Dedicated to Beryle_Blake215 (For your unconditional support)

Okay, this is the chapter for this week. The previous one was Independence Day Special Chapter(Extra Chapter).

Hope you Enjoy! ♡

A knock penetrates through my sleepy haze. I open my eyes to find myself alone in bed, his bed. Yesterday night, me sneaking to get the paper, his blood report all come down crashing on me. I am instantly awake. My arms support me as I sit up, as I feel the still sheets are slightly warm with the lingering scent of jasmine and his musk in the air. It mustn't be long he's up. As soon as the thought comes, he strides out through the door, still in his pajamas and bare chest, a toothbrush in hand.

"I see you got up?" He says as he strides to the door, pulling it open slightly, giving instructions to Ruksar about what to cook for today before shutting it and turning to me.

"Just got up. I think I will just go to my room. I feel fine now."

My task is done. And I am still clueless.

"Today you have to go to the hospital. You know that right?"

Ah, hospital, I think I might get some answers there. Perhaps I can ask Dr Nizamuddin?

"Yes, but can I ask why was I not allowed to go to the hospital for four days?"

" Because you were acting like a little spy." He says,quirking up his eyebrow, his face taking on a serious note.

"But, why did I need to stay here for four days?" I ask, wondering why the hell did I not think of this before. Why would he insist on me to stay back home for four days when I just got into the hospital?

What are you not telling me, Basheer? And why, are you not telling me?

" Listen, Nehali I just wanted them to get off your tail. I told them it was someone else who made the call. But they are still gonna come smelling to your doorsteps. I just wanted to lay them off and they are going to come when you are alone. You are going to say what I said earlier. Okay?" He says rubbing his eyes, frustrated.

" I only made a call to Basheer. Right? This is what I say? " I ask him, unsure. I wonder why would he protect me, when I could be easily a spy? I am not though.

"Yes. Don't speak much. Excuse yourself if they probe too much."

"Okay." I say as I swing my legs onto the floor, standing up.

If they want to come to me, they are going to come anyway.

" I will get ready then." I say, before I leave his room and get in mine.

Can they trace my phone call? How long will he protect me? Pakistan has the world's best intelligence agency. It should cause them a trifle to find out the phone number. And if they just see the name registered with that phone number, they will surely find out it was me who made the call undoubtedly.

Oh hell, if they do find that. . . .

I don't want to spend the rest of my days in a cellar. I wonder if Basheer didn't think they could easily track down my phone. And, it's been so many days since I made the call. Are they trying to get me back home?

Home?

Which home, Nehali?

I sigh, as there's so many questions revolving around my mind with zero answers to them. And to top that, my life's at risk now. Being on the radar of Pakistani Intelligence can never be good. Even if innocent, they will not spare me.

Why did I ever make that darn call?

"Nehali, are you here?" A voice that belongs to Ruksar asks, followed by a short knock on my door.

I realize, I have been standing here for the past few minutes wondering what kind of turmoil my life is in, " Yes, do you need anything? I am on my way to the bathroom."

A pause is followed by, " Uh no. I was just asking. Your food is ready."

Was she just checking on me? Because last time she saw me was in Basheer's room.

Why does she even care?

Deciding not to waste another moment wondering what's gonna happen, I make my way to the bathroom with a fresh set of clothes and a towel.

_______________________________________

Basheer is sitting at his usual spot, black rimmed glasses adding a new definition to his face as he peers into an Urdu newspaper.

If I can get a Hindi newspaper, I could get a lot of information.

" Basheer, can I get a Hindi or English newspaper? Please?"

"Why would you want a newspaper anyway? It's all about Pakistan." He says, lifting his face from the newspaper.

True and I don't dare think I will get anything important about India. But still, might prove helpful. I wonder what happened at the camp after the attack. We were brutally ambushed, and India surely wouldn't leave them. If only I had access to the internet. I really want to try my luck again by asking him for a mobile phone. But obviously he would refuse given my act of insolence is still raw. I will bring it up on a later date.

