Scared: Trapped For Infinity | 18+

~Her Fate.~

“Men are so simple and so much inclined to obey immediate needs that a deceiver will never lack victims for his deceptions.”

- Niccolò Machiavelli

************

If her fate had a scent, it smelled of blood tonight.

If her fate had a voice, it was the nearing sound of his footsteps tonight --- slow and patient, not in any hurry.

If her fate had a laugh, it was a mocking chuckle tonight, so terrifyingly close.

If her fate had a heartbeat, it beat along with her own tonight --- wild, hopeless, and so scared.

And, if her fate had a touch, tonight, it was the cold sensation of steel against her skin --- the lock, the knife, or his approaching presence, her mind was confusing it all.

Shrvaya’s hands trembled around the knife, knuckles white, breath heavy and quivering, fast and uneven, as if trying to leave her body and escape before she herself could.

The kitchen back door - it was her only escape.

But the lock kept it locked. That damned lock.

She jammed the knife into it again and again, hopeless prayers leaving her mouth with each second and pleading.

“Please. . . .”

She shoved her shoulder into the door, twisting and clawing, but nothing was working.

Tears kept flowing out of her eyes.

He was near. She could tell. The kitchen had no door.

She shoved the knife in one last time, screaming and crying. “Please!!”

Soon, the blade slipped out of her grasp and fell to the floor, just like her hope.

While behind her, someone stepped into the kitchen. Not violently, not loudly. Calmly. Unavoidable, like death instead.

And Shravya turned around with nothing in her hands but fear in her eyes.

--------------------(A few hours ago)--------------------

(Bengaluru, Karnataka - India)

“...Grover isn’t elected. He’s selected. By water shortages. By data monopolies. By desperation.”

The voice of the YouTuber was hushed and weak, speaking a secret while sitting inside the protection of the four walls of his house.

The tablet in which the video was playing was comfortably supported on the desk, against a cup of tea that had gone cold by now as Zaid watched that content creator bicker on and on inside the device.

He was sitting alone in the principal’s office, barely blinking, legs crossed, one polished shoe reflecting the lights overhead.

The video went on, flowing with a silent urgency, but Zaid had already stopped listening to most of it. Boring.

He wasn’t here to hear YouTube confessions anyway.

He was here to be idolized.

Outside the office, a hubbub of schoolchildren and the beating of drums could be heard. Waiting for him, a celebration was just being held beyond the office’s enamelled door: Nation Builders’ Day - a day that had more importance to the banners than to the children. And Zaid was its guest of the hour.

“...once you own water, medicine, data, and transport, the question is no longer ‘Who will stop him?’ but ‘Can we survive without him?’”

He smiled at that.

But it was the kind of smile that never touched anything closer to warmth. It curled like smoke in the air - graceful and hazy. Something that comes after burning, after destruction.

With a deliberate click, he liked the video before turning it off; he liked it because at least some of that guy’s nonsense was true to some extent.

It’s not like the guy had conspired a theory too horrible for Zaid’s reality. No, it was actually the opposite. The reality was far more appalling than what was said.

Reality was always crueler than fiction.

For a while, he eased back in the antique chair, letting his coal-black eyes close for a little second longer, as if savoring the sound of his own name wavering through the clash of drumbeats.

Then suddenly, the door opened and the principal entered in a hesitant yet half-run stance, already sweating.

That man dabbed his forehead with a floral handkerchief that smelled vaguely of if-nervousness-had-a-cologne. “Sir! So sorry to keep you waiting. The press is ready. Students are all set. If you’re ready, we can-”

“Yes.” Zaid stood up, cutting him off in between and adjusting his coat where a platinum-threaded monogram of ZG peeked from his cuff. “I’m ready.”

He picked up nothing, leaving the tablet where it was on the table as the principal led him through the school hallways, apologizing again and again that Zaid hardly paid any succour.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

At the doors of the auditorium, Rudra was waiting --- Zaid’s second in command, one of the most loyal when it came to the name Grover. And a skillful man who always stayed a few steps behind the storm like Zaid, sometimes even in front when needed.

