The quiet of the room was deceptive. It cloaked the tension simmering underneath, masking the storm that raged silently between the two figures. Shubman sat by the window, his back straight, eyes never leaving Ishan’s still form on the bed. The night air carried a chill, but Shubman barely felt it. His thoughts were a thousand miles away, tangled in a mess he couldn't unravel.

Ishan lay there, unaware, wrapped in the thin blanket as if it could shield him from the truth waiting to pounce the moment he woke up. Shubman could hear his shallow breathing, see the slight rise and fall of his chest, and it made the pit in his stomach grow tighter.

He wasn’t supposed to feel this. He wasn’t supposed to care.

But Ishan had been a surprise—a dangerous one. This wasn’t just another job anymore, and Shubman hated that he couldn’t pinpoint the exact moment things had shifted.

Maybe it was the look on Ishan’s face when he’d realized he was trapped. That mix of defiance and fear, eyes darting for an exit that wasn’t there. Shubman had seen panic before—hell, he had caused it plenty of times—but this felt different. There was something about Ishan’s vulnerability that dug under his skin and refused to leave.

He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face, as if that would push the conflicting emotions away. This was getting too complicated. The lines between the job and… everything else were starting to blur. He was supposed to kidnap Ishan, deliver him to someone who had paid a lot of money for him. No questions, no emotions, no second thoughts.

Except now there were too many questions, and his emotions were getting in the way. And the last thing Shubman needed were second thoughts when he was already walking a tightrope.

A soft groan broke through his thoughts. Shubman tensed, his gaze snapping back to Ishan, who was slowly waking up. His brow furrowed as his consciousness fought to shake off the remnants of sleep. The moment was surreal—too calm, too quiet—but Shubman could sense the oncoming storm.

Ishan's eyes fluttered open, focusing on the ceiling for a second before they snapped to Shubman, wide with confusion and wariness.

“You’re awake,” Shubman said, his voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil inside him.

Ishan blinked, clearly disoriented. “Where…?” His voice was raspy, thick from sleep.

Shubman leaned forward, folding his arms over his knees, but he stayed silent, watching as realization slowly crept into Ishan’s gaze. It was like a light switch being flicked on—clarity, followed by fear, then a steely determination Shubman hadn’t expected.

"Hi,I am Shubman"

“Where am I?” Ishan demanded, his voice sharper now.

Shubman didn’t move. “Safe,” he answered, though the word felt hollow. Safe was relative, after all.

Ishan’s eyes darted around the room, noting the sparse, unfamiliar surroundings, the locked window, and the single door that Shubman blocked. He swallowed hard, tension rolling off him in waves.

“Safe?” Ishan repeated, the disbelief in his voice impossible to miss. “You kidnapped me.”
It wasn’t a question. Ishan knew the score, even if he didn’t know all the rules yet.

“Technically,” Shubman replied, his tone almost casual, as if they were talking about the weather. But there was an edge to his voice, one that even he couldn’t suppress. “But that doesn’t mean you’re in danger.”

Ishan stared at him, incredulous. “I’m tied up in some random room with a stranger who kidnapped me. What part of that sounds safe?”

Shubman’s lips twitched, a hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth despite the gravity of the situation. Ishan was sharp. He liked that.

He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s all about perspective. Could’ve been worse.”

Ishan’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t respond immediately. His eyes darted to the window, calculating. Shubman saw it—the wheels turning, the brief hope that maybe, just maybe, there was a way out of this.

“You can try,” Shubman said, nodding toward the window, “but you won’t get far.”

Ishan’s glare was fierce now, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes. A flicker of recognition. He knew Shubman wasn’t lying. He wasn’t some amateur. Whatever escape plan Ishan might have been cooking up wasn’t going to work.

“Why me?” Ishan finally asked, the edge of his voice giving way to curiosity. “What do you want?”

Shubman’s expression darkened slightly, though he kept his voice calm. “That’s not for you to worry about.”

But Ishan wasn’t the type to let that slide. “That’s a terrible answer,” he shot back, sitting up straighter now, his defiance sharpening. “You’re holding me here against my will. The least you can do is tell me why.”

For a moment, Shubman debated telling him the truth. Or some version of it. But then he thought better of it. Ishan didn’t need to know the ugly details. Not yet.

“It’s complicated,” Shubman said finally, his voice softening just a fraction. “You’re caught up in something that isn’t your fault.”

“And you’re what? The good guy in all this?” Ishan scoffed. “Kidnapping is an odd way to show it.”

“Trust me,” Shubman said, his voice low but firm, “if I was the bad guy, you’d already be dead.”

That silenced Ishan, if only for a second. His eyes searched Shubman’s face, as if trying to find some crack, some sign of weakness or deception. But Shubman’s mask was too well-practiced, too solid.

“You don’t seem like the killing type,” Ishan said quietly, though there was doubt in his voice.

Shubman chuckled darkly. “You’d be surprised.”

The silence that followed was thick, suffocating. Ishan’s breathing had quickened, but he was fighting to keep his composure. Shubman respected that. Fear could make people reckless, stupid. But Ishan was smart. He was assessing, waiting for an opening, though Shubman wasn’t about to give him one.

“There are people coming for you,” Shubman said after a moment, his tone more serious. “And believe me, they’re worse than me. A lot worse.”

Ishan frowned. “Then why are you doing this? Why kidnap me at all?”

Shubman’s jaw clenched. That was the million-dollar question, wasn’t it? Why was he doing this? The answer had seemed so clear at first—money, power, leverage. But now, sitting in this room, watching Ishan struggle to understand, it all seemed so… wrong.
“There’s more going on than you know,” Shubman said cryptically. “More than you should know.”

But even as he said it, he realized the line was blurring more and more with every passing second. Keeping Ishan in the dark wouldn’t last forever. Eventually, the truth would surface, and when it did, Shubman wasn’t sure what would be left of the fragile connection they were building.

Ishan stared at him, eyes narrowed. “What’s stopping me from hating you?”

Shubman paused, his gaze locking onto Ishan’s with an intensity that made the air between them thrum. “You don’t hate me. Not yet.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and full of promise. It was a dangerous game they were playing, one that could unravel in a hundred different ways. But for now, Shubman held the strings.

Ishan didn’t say anything, but his silence spoke volumes. There was doubt, sure, but there was also curiosity. And in a twisted, inexplicable way, trust.

Shubman stood up, the chair creaking under the weight of his movement. He took a step closer to the bed, his shadow falling over Ishan, who watched him warily.

“Get some rest,” Shubman said quietly. “You’ll need it.”

“For what?” Ishan asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

Shubman’s lips curled into a faint, unreadable smile. “For what’s coming next.”

He turned and started toward the door. But before he could take another step, a sudden crash echoed from somewhere outside the room—a loud, metallic bang, followed by muffled voices. Shubman froze, his eyes narrowing.

Ishan’s eyes darted to the door. “What was that?”

“Stay here,” Shubman ordered, his voice suddenly cold, all the tension from before replaced with something far darker.

He moved quickly toward the door, but not before pulling a gun from the back of his waistband. Ishan’s breath caught in his throat. Shubman hadn’t mentioned this part—the guns, the violence—but it was clear now that they weren’t alone in this dangerous game.

“Who are they” Ishan whispered, something like panic seeping into his voice.

But Shubman didn’t answer. He slipped out of the room, the door clicking shut behind him, leaving Ishan

(Hey pookies 🎀
So,do you guys like the plot or not?😭)