intact.

"I lied to everyone," I uttered with trouble, anxious to proceed further. There was uneasiness in me - something that was wishing not to see her reaction to this truth.

"About what?" She asked a question of pure skepticism, bringing me to hold her, more tightly. Please, don't think that I don't love you like before. I still love you, this time more deeply.

You are my belief. Someone who urges my existence to keep up with this world of nothingness.

I'm nothing, living in a world of nothingness where you are my everything.

"About my memories," I said, and the next moment, I felt a weak push on my chest. She was pushing me, wanting space, and I had to step back, fulfilling her demand.

"What exactly do you mean?" Her hazel eyes searched my face as if wanting to read what I was thinking even before I could word out my thoughts.

Only if you could read me too.

Only if I was like you. Someone soft-hearted, with emotions as transparent as the clear water in a pond.

She is easy to understand. And I love this aspect a lot.

"I lied about having a partial memory loss," with these words, disbelief graced her features and I wanted to step back from the stairs of realization. But something stilled me, something unknown held me firmly, pushing me to enunciate everything.

"Amnesia took every bit of my past life, my memories too."

"You don't remember anything?" Her feet slightly stumbled back. Her voice lost voidness, now threaded with curiosity, at the verge of mistrust.

"No," I uttered.

"You have no memories - No! You never had them?" Her legs seemed to carry her on their own accord as she moved back, a little more away from me.

"No, I didn't have any when I woke up." I wanted to hold her again but her trembling frame tranquilized my moments.

"Not even the ones of your mother?"

Another question.

"No."

Answered with the same reply - a no.

"Not even the ones including me, you, our moments together?"

I wish I could remember them. They seem far too beautiful to exist only on some mere pages of an old diary.

"No. I had nothing to imply as memories."

An anguished response, again.

"Then, till this day, why were you torturing me in the name of your love when you remembered nothing about me?!?!"

Suddenly, her shrill cry resonated in the room, piercing the silence as I rushed to her when her frame ramped up with sobs, her legs appearing unsteady.

Gently, I encircled my arms around her waist and tugged her to my chest. Her struggle was ample of fury. She wildly revolted in my arms, but I forbade myself from giving in.

"You didn't know me. Answer! Who told you about me? What made you come after me when you had frivolity as memories with you?!" She screamed, her voice drowning in resentment.

I knew it. I shouldn't have told her these things. Concealed secrets were better than the bitter and bare truth.

"You did."

With the flow of those two words, a mild wave of infatuation convened my insights, propelling me to a loss in restraining someone.

"Yes. You did."

I repeated, sensing her body slowly quieting down for some moments before her almost noiseless sobs vibrated against my chest. "H..h..ow?"

"Let me show you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The familiar letters, the familiar handwriting, and the familiar words came off to be prickling Shravya's eyes as she sat on the couch, completely out of motion.

She closed her eyes, feeling a lump rising in her throat. She didn't want to feel that burden. It was unbelievable - how her own handwritten letters played such a big role in her tragedy.

The deceased weak paper crumbled in her hold as she opened her eyes again. Was it fortunate that Zaid had found only two letters from the numerous letters she had written to him, begging for his forgiveness?

No, it wasn't fortunate at all.

She thought her letters never reached him, but they did.

Two letters.

It took him only two letters to know about her and turn her life upside down.

Wish she had never written these letters.

Her eyes flickered to Zaid, who was standing before the window, gazing outside. He was holding a champagne glass but surprisingly, hadn't taken even a sip. He just stood in his spot, too immersed in staring at something from outside.

Shravya again glanced at the sheets of paper in her hold. Even though proof laid in her hand, she couldn't help but feel that there was still something left untold, as if he was still hiding something. He remembered nothing. He has been withholding that truth for so long then suddenly, what made him disclose it?

She looked back at him when suddenly, her mind recalled the purpose of coming to his study in the first place. "Is that grave actually Aayush's?"

"You won't stop asking until I say that the grave is not his? Will you?" The window glass reflected a dazy reflection of his figure, but not dazed enough to confuse her in recognizing a lazy tilt uplifting his lips in a smile. A dark one.

