Preety couldn't sleep that night.
The thought of Tina, her beloved girlfriend, being held captive in some ancient Rajasthani fort by her own father's orders felt like a nightmare written by fate itself. Her heart ached, and her mind buzzed with anxiety, anger, and a silent promise: I will find you, Tina. No matter what it takes.
That same night, when the mansion fell silent and even the guards were dozing off at their posts, Preety made her move.
Dressed in all black, her hair tied up in a tight ponytail, she crept into her father Prem Choudhary's study. The room smelled of cigars, power, and old betrayal. On the desk lay his phone, face down and unlocked, thanks to the sleepy muscle relaxant she had sneaked into his nightly glass of warm milk.
She picked it up with shaking fingers and quickly opened his call logs, messages, and then… jackpot.
There it was. A string of messages exchanged with a mysterious contact saved only as "R.S. Guard Post." Her father had written:
"Keep her in the eastern chamber of the old fort.
Make sure she has everything she asks for, books, food, even music.
But she must not leave.
I don't care if she cries or begs. She stays."
Preety swallowed a scream. Her chest tightened. She took screenshots of everything and mailed it to her own encrypted email, then deleted all traces from the phone.
As she was about to leave, she glanced once more at her father's sleeping form through the crack in the door. A storm of emotions swirled inside her, love, pain, betrayal. But she didn't let it show. She turned away, eyes fierce with purpose.
The next morning, before sunrise, Preety packed a small backpack, disguised herself in a loose hoodie and shades, and snuck out the back gate with the help of her old friend Lala, the only one in the household who knew about Tina and had always supported them silently.
"I hope you know what you're doing," Lala whispered, handing her the bus ticket and a small bundle of cash.
Preety gave a weak smile. "I don't. But I do know who I'm doing it for."
And with that, she boarded the bus to Rajasthan. The sun had barely touched the horizon, casting golden hues over the world. But Preety's eyes were focused, sharp. Every mile she crossed brought her closer to the truth, and to the girl she had promised never to leave behind.
----
The soft glow of morning light crept through the curtains of their Swiss hotel room, painting golden streaks across the bed. Monty's eyelashes fluttered slightly before his eyes opened completely, and he froze.
His cheek was resting on something firm, warm… alive.
Romy's chest.
Monty's body was curled against Romy's, and Romy had him cradled in his arms as if he were the most fragile thing in the world. The steady, soothing rhythm of Romy's heartbeat echoed in Monty's ears, like a secret lullaby only he could hear. The scent of Romy's cologne, woody, musky, intoxicating, lingered in the air, wrapping around Monty like an invisible blanket.
For a moment, Monty forgot everything, Scandals. Betrayal. Pain. Investigations. He only knew the safety of that heartbeat and the comfort of being held like that.
But then—
Romy stirred.
Monty panicked.
Without opening his eyes, he let out a little breath and relaxed his body just enough to seem asleep. Romy shifted gently, lifting his arm from around Monty with the tenderness of a man afraid to wake a sleeping bird. He looked at Monty's face for a second, and a faint, unspoken sadness crossed his eyes, like a man pulling away from something he couldn't have.
You're just sleeping, Romy told himself. This doesn't mean anything. He probably doesn't even know.
And slowly, Romy slipped out of bed, tiptoeing into the bathroom.
As soon as the door closed, Monty opened his eyes.
His fingers curled around the blanket, his heart racing for a reason he couldn't, or maybe didn't want to, name. His body still remembered Romy's warmth, the shape of his arms, the strange sense of belonging. But his mind... his mind was a battlefield.
Why did it feel like home, in his arms?
Why didn't I pull away?
Why do I want that moment back… just a little longer?
His throat tightened. He turned to face the window, blinking away a tear.
Meanwhile, Romy stood under the warm spray of the shower, palms flat on the cold tiles. His eyes were closed, water mixing with the silent storm within.
"Why does he still feel like mine… when he never was?"