Oh My Devil

Sometimes it feels like dreams and reality are only a single moment apart…

But when reality turns out more terrifying than the dream, even opening your eyes feels like night.

Mayra’s eyelids were heavy. As she tried to open them, a dull throb pulsed at the back of her skull. The mattress she was lying on was nothing like the simple cot in her middle-class home. It was impossibly soft — silk sheets — and the room carried an unfamiliar scent, the low but commanding drift of an expensive, dark perfume. She opened her eyes slowly. The sight in front of her stopped her breath for a full second and made her heart skip a beat.

This was not her room. This was not her world.

She bolted upright. She was still wearing the same white-and-blue floral dress she had chosen with so much love, standing in front of the mirror again and again, picking it out just for him.

“Kabir…” A sob escaped her lips before she even realised it.

She looked around in a panic. The room was so enormous that her entire apartment could have fit inside it. The floor was polished Italian marble, and the thin sliver of light slipping through the curtains fell on it like a strip of ice. The walls were covered in dark wallpaper; a vintage chandelier hung from the ceiling, its glass drops looking like frozen tears. Heavy dark-blue velvet curtains draped the windows — there was no way of telling whether it was morning or afternoon outside. The furniture was old-fashioned but extravagant, carved from teak.

“Where am I? How did I get here? And… where is Kabir?” Mayra muttered to herself. Her voice was shaking, and the fear in it bounced off the walls and came straight back at her.

She remembered the previous evening. A light drizzle had been falling outside. She’d been standing in front of the coffee shop with an umbrella in one hand and her phone in the other. Kabir’s message had flashed on the screen — “I’m here, Mayra… just turn around.” She had turned with a smile — and then nothing. Just darkness. A strange smell. And then, unconsciousness.

“My phone!” Mayra climbed off the bed. The marble underfoot was ice-cold, sending shivers up through her. She searched around the bed, on the table, everywhere. Her purse was gone. Her phone was gone. The only thread that connected her to Kabir had been ruthlessly cut.

Her eyes filled with tears. But this was no time to cry. She needed to get out of here. Kabir must be waiting for her. He must be worried.

Heart hammering, she walked to the grand teak door. Her hand trembled. She gently turned the handle. Surprisingly, it wasn’t locked. It opened with a soft click.

The moment she stepped outside, her eyes went wide. This wasn’t some ordinary bungalow — it was a vada. Not a crumbling old mansion, but a fortress, as impenetrable as the palace of a conquering king. The Saranjame Vada. She didn’t know the name yet, but the sheer authority of the place was embedded in every stone and beam.

Soaring ceilings supported by thick black-stone pillars, each carved with such precision they could have been temple columns. At the far end, a wide, sweeping wooden staircase led downward. Flanking it on both walls were large oil paintings — portraits of men whose eyes carried a cold kind of cruelty and discipline.

Mayra started down the stairs. The mansion was so quiet she could hear her own breathing. This was not a peaceful silence — it was the silence before a storm. Suffocating.

At the bottom, she found the vast sitting room. One entire wall was glass, looking out onto the grounds. Outside, rain was pouring in sheets, and in the middle of it, guards in black uniforms stood motionless — umbrellas in one hand, rifles in the other.

A cold dread gripped her chest. This was no ordinary house. This was a fortress — a Lanka — that no one could penetrate. And she was trapped inside it.

“Kabir… please… save me, Kabir…” Her lips trembled. Kabir’s voice — soft as poetry — echoed in her mind. How gentle he was. How understanding. And this place? This place was his exact opposite. Merciless, cold, terrifying.

And then… she heard it. Heavy, measured, deliberate footsteps. Tap… tap… Like a warning bell. A cold shiver ran straight down her spine.

She turned toward the sound.

A figure was walking toward her from the far end of the room. Tall. Powerfully built. A crisp black shirt, sleeves rolled up to the elbows. His face wore a calm that was more dangerous than any storm. A faint beard, a sharp nose — and those eyes. Those eyes were so dark and piercing they could read straight through a person’s soul.

This was Ranveer Saranjame.

He stopped in front of the large leather sofa. He had a mug of black coffee in one hand. He took a sip. He wasn’t looking at Mayra directly, and yet his complete attention was on her. His very presence was so overwhelming that the air in the enormous room suddenly felt thinner.

“Finally awake…” His voice. Deep, calm — but terrifying beneath the surface. There was no warmth in it. No sympathy at all.

Mayra stepped back two paces. Her feet felt rooted to the floor. “You… who are you? Why am I here? Why have you brought me here?” She gathered every scrap of courage she had to ask — but her voice was still shaking.

Ranveer completely ignored her questions. He settled onto the sofa with absolute ease, crossed one leg over the other, and set his coffee mug on the glass side table. Then he fixed those piercing dark eyes on her face.

There was no lust in his gaze. Not even a fraction. There was only ownership. Like a hunter watching a beautiful bird that has flown into his cage.

“Who gave you permission to ask questions?” Ranveer asked, his voice slow and razor-sharp. His words moved through the air like the crack of a whip.

“Permission? I don’t need your permission!” Anger flared in Mayra suddenly. Her fear was turning into rage. “Where is my phone? I need to call Kabir. He’ll be waiting for me. You can’t just kidnap me like this! This is a crime!”

At the name “Kabir”, a vein in Ranveer’s jaw flickered almost imperceptibly — but he kept his face completely neutral. He rose from the sofa and walked toward her with slow, measured steps.

As he drew closer, that dark perfume — the same one Mayra had smelled when she first woke up — grew stronger. He was much taller than her. When he finally stood in front of her, she had to tilt her head up to meet his eyes.

“A crime?” Ranveer gave a faint smile, but there was only cruelty in it. “Inside this threshold, I decide what is a crime and what is justice. Because I am the king of this Lanka, Mayra Barve. And here, only my word counts.”

Mayra’s breath caught. How did he know her full name?

“My name… how do you…?”

“I know everything about you.” Ranveer held her gaze. “Your likes, your habits, your so-called ‘Kabir’… all of it.”

“He is not so-called!” Mayra shouted. Tears were streaming down her face now. “He was there! He came to meet me. You took me away from him. You’re a… a monster!”

Ranveer looked at her. Her anger, her tears — none of it landed on him. He stood like stone. To him, her tears were just water drops — things that had no value in his world.

“A monster? No.” Ranveer said calmly. “I am your fate. And no one can stop fate. Not you, and not your Kabir.”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a phone. Her phone.

“My phone! Give it to me!” Mayra lunged forward to grab it, but Ranveer caught her wrist in one smooth motion. His grip was iron-hard, but he hadn’t applied enough force to actually hurt her. He was the Ravan — but he had never crossed a line with Sita.

He released her wrist and, right in front of her, hurled the phone onto the marble floor. CRACK. The sound of shattering glass rang through the silent room. Shards scattered across the marble.

Mayra looked down. The last thread connecting her to Kabir’s world was gone forever. She sank to the floor right there and, staring at the broken screen, wept.

“Why… why are you doing this? What did I ever do to you? Oh my God… what kind of a devil are you?”

Ranveer watched her for a moment. Then he crouched — not to comfort her, but to bring his lips close to her ear and murmur in a voice as cold as winter stone:

“God isn’t coming here to save you, Mayra. So if you want to pray, get used to a new god. Welcome to your new life.”

He stood, and walked away on those heavy, deliberate footsteps. Mayra sat on the cold marble. The rain outside seemed even more brutal than before. Alone in this stranger’s fortress, in the grip of this merciless man, she was completely and utterly alone. She thought of Kabir. His jasmine-like warmth, the words he had sent her — and here, in reality, there was only this… fate.