"I don't believe you," numbly, she retorted back.

"Then please, allow me to break your delusion," he chuckled, spinning the champagne in the glass. "You believe me, faithfully." He slightly turned, peeking a glance at her restful body on the couch, before overlooking the window again. "And the letters you're holding, are the confirmation of your belief."

"Want more examples?" With these words, he eventually brought the glass to his mouth, gulping the glittering liquid in one go.

The burning ache champagne provoked in his throat rendered satisfaction in him. "Suppose, if I tell you that I killed Aayush, then you will believe it, surely."

She flinched at the way he chose to deliver the exact meaning of his words.

"If I tell you that the corpse you saw outside isn't his, then you will believe it too, definitely." Suddenly, she flinched again. This time not because of his words but because of the sound of glass breaking.

With horror-filled eyes, she inspected the red liquid flowing down his arm as he crushed the champagne glass in his hold while the broken, sharp chunks nibbled on his skin, gradually digging deeper.

"Won't you?" He turned to face her. His eyes looked drowsy, drunk on madness.

Trying to slow down the wild beats of her heart, Shravya eyed him as he began stepping in her way. His aura depicted anything but normalcy. Where was the Zaid who just confessed one of his hidden secrets? That sensitive man was nowhere to be found. Now, before her whoever was standing was lacking such emotions.

Stopping with almost no gap in between, he kneeled in front of her. "Next time, please pay more attention to my words. I never said the grave is his."

"I didn't kill him. I couldn't bring myself to kill him." When he is so useful.

Graciously, he raised his arm, driving his fingertips over the side of her face before wrapping a lock of her hair around his finger, heaving it up to his mouth and kissing it softly.

Delight flashed in his dark irises. His mouth enjoys feeling her, including the softness of her dark brown locks.

"Then, why did the white lilies were blooming upon that grave? Weren't they meant to make me regret?"

Her words made him laugh, the tilting noise too soft to bother anyone's ears.

"It's because..." He answered, slowly leaving the lock of hair free, unwrapped from his finger. "It's because I thought you would choose to sympathize even someone like Alok too."

He was right. Just as much as Shravya was feeling relieved, she felt unpleasant too. Why did he kill him?

Out of a sudden, the images of Alok slapping and hitting her flashed before her eyes, and she shut her eyelids close. Maybe that's why Zaid kill him.

"Aayush is still alive?" She asked again, wanting to confirm this fact again and again as her gazes traveled to Zaid's wounded palm that was resting on her thigh, the flow of blood from the wound was weak but still it was there. He was bleeding and he seemed to have no care at all.

"Yes. He is alive. All fine and safe," he spoke, picking up the letters that were resting on her lap, not having her attention anymore.

"I won't kill him as long as you..." His voice trailed off as he folded those two paper sheets, unwittingly smudging their flawless texture with his blood. "You know what I mean."

His voice splits the air and her stream of consciousness in one movement as he placed the now, folded letters beside her, on the couch."That day, when you jumped off from the window, I wanted you, and I still want you."

First, the desperation waved in his tone, then grievance before the uproar took over everything.

"Ask for anything. I can give you everything but in return can't you give me some love?" He held her hands, his calm ambience long gone.

"Can't you give me your love?" She held her breaths, feeling him inching closer, his breathing much nigher than he was before. "Just give me a little spark of that love. I promise, I'll turn that spark into a raging fire."

Her eyes met his with sheer disappointment; That's where he was wrong. Sparks don't hurt much but fire inflicts brutal damage, its fatal flames can burn anything to ashes.

"Tell me! Can't you love me?" He gave a hard tug, shaking her body vigorously, his blood staining her flawless skin too, the same thing it did with her letters.

"Zuzu."

Abruptly, his movements lulled and he blinked hastily, staring at her face in a dilemma before his instincts hurled him to do what he was doing from past weeks - trying to read her thoughts, guessing her next move.

"Say again," he said, the smile of conquest gracing his already stunning features.

"Zuzu."