We finish our breakfast without another word, the story of every morning with Basheer. As we go out on the streets, the wooden doors closing behind us, I yet again wonder at the ,marvelous technology of this house. The street is as usual busy with people going about their business. As I notice burkha clad women passing me, my hand unintentionally reaches my head, touching the corners of the dupatta to see if it's alright.

My innate nature to fit in, has me always adapting to my surroundings immediately. Back in college I always refrained from wearing showy, heavy dresses. I always prefer being in the shadows. The reminder that no one is watching me gives me a weird sense of freedom. It's mainly based on my childhood phobia that someone is always watching me.

"Here" , he says, handing me a blue bag, " It has your white coat. Don't borrow it from anyone."

Ah, the first day I had borrowed it from Dr Nizamuddin.

" How do you know my size?" I ask.

He gives me an incredulous look before drawing a straight face. He doesn't answer, instead turns back and continues to travel back the way to our house.

Did he just come to escort me?

I feel like a kid who is taken to school everyday by her mother.

Oh well, he's just making sure I don't run away.

I roll my eyes at the absurdity. Where would I go running away? I would rather be with Basheer than fucking ISI on my tails and starving on the unknown streets of Pakistan.

As I get in, I notice another man inplace of the previous receptionist, The landlines still here. But, there's no doubt that it's been replaced. I wonder if the previous receptionist got in trouble because of me.

I'm sorry. I apologise to that man though I know it's useless.

I greet the man at the desk before I open the entry copy. My eyes move to my wrist watch which reads 8:00 am, I enter my time of arrival now. I notice the heading on top of the page:

DR NEHALI SINGH.

And somehow the title before my name makes me proud yet again. It's only been a year since I got it, and before I coil fully dwell in it, I was brought here.

This happens to be my first day here, as today is the first entry I make. I wonder if any of it is legal. I don't work here officially. Everything is unofficial, then why the formality? What is the register for? I don't suppose I will be getting any salary here.

I catch the man cast a calculating glance at me. He has a slim build unlike the previous one who was rather obese. This one has sharp eyes and a french cut beard. But his shirt is ordinary, red colour that has slightly faded. His build makes me wonder if he's just a receptionist, or someone kept to keep a watch on me. I might be simply paranoid or I might be right. I better keep a watch out for this guy.

"Assalamualaikum, Dr Singh," Dr Nizamuddin greets me as soon as I get into the hospital.

"Mualaikumsalam," I greet back. I wish they wouldn't always greet me in Urdu, as the Urdu pronunciations come out funny from my mouth.

"Here's your chart, submit the histories of these patients to me." He says before making his way to another man in white coat.

I scan over the chart he handed me before I make my way to the bathroom to put on the white coat. Three are two washrooms on every floor along the staircase, one for patients and another for staff. I heave a relieved sigh as I find the bathroom relatively clean. I put the chart on the bathroom counter as I open the zip to find my white coat.

Adorning the white coat gives me a sense of pride. It fits well and smells of naphthalene. A white coat is the real identity of a doctor, the main ornament to my dress.

All I lack is a stethoscope. It will come to use more than simply checking patients.

I take the chart enclosing it between my hands ready to step out of the bathroom. As I am about to step on the stair I'm pushed backwards by a hard chest , the chart flying off my hands as I land on my butt.

"Hey!" I shriek out. But the man doesn't look back as he hurriedly climbs down the stairs before disappearing from my view. Was he a patient? Perhaps there was an emergency.

"What a rude person!" I mutter frustrated still on the floor. I get up dusting off the dirt off my white coat. I bend to pick up the paper, but my side view catches a paper lying on the floor not so far away.

Should I pick it up?

My curiosity gets the better of me as I pick up the crumpled piece of paper revealing the words:

If you want to break free, meet me at break here itself.

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Author's note:

Here it is. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. The next one will be coming up soon. And its pretty informative.

Don't forget to vote and comment. ♡

Stay safe guys. ♡