New week, new chapter. Can't believe we are on the 20th chapter! With the progress, this might be 40 chapters long. So, yeah almost 20 more chapters to go.

Dedicated to ObssiveFangirl99 ( For tagging me in awesome posts❤)

As the day rolls by with patients filling in, its already 4'o clock even before I realise.

7'o clock. I wonder how will I get there.

As I come out packing my coat, I meet Dr Nizamuddin on the way.

" Leaving, Dr Singh?" He asks, a polite smile taking over his face.

" Uh, yes," I say, my eyes moving from the doctor in front of me to the crowd scanning for Basheer. We are standing in front of the hospital near the ironed gates that separate the hospital compound from the streets.

Should I call him?

" Waiting for someone I see," he says, when he notices my eyes are busy scanning the afternoon crowd full of white and black dots.

I blush in embarrassment as I shift my focus to the man in front of me, " I am sorry if I appeared rude. You know who I am." I grimace at the last part. It's like I am accepting that I am a prisoner, hence I need someone to always escort me.

" You are an able doctor. A hardworking one, I must say. Someone too talented for her own age and experience. Hard work and talent is a rare package to come by," He says, as he looks at me, his eyes transfixed on me as if to prove his point.

A smile registers on my face as the words register. He certainly has a way with words.

He smiles back. His eyes are chocolaty brow-

" Sahiba!" Basheer's voice breaks the haze I was momentarily drawn into.

What was I doing? How must it have looked to Basheer? How wrong must it have looked!

Why do you care if it looks wrong at all?

Basheer stands there two feet or so away his wild mane curving around his face , the rays of the setting sun forming a hallow around him highlighting his features, his face is contorted into something akin to rage and. . . betrayal. It's similar to the day when he found out I had called back to India. Is he gonna beat the crap out of the man standing beside me. But, then I notice the fire masked by an air of indifference. Suddenly all the rage dissipates, masked by indifference and guilt overtakes me.

Have I done anything wrong? Someone happened to remind me that I wasn't a just prisoner but more than that. It felt good to hear him praise me.

That's it!

I bid Dr Nizamuddin the customary goodbye before briskly making my way to an indifferent Basheer. He doesn't look at me staring at the road ahead, just nods once before turning to walk down the path back home. I cannot take this indifferent Basheer anymore. The tension radiating off my body is too much to take. He should have been angry. That would have been better.

Without thinking I slip my left hand into Basheer's right hand, keeping it simple, afraid of rejection. My sudden bold move tenses his body, before he relaxes blinking once but still does not enclose his fingers around mine.

" He was just telling me how good of a doctor I am. I was just happy to be more than a mere prisoner." I say, ready to pull my hand back, tears of rejection threatening to fall.

Yet another thing I have hated, rejection.

But he surprises me by intertwining our fingers together before I can pull away, enclosing mine in a tight hold, as if he's afraid to lose me.

My surprised eyes make way to his face as I see his facial muscles relax slightly. I stare at him in silent question, probing his soul.

Why Basheer. Why are you the fire and ice to my soul?

Why did we have to meet like this?

My mind flashes back to lunch break, the gravity of her words settling in. As my eyes find our entwined hands, I wonder if going back to India is what I should do. I have a home and a family there. But, why do I then not want to leave this hand ever?

Why does the thought of having to never see him again clench a certain organ in my chest?

Infatuation! It's only infatuation caused by that darn Dopamine.

Everything she said about Basheer rouses suspicion, a part of me wants to stay back and solve the missing puzzle. But it isn't my puzzle to solve. Me being stupid got me here in the first instance. I cant stop thinking about his childhood. I vaguely wonder about a once innocent Basheer, who had to grow up without parents. How did he?

Is that why he is what he is?

Hardened by life?

Every sinner was once a saint.

" Basheer, I heard there's a Fateh Baba's Dargah here, that's quite famous. I don't think there are temples here, anyway to me God is all the same. Back in India, I used to visit a temple at least once a month. I have been kind of disturbed, perhaps it could help me ease my mind a bit. Can I. . . .get a breather?"

He ponders for a moment before answering, " It's near our house, won't be a problem. You can go there."

" Thank you. " Can I go alone? I wanted to ask but refrain from doing so, it may arouse suspicion.

"Will you be accompanying me?" I ask him hoping for a negative answer.

His left hand reaches into his pocket as he pulls out an android phone tapping his fingers rapidly typing a password.

213-

I couldn't get the last two digits. Darn.

" Look," he says pointing to a red dot on something that looks like a map and a blue dot is beside it blinking.
My breath is drawn out of my lungs as if sone is squeezing my lungs as a knot builds up in the pit of my stomach as I stare at the red blinking dot.

Tracker?

" This red dot is you, and this blue dot is me. You have a tracker in your skin. It was already put on you, even before I met you. Perhaps when you were kidnapped. So, don't try to run away. You will be shot, even before you realize." He finishes.

You will be shot even before you realize.

The words from the first day ring in my head. I don't think he trusts me at all. He has a damn tracker fitted on my body. Oh wait, it was put on by someone else.

That explains why he allowed me to roam so freely inside the hospital.

My mind travels traces back to all those past days looking for clues when they could have possibly fitted it into my body. The only way is in my back wound. I never had a surgery, I would know it then. It mustn't be too deep but somewhere in my back. Only place where they could have gotten it, away from my direct contact and without leaving a mark.

