The tension in the room was suffocating. It clung to the air like a storm waiting to break, heavy and oppressive. Shubman stood by the door, his back rigid, his eyes cold as they scanned the hallway outside. His ears strained to catch any sound, any hint that the intruders from earlier might return. His grip on the gun was firm but controlled, the weapon an extension of his calm, dangerous persona.

Behind him, Ishan sat on the edge of the bed, his body tense but his mind racing with thoughts that made it hard to stay silent. The initial terror of his situation had dulled, giving way to curiosity and suspicion. Who was this man? This kidnapper who, despite holding him captive, hadn’t actually hurt him. A man whose calm demeanor hinted at something darker lurking beneath the surface.

Ishan’s lips twitched, a nervous habit when he was trying to fill the silence with something—anything. But he bit down on the urge to speak. Talking too much right now felt like poking a sleeping lion.

Shubman finally turned around, his face as unreadable as ever. The gun was now tucked back into his waistband, though the room’s atmosphere remained just as charged as before

“They won’t come back,” Shubman said, his deep voice cutting through the stillness.

“Who’s ‘they’?” Ishan asked, his voice sharper than he intended. He regretted it almost immediately when Shubman’s eyes narrowed.

Shubman didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the room and sat back down in the chair, his gaze heavy on Ishan. “People you don’t want to meet,” he said finally, his tone colder than before.

Ishan let out a frustrated breath, running a hand through his already messy curls. “Right, because being kidnapped by you is clearly the safer option.”

Shubman’s lips twitched, almost forming a smirk, but it never fully appeared. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his posture deceptively relaxed. “You’re still alive, aren’t you?”

“That’s a low bar for safety, don’t you think?”

For the first time since they’d met, Shubman gave him something close to a smile. It was small, barely there, but it was a crack in the otherwise impenetrable armor he wore. “You talk a lot,” he observed.

Ishan blinked, thrown off by the comment. “What?”

“You talk. A lot,” Shubman repeated, his tone still that maddeningly calm. “I can’t decide if it’s because you’re nervous or if you’re just like this all the time.”

The defiance flared up in Ishan again, almost instinctively. “Maybe I wouldn’t talk so much if you didn’t insist on being so cryptic,” he snapped, folding his arms over his chest. “You kidnap me, lock me in some room, and expect me to just sit here quietly? Sorry, that’s not really my style.”
Shubman stared at him for a long moment, the silence between them stretching into something almost unbearable. Just when Ishan thought he might have pushed too far, Shubman’s expression softened—just slightly.

“Maybe you’re right,” he said, his voice low, almost thoughtful. “But you need to trust me when I tell you that there are things you’re better off not knowing.”

Ishan frowned, his eyebrows pulling together. “Trust you? You really think I’m just going to trust the guy who kidnapped me?”

Shubman’s gaze hardened again. “You don’t have a choice.”

There it was again—the cold finality, the reminder that, no matter how many questions he asked, no matter how much he tried to understand, Shubman was in control. The reality of the situation hit Ishan like a bucket of cold water. He was trapped. There was no escape, no clever way out of this. Not yet, at least.

But that didn’t mean he had to make it easy for Shubman.

“You might want to work on your people skills,” Ishan said, leaning back on the bed with mock casualness. “Because right now, your whole mysterious, brooding thing is really annoying.”

This time, Shubman’s smirk was undeniable. “Noted.”

The moment of levity was short-lived, though. The air between them still crackled with the unspoken tension. Shubman’s eyes flickered to the door again, as if expecting another disturbance. Ishan noticed the shift and sat up straighter.

“Why did you take me?” Ishan asked quietly. His earlier bravado was gone, replaced by a more genuine curiosity. “What do you want from me?”

Shubman’s jaw tightened. He looked away for a moment, as if contemplating how much to say. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer than before. “It’s not about what I want.”

“Then who?” Ishan pressed. “Who’s behind this?”

For a long moment, Shubman said nothing. Ishan could see the internal battle playing out behind those intense eyes. There was something Shubman wasn’t telling him—something big. And for the first time, Ishan wondered if it wasn’t because Shubman didn’t want to tell him, but because he couldn’t.

“You’re better off not knowing,” Shubman said, standing abruptly.

Ishan’s frustration flared again. “You keep saying that like it’s supposed to make me feel better!”

“It should,” Shubman replied, his tone flat, his expression unreadable. He started toward the door, his long strides making it clear the conversation was over.

“Wait,” Ishan called after him, his voice edged with something he hadn’t expected to feel—panic. He didn’t want to be left alone. Not now. “Where are you going?”
Shubman paused at the door, his back to Ishan. “I’ll be back. Don’t do anything stupid.”

And with that, he was gone.

The door clicked shut, and Ishan was alone again. The silence rushed back in, suffocating in its intensity. He stared at the closed door, a mixture of fear and anger swirling inside him. What the hell had he gotten himself into? And who the hell was this guy who seemed to hold his life in his hands without so much as blinking?

Ishan let out a shaky breath and stood up. He paced the room, his mind racing with a thousand possibilities. Who were the people after him? Why had Shubman—this tall, dark, and infuriating stranger—taken him? Nothing made sense.

His eyes flicked to the window again. Shubman had said it was pointless to try and escape, but Ishan wasn’t so sure. Maybe there was a way. Maybe Shubman was underestimating him

But even as the thought crossed his mind, he remembered the way Shubman had handled that gun, the way he had moved with the practiced ease of someone who had been through far worse situations than this. And then there was the look in his eyes—dark, guarded, and utterly calm. Whoever Shubman was, he wasn’t just some ordinary criminal. There was more to him. Much more.

Ishan sank back onto the bed, his head falling into his hands. This wasn’t just a kidnapping. There was something much bigger going on here, and he had a sinking feeling that whatever it was, he was in way over his head.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps echoed in the hallway outside. Ishan froze, his heart hammering in his chest. He heard voices—two of them, though they were muffled. One of them was Shubman’s.

He strained to listen, but the voices were too low to make out any words. After a few moments, the footsteps faded, and the quiet returned. Ishan sat up, his mind buzzing with questions.

Who was Shubman talking to? Was it one of the people who had tried to break in earlier? Or was it someone else entirely?

A sudden thought struck him—a possibility so absurd that he almost dismissed it. But the more he thought about it, the more it made sense.

Was Shubman protecting him?

The idea seemed ridiculous, but there was something about the way Shubman had acted—calm, controlled, but not cruel. He could have easily hurt Ishan by now, but he hadn’t. And there was that cryptic comment about people being after him—people worse than Shubman.

Ishan shook his head, frustrated. None of this made any sense. And the more he tried to figure it out, the more tangled the web became.