Pausing beside him, Zaid slowly tilted his head, voice low enough for only Rudra to catch, who leaned his head to listen. “Tablet. On the desk, there is a video. Something viral. Not urgent. But interesting.”

“What do you want done?”

“Trace origin. Let that blind f*cker scream a little more before deletion. He’s wasting my name for mostly a bunch of lies,” adding further with a scoff, Zaid swiftly entered the hall, the principal following closely.

Inside, the space was already crackling with applause, cameras flashing, children who understood the world of power and money screaming his name, parents standing, while the host on the stage, the young head boy, announced in a held-back, trembling voice:

“Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome the man who is redefining India’s future - philanthropist, innovator, and our guest of honor, Zaid Singh Grover!"

A thousand eyes stared only at him as he walked to the stage, each step meeting the floor like nightfall arrives on earth every time --- assured, precise, and filled with inevitable meanings only the stars in the sky could understand.

At the podium, a microphone was already set. Stopping behind it, he didn’t look at his notes, as there were none. So, he just waited until the applause faded completely --- not by any gesture, but through standing still.

Silence always obeyed and followed power.

“Good morning,” he spoke, voice smooth and phlegmatic. “I see before me --- the youth. Bright. Disciplined. Dreaming.”

“You are India’s future, that’s what they say. But let me correct that. You are India’s material. Its foundation. And foundations aren’t meant to fly. They stay. They hold.”

He looked out at the children, at the teachers, at the parents - at the future.

Ah, and what a fragile, combustible thing it was.

“At Grover Industries, we don’t believe in charity. We believe in design. Systems. Balance.” He let those words settle home as his eyes locked with a boy in the front row. “Because hope without architecture, control, is just noise. We didn’t just build systems. We built skeletons. So that the body of this nation could stand upright.”

Somewhere in the back row, a girl held up her phone to record him.

“I have always believed that what is visible...is rarely the most powerful. The wind moves cities. But the wind cannot be seen.”

And he smiled, slowly, beautifully. Like the moon finally showing its full face after hiding behind the charade of clouds --- or like a beautiful predator baring his fangs before the crowd of blinds.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The night was darker tonight, the one that once might have been cursed to bear the complete absence of the moon or any light.

Zaid was no star gazer, no moon lover; that’s why the screen of his tablet mattered more and the drapes on his room’s window remained shut.

A cup of lavender tea was set on the table before him as he finally tossed the device on the bed after confirming the highlight of tomorrow’s schedule: it was a meeting with a foreign minister.

Barefoot, he stepped over the sofa and settled in, a towel resting around his neck, hair damp, and the shirt of his black pajamas clinging to his freshly showered body like a woman in heat would.

Rubbing the towel against his head, he was just about to reach for the tea when the knock came. Thrice. Calm - it was his third in command and Rudra’s twin, Raghav’s sign. It meant importance.

“Yes?” Zaid called, and Raghav entered with a gray file in hand.

He placed it on the table. “She’s back, sir.”

And that was all it took to have Zaid’s attention. All of it. “When?”

“This morning, Shimla. She got married,” Raghav answered. “No return tickets booked as of now. But likely leaving by dawn.”

“Call the pilot. I’ll be leaving shortly.” The calmness that settled in Zaid’s tone was uncanny as he picked up his teacup, peering at the file while Raghav left with a curt nod.

“Married? What a joke,” his lips curled, not as in a smile, but as in vexation. Displeased.

Taking a small sip from the cup, he pulled the file toward him, opened it, and the first thing that appeared inside was her photograph.

Shravya.

His thumb brushed against it gently, his mind memorizing the changes.

“How brave of you, Sona.”

He chuckled, mirth not accompanying it but rather a sinister sound of a starving man who had just seen a naive fish slipping out of the ocean and decided that it’s the next meal.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

(Shimla, Himachal Pradesh - India)

The bangles made clinging sounds as if protesting against leaving her wrists while Shrvaya kept on sliding them off. Slowly, one after another.

Her bridal saree had been removed long ago, now resting inside her suitcase with the other clothes. Ready to be carried back to London the next day.