Cunning bastards.

She was wrong, he doesn't trust me. And the realization is bitter.

If I need to escape, I have to get it out. But, its out of my reach. I can't get my hands on it, I need someone to do it for me.

But who? I cant trust just anyone with it. If it's near my spinal cord or anywhere near a nerve or artery it can inflect permanent damage. I have to choose the second option. I have to stay back and spy on Basheer for now.

I will bolt as soon as I get that damned thing out.

The world around me, the streets the people, all dissolve around me as a sense of dread overtakes my body, wanting me to vomit out my guts. A bucket full of cold water and thorns are thrown my way making me flinch. The warmth, the safety I felt moments ago dissipates. He didn't put the tracer, but he uses it right? And that fucking hurts. He appears cold, barren, ruthless like a cold desert.

" What?" He asks, raising up an eyebrow. He must have felt the warmth dissipate and a blanket of coldness wrapping its tails around me.

" You don't trust me." I answer, hurt by lacing my voice. I feel his eyes on me as I see the house come into view, his house.

Why are you hurt?

Because I failed in earning his trust. I hate failing. They thought I had his trust. Oh, how wrong you are!

The inner me pulls a sardonic smile on her face as if mocking my reasoning.

" Should I?" Basheer asks looking back ahead.

No but a stupid part of me wants you to.

I wish there was a medicine for stupidity. I will try making one as soon as I get back.

" Did you fix a GPS microchip? Where did you put it? "

" I don't know. They never told me. But yes, its a GPS microchip."

" When do you want to go?" He asks, as we reach the doorstep to my current dwelling.

" Around 6:30." I reply, that comes out hoarse. I gulp trying to moisten my dry throat as we walk inside. He leaves my hands now as we are finally inside.

I don't give him the exact time. He didn't answer if he's accompanying me.

My eyes follow him as he makes his way into the study, never looking back once once. I follow him but then take a right almost running to my door, shutting it close behind me as I lean on the door heaving as some stupid, delusional, traitorous tears roll down.

Its been only a week and it feels forever.

It's only because I can't go back and I have to stay here.

Adrenaline courses through my body begging me take the decision: fight or flight.

Fight it is.

_________________________________________

"Can I get a Burqa? Would it not be weird to go there like this? I don't want to draw any unnecessary attention my way." I speak up.

"You are the same woman who didn't want to wrap a dupatta around her head. Anyway, Ruksar! Get her a Burqa."

"Here," Ruksar says holding up a black cloth dangling in front of me, "This happens to belong to my Apa, she's tall just like you, it should fit you."

Is she happy that I am finally covering up myself? Perhaps she is, judging the way she ran to get the Burqa for me.

A grin takes over my face for a spit second as I remember how fast she brought the Burqa.

I slip it in, pulling the black lacy face veil to cover my eyes.

Our eyes meet once through the veil as I meet his steely grey eyes with an underline of kohl. A familiar dull pain takes over my chest.

Angina?

I avert my eyes afraid that he would notice the moisture accumulating in the corners of my eyes if I look at him any more as I bite my lips trying to draw the poker face.

He can't see you now.

"Lets go." He says, as he strides out.

With the choice I make today you will be nothing to me but someone I stay close to spy on.

There are just two right turns before the Dargah comes into view. Along the path several garland shops are heavily furnished with roses, jasmine and tuberose flowers. Chaddars of different sizes and colors with dominated by green color with golden embroidery with flashes of red weaved into beautiful designs are hung to the front. The air is heavily scented with the aroma of incense sticks and the slight whiff of Jasmine and Rajanigandha. The distinct sound of Azaan bursts through the mikes with the chatter of people fill the air.

The entrance is made of a marble arch, the top part carved into lotus petals. The shrine has a white dome and the walls are made of jaalis designed into lotus pattern, surrounded by marble patio on the four sides. As we walk up the stairs into the inner shrine, my nostrils are immediately hit with the strong scent of chandan and jasmine scented incense sticks. The tomb of Fateh Baba is adorned with different colored Chaddars as silver peeks out through the crevices. The tomb is decorated with rose and tuberose flowers. To the right of the tomb, a peer sits with a large bunch of peacock feathers as he blesses the devotees.

This happens to be my first time visiting a Dargah. I sit on my knees near his tomb, folding my hands together, my palms facing each other as my fingers intertwine before I close my eyes, "You know my predicaments already. Help me Baba, choose the right way, make the right decision. Take my queries to Lord Shiva. Ask him to guide me. Help me. Please." My silent pleading even desperate to my ears.

" I will just come. Don't go anywhere else." He says as I open my eyes to see him already making his way outside but in a hurry as if chasing someone.

Is he chasing someone? Did he identify Apa somehow? As soon as the last question comes to my mind, I find myself tensed at the very prospect of him finding out.

But then a voice, only familiar from today morning sounds, " Are you praying that way in a Burqa? Do you know the eyes you are attracting that way?" A voice speaks up beside me. I open my eyes to find a pair of sharp eyes staring at me through a black Burqa, her hands extended to the front, palms drawn upwards in the Islamic way of worship.

Authors Note:

Rajanigandha - Tuberose flower.

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