New week, a new chapter. Enjoy! :)

Claps reverberate around me as I get up on the stage. My eyes find my mother, she is sitting in the front row, her eyes smiling appreciatively as she nods at me to go up on the stage. Beside her my father sits, he doesn't smile but his eyes are proud.

That's my success! I think as I divert my eyes to the woman who has been called to hand over the award. I make my way to her as she smiles at me, her pristine white teeth peeking between her dark red lips.

"I would like to request Doctor Bhagwati Roy to put on the medal."

AFMC Gold Medal for standing first in the entire college in Medicine.

I bend slightly so that she can put on the medal. Standing up tall with the medal dangling down my neck, my eyes search for my parents again. I find them, still proud of me.

We pose on the stage as the photographer clicks our picture.

"I would like to request Doctor Nehali Singh, to give a short speech, to motivate our students."

Heart pounding, hands sweaty, I make my way towards the mic.

I stand there,  as the crowd blurs, while I look at something far away, beyond the crowd. The claps continue cheering me on. . . 

Nehali?

Nehali?

"Nehali?"

Huh, what?

Was I dreaming?

What time is it?

Suddenly all of it dissolves, as I find myself on a very soft bed.

Wasn't I in the camp?

Who's this man?

Oh shit!

I jerk open my eyes, my limbs paralysed. I take in my surroundings, remembering where I am.

A white figure looms above me.

Basheer.

I sit up immediately, wiping my drool. I don't care if he saw the drool on my face. It's very much natural.

"What?" I ask, mildly irritated to have seen his face early in the morning.

"You will be staying at home today. Don't try to snoop around. There are cameras everywhere."

"I know. Anything else?"

"Yes, come down for breakfast?"

"Why are you suddenly nice to me?"

His face immediately darkens as soon as the question comes. He immediately masks his genuine concern, as static grey eyes meet mine, giving out nothing.

Why does it feel like he's hiding something?

Why?

I don't ponder on him anymore as I get up, throwing my legs over the side of the bed. As soon as I get up, I realise I am only in my kameez, my legs exposed from knee down.

Yesterday night felt too stuffy or maybe it was my heart, I had taken off the kameez pants, finally falling asleep as cold wind hit my legs, the freedom immediately sending goosebumps over my skin. But, right now I regret doing that.

His eyes zoom on my exposed legs.

Oh damn! I haven't shaved even.

I used to wear skirts a lot, so exposing my legs wasn't something new to me. But somehow exposing even the tiniest of flesh in front of him feels too intimate. But, what has me wanting to bang my head on the nearest wall is the slight hair outgrowth on my legs.

Obviously, you couldn't care about shaving being in Pakistan and kidnapped. Right?

I sigh, trying to forget the embarrassment, but as my eyes meet his, the heat in his eyes has me thinking otherwise.

Probably seeing a women's legs for the first time? But Farhan's words from that day, ' Might as well come to use for bed' has me thinking otherwise.

Does he get a lot? Where? Is he another of the man whore heroes I read in all those novels, I was so addicted to?

Hero? Really?

And you are what? The heroine?

And, you two live happily together forever? Or, be another Veer Zara?

I shake my head, trying to get these insane thoughts out of my mind. I avert my eyes, as I take the towel and the salwar lying on the bed before padding my way to the bathroom.

"I will wait downstairs." He says before strutting past me.

What? Wait?

Have I gone deaf too? Or disillusioned too?

I blink once, twice trying to clear my head, as I head towards the bathroom.

_________________________________

When I come downstairs, my eyes find him. Sitting on his usual spot, reading an Urdu newspaper. After yesterday's fiasco, I should be avoiding him. But, that crying session has me fighting back.

Cowardice and evasion have never been my way.

My heart clenches as I go sit on the chair placed opposite to him. Sensing my presence, he puts down the newspaper, taking off his glasses.

Before he can say anything, Ruksar comes with two plates of Siri Paya. I am not totally unaware of Pakistani delicacies given they aren't very different, except that Pakistani food includes more meat while, its Indian counterpart includes more vegetables.  Cooking had been one of my hobbies, so learning a Pakistani delicacy wasn't off my list.

I don't look at her intentionally, still reeling on our conversation from the previous day.

"I need to talk to you," he says before chewing on a trotter.

I nod, not responding as I stuff myself with the much-needed food. I can hate someone with all I got but never refuse food. Food is that heaven for me that you can get without dying first. You can live and still know what heaven is like.

I wonder what he wants to say anyway. He mentioned about me not meeting anyone. But here I am sitting with him, having my breakfast as if being kidnapped to the enemy nation and used is fucking normal. And, weirdly he is acting nice to me.

My eyes dart to him once or twice during the entire meal trying to gauge his reaction. He appears perfectly calm, never once meeting my eyes. A part of me is annoyed he doesn't once look at me, though.

He finishes first. Obviously. He wasn't busy watching me.

"Are you done?"

"Uh, yes," I say, putting the last morsel of food in my already stuffed mouth, stuffing it further. I walk, no, almost run to the basin still chewing, to wash my hands. Finally done with the washing, I return to the table, wringing a towel to clean off my hands.

"What did you want to say?" I ask, trying not to betray my curiosity.

"Let's go to the study. Then we can discuss it." He says, before motioning for me to go ahead.

His face remains stoic, calm not betraying a single emotion, I wonder what it must be.

Sliding open the huge oak doors to his study, I go inside his study before placing myself on the chair. He closes the door behind him before, placing himself in the opposite chair.

"Now, tell."

Do you want us to go to the bathroom now?

"You called back to India."

"I know. Aren't we over this?"

Did I misjudge him? Is he dumb?

"No. Listen to me carefully. If anyone asks you whether you had seen someone that day, you will say ' No' and that you were busy thinking about a diagnosis. "

"I don't understand," I say, puckering my eyebrows.

Why would it be anyone else?

It was me. Was he not sure?

Did I make a mistake by confessing to it?

"When they called me that day and said that you were the one who called, I said it was someone before you."

What?

"Okay, so I pretend to have seen no one when I went to call you?"

"Yes," he says.

I take in the newfound information. He didn't give me away.

Why? Maybe because he couldn't get his fill?

How long is he going to hold onto? They will know for sure, one way or another.

I need to find a way to save myself.

I can not trust Basheer. Again. Why would he help me anyway?

Author's Note:

Hope you enjoyed. Don't forget to vote and comment!

Stay safe all my lovely readers! ♡

Oh, expect another update this week itself. And, my new book, 'Swipes of Time' will be coming soon.