After placing all the jewelry carefully in the jewelry box, Shravya put on her robe, staring at her reflection a little bit before looking away quickly.

She didn’t want to see herself, not yet.

Not tonight, especially not in this in-between moment where the bride with her red saree had vanished but the wife hadn’t fully arrived --- after all, at the end she was a hesitant girl when it came to intimacy of this kind.

As she tied the robe’s sash in a double knot, her gaze decelerated over her wedding ring. It fit her finger so perfectly.

Her eyes caressed the gold tenderly, lips pulling together into a soft smile as she kissed it before walking downstairs, barefoot.

The house was mostly dark, except for the light coming from the living room.

Her fingers brushed the wall as she walked, knowing this place would hold memories for her now. She entered this place as a married woman.

In the living room, Aayush was settled on the couch, the sleeves of his kurta folded up to his elbows as he stared at the file in his hand, a pen in the other, eyes narrowed with concentration.

He was probably reading his patients’ medical reports. Working again with a warm cup of coffee just nearby.

His glasses almost slipped down his nose as he wrote something in that file, still not noticing her presence, too absorbed in whatever that report held.

“You’re going to ruin your eyes,” Shravya said, words carrying drowsiness of sleep.

Aayush looked up immediately, smiling softly. “I already did. That’s what these are for,” he spoke, tapping his glasses. “You’re still up?”

Nodding, Shravya walked over to him and picked up the coffee mug, taking a sip. As expected, it was bitter and strong, exactly how he liked it when he planned to work till late.

“You can’t stay awake all night,” she murmured against the cup’s rim and took another sip, sitting down beside him. “We have a flight to catch tomorrow.”

“Oh yeah. Almost forgot.” Aayush leaned back, putting his file away along with his glasses. “We can stay a few more days, if you want.”

Biting the inside of her cheek, Shravya looked at the coffee, deliberately shaking her head. “No, it’s alright. I just wanted to get married here. This city holds memories. But still I don’t feel like staying anymore. I don’t know, but suddenly it feels uneasy.”

“Uneasy? Are you alright, love?” Aayush pulled her closer, arm wrapping around her shoulder while placing the back of his other hand on her forehead to check her temperature.

“Don’t worry, I’m not sick.” Shravya chuckled, nuzzling against his hand. “It’s just everything still seems like a dream. You know, all of this. This house, our marriage - it’s beautiful. Dreamy. That’s why it’s scaring me.”

“It’s real. As real as my coffee and my medical reports here.” He brushed her hair back behind her ear, a finger caressing the side of her face. “Don’t worry yourself like that.”

“What a weird assurance, Mr. Surgeon. Couldn’t you find any better comparison?” She laughed, pretending to bite his finger when he poked her mouth.

“The comparisons were logical, okay. I’m a logical person, after all.” Raising an eyebrow, he took the cup from her, taking a sip himself.

“Yes, sir. Please throw away this odd logic, sir.” Letting out a huff, Shravya rested her head against his shoulder. He smelled like coffee and that strange sterileness all doctors seem to naturally wear.

“You know,” she spoke, staring up at his jaw. “When I was a kid, I used to think marriage was like a magic door. You step through it, and suddenly you become... different. Someone who suddenly knows how to live better.”

“And now?” He asked. She could tell by his tone that it was amusing him.

“Now I think,” she hummed thoughtfully. “It’s just another room. And you have to clean it yourself.”

And Aayush laughed at that. “And you say I talk odd. It’s a match, Shravya. Someone strange for strange.”

“Shut up. I mean it.” Shravya groaned, narrowing her eyes up at him. The dim lamplight was turning his features soft, like a sketch drawn with a pencil of warm sugar syrup.

“Okay, okay.” Laughing again, he looked down at her. “I’ll vacuum if you do the dishes.”

“Deal.” She grinned, pulling her legs up on the sofa to curl herself into his embrace.

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Q - How was the chapter guys?

Updates will be twice or thrice a week, as to update I need to do some final editing before that takes time and depending on my schedule I’m sure it’s going to take time (I’m lazy and sometimes busy as hell 😇)

Anyway, take care till then.

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