“I trust your gut, bro.” He says, after a beat of silence. No questions, no doubt in his voice. Something in my chest steadies just a fraction. “Let’s meet at mine,” he continues. “We’ll figure this out properly. I’ll call Rudra too.”
I nod, even though he can’t see it. “Yeah.”
“We’ll get to the bottom of it,” he adds, quieter now.
“I know.”
And I do. Because if there’s one thing about us—We don’t let things go when they matter. And this? This matters.
“Give me an hour,” he says.
“I’ll be there.”
The call ends. I drop my phone on the desk and lean back in my chair, staring at the ceiling for a long moment. My mind doesn’t quiet. If anything, it sharpens. Because now that I’ve said it out loud—Now that someone else knows—It feels more real. More deliberate. Her voice echoes in my head.
I felt like someone had been inside my house.
At the time, I brushed it off. Didn’t want to feed into her fear.
But now—Now it lines up too well. Too cleanly. My hand curls into a fist against the armrest. This isn’t coincidence. This isn’t bad luck. Someone is watching her. Or was.
And the thought of that—of someone getting close enough to touch her life like that—makes something dark settle in mychest. I push myself up from the chair abruptly. I can’t sit still. I move to the window, staring out at the city below, but I don’t really see it. All I see is her. Her face when she realized the car wouldn’t stop. Her voice when she said she didn’t want to die like that.
The way she said—
I don’t want to lose you too.
My throat tightens. I drag a hand through my hair, exhaling sharply.
No. We’re not doing that. She’s fine. She’s safe. At my house. With Ma hovering over her like she’s been waiting her whole life to adopt her.
A faint, unwilling smile pulls at my mouth.
I can already picture it.
Ma feeding her like she hasn’t eaten in days.
Ishika pretending to be annoyed but not actually pulling away. Letting herself be taken care of.
That thought—That image—does something to me. Softens the edges just enough to breathe. But it doesn’t last.
Because underneath it all—there’s still this. This unease. This certainty.
I pick up my phone again.
Open our chat.
Her last message is from an hour ago.
Sunshine:Your mother is trying to feed me for the third time in thirty minutes.
I huff out a quiet laugh. Type back before I can overthink it.
Me:Eat it. She’ll take it personally otherwise.
Three dots appear almost immediately.
Sunshine:I am being held hostage.