The brown sun of her hazel eyes perished into the night of his coal-black orbs as consciously, her hands reached to brush back the strands of his hair that were falling on his forehead.

"Zuzu."

The taste of that name was bittersweet on her tongue nevertheless, she spoke, trying to perpetuate no concern to the impact.

She was giving what he wanted.

One last sacrifice, hoping to again make the things right for him, for her, including everyone, Aayush too.

It was the only way left - urge him to get professional help.

---✳❇✳---

(Chicago, Illinois - United States)

The surging night in Chicago was all about extravagance. It was as if the day was not ending, it was just a beginning for some individuals to inaugurate a great night for themselves.

In the center of the dance hall, men and women were dancing, shaking their bodies to the rhythm of the music, holding their self unaware of the surrounding.

In a corner of the bar, there sat Tanveer, dressed in a black shirt and trousers, his sapphire orbs trained on the glass full of scotch, resting on the table before him.

The fervor and noise around seemed to have no influence on him. He just subconsciously hid himself in the darkness, in the deceased arch of the lights.

Quiet conversations from the other tables barely surpassed him because people kept their private business to themselves. Moreover, it wasn't like he was inquisitive in messing with them.

Deliberately tracing his fingertips on the exterior of the glass, he deeply stared into the amber liquid that somehow appeared to dampen the headache at the back of his skull. From many, especially alcohol addicts, he has heard that alcohol is the cure to all illnesses. It kills pain, pessimism, and heels the wounds of awful memories. It gives them the motive to keep living when there seems nothing else to live for.

What a weird logic they have - they drink poison then want to live too.

But what could they even do? No human could resist the temptation when the poison of death seems sweeter than the bittersweet nectar of life.

Grimaced, he held the glass up to his mouth, tasting the sweet poison, too distracted with his drink to notice the woman who just joined him at the bar.

"What would you like to have, ma'am?" After being done with serving some other customers, the young waiter approached her.

"Martini," she spoke with a light voice, above a whisper, the thick Italian accent apparent in her tone.

Just as the waiter hurried to make her cocktail, Tanveer's gazes flickered to the woman, she was sitting perpendicular to him, towards the far end.

He was just waiting for her arrival.

Carefully, he watched as the waiter placed her cocktail before her. Just like him, she was also protected in the ruckus of the disco lights but her side profile was easily visible in the dim lighting.

The cocktail glass rested in her hand as she held the pick that was carrying two green olives. She stirred her glass then took a drink, but suddenly, her graceful moments halted. Placing her drink back on the table, she pulled her phone out of her bag. Her eyes stayed on the screen for a moment or longer before she gradually tossed the device back in the bag and walked to the washroom.

Tanveer's scotch was long forgotten as he also left his seat vacant, following the woman.

There was hesitation in his moves when he entered the woman restroom, shutting the door behind, alerting the woman. At that moment, only she and Tanveer seemed to be the only individuals present in there.

"Alessa?" Tanveer was the first one to speak, breaking the tense silence.

"How do you know my name?" There was wrath in her Italian tone. She was standing by the washbasin with a defensive posture as precipitously, she pulled out a weapon from her bag - a small yet sharp knife. "Who are you?"

No wonder, the woman was a trained assassin.

"I know you don't know me, but..." Scrutinizing the knife in her hand, Tanveer gave her an undisturbed look, shoving his hands in the front pocket of his trousers. "I mean no harm. I just want to meet N.M."

"Why?" Her wrath was driven away as she retreated the knife back and raised her brow, eyeing the reflection of his composed figure in the mirror.

"Just tell your boss that Tanveer Grover wants to meet." He skillfully ditched her question. "A refusal won't come."

If you like the chapter then please follow me PanchiVerma

Q - So, how was the chapter guys?

From here we all can expect some good development in Zuzu's personality, hopefully.

And Tanveer's fans, you all were worrying for nothing, dude. Tanveer was in Chicago the whole time. Nothing happened to him. Our blue-eyed creature is safe. lol 😂

Q - So, who is this N.M. whom Tanveer wants to meet. Any guess?