Chapter 6

Bilqish’s POV

It’s been two days since the big scary guy told me he was leaving for a week. He hadn’t locked the room after that—just walked out.

But the way he behaved before leaving? That... stayed with me.

From breakfast to dinner, I was provided everything inside the room, but no one answered my questions. Questions like: Who is he? Why am I kidnapped? How powerful must he be to kidnap me and not fear the law?

Every time I remember the scene where he mercilessly killed that guy, a shudder runs through my body. I’m reminded of the chill I felt that day—the helplessness.

The door hasn’t been locked since that day.

And I suppose they don’t need to.

From inside the room, I’ve seen many bodyguards pacing around the house—some standing directly outside my door like I’d vanish into thin air.

Huh. As if.

Ever since the scary guy went away, I’ve been wondering: what if I just stepped out of this room?

Is it a trap? Or am I genuinely allowed to?

I’m losing my mind here. I’ve memorized every curve on the ceiling, fed those four beasts like they’re my children, and counted the number of sparkling tiles on the floor more times than I care to admit.

I have to step out.

Even if it means bringing harm to myself—it’s better than dying of boredom.

"Although I’m an introvert and don’t talk much, Ifra always used to complain about how talkative I am," I said to no one.

"If I stay silent a few more minutes, I think I’ll forget how to speak."

Deciding that going out is the only option, I tiptoed toward the door. Peeking outside and finding no one, I stepped into the hallway.

"Huh? Where’s the person who was guarding this room?" I whispered to myself, scanning the corridor.

Silence greeted me. Not a sound.

I took one step.

Another.

Still breathing.

Before I knew it, I was walking down a hallway that smelled faintly of cologne and polished wood. The tiles beneath my feet were cool, clean, and absurdly expensive-looking.

Who even lives like this?

I passed a few closed doors. One had a keypad—definitely off-limits. The other? Guarded. Full-on, arms-crossed, sunglasses-indoors kind of guarded. I froze and gave an awkward smile.

He didn’t even blink.

"Uh… bathroom?" I tried.

He moved his head slightly, pointing left. I nodded and shuffled away.

"Can’t they speak or do they get paid not to?"

Laughing to myself, I kept exploring. Because—well, why not?

One should be well-informed about their enemies.

Smirking at my own thoughts, I turned a corner. Where was I going? I didn’t know.

Eventually, I found the kitchen.

It was huge—like, five times bigger than my apartment.

The aroma of freshly cooked food hit me, wrapping around me like a warm hug.

It had been so many days since I last cooked anything myself.

A woman in her late thirties looked up, her eyes widening when she saw me.

"You’re… awake," she whispered, nudging the younger girl next to her.

"Uh—yeah. I was just… looking around."

My voice sounded weak, even to my own ears.

She smiled kindly. "You must be hungry. Come, sit."

A chair was pulled out before I could even decline. A warm plate appeared in front of me—dal, rice, and something that looked too pretty to be a vegetable.

"I’m Masiya," she said. "This is Inaaya. We work in the kitchen. You’re safe here, beta."

Beta.

My throat tightened at the word.

"Thank you," I murmured.

Inaaya, the younger one, looked curious. "You shouldn’t go beyond the west wing."

"Why?"

"Orders."

"Whose orders?"

They both went quiet.

Ah. So the big scary guy even controls where I breathe.

I ate in silence, sensing the kitchen workers watching me—saying nothing, but observing everything.

They were kind… but they were monitoring me like I’d done something terrible.

Oh, how ironic. They work for a murderer and I’m the one being watched like a criminal.

I excused myself and started wandering again. But there were guards at every turn.

Tall. Expressionless.

Their eyes followed my every move.

I hadn’t found a single place where I wasn’t being watched.

How would I ever plan an escape like this?

There had to be some place that wasn’t monitored.

It couldn’t be this impossible.

But it was.

I paused near a huge indoor garden with glass ceilings. Sunlight streamed down over marble floors and trimmed hedges.

It was breathtaking.

"You’re braver than I thought."

I spun around, startled—only to find someone standing behind me, looking smug and giving me a stern once-over.

Huh! What had I even done to deserve that look?

They were the ones keeping me here, and still acting like they were the victims?

My life had become a joke.

"And who are you?" I asked, looking up at him.

"Arham," he replied, walking around to stand beside me.

"Why are you here?" I asked, confused.

"I’m Ehtisham’s… uh… friend."

"Ehtisham?"

"You don’t know him? The man who looks like he’ll kill you?"

"Oh. You mean big scary guy. That’s his name? Ehtisham?"

Huh. Such a beautiful name… but the personality?

Tauba tauba.

"You call him big scary guy? Hah! You’re funny."

He started laughing—like, really laughing.

Then he sobered quickly. "Did he allow you to step out of the room?"

"Um… yeah, I guess. That’s why I’m out.

By the way, what does he do?"

He looked at me—then looked away.

"Some questions are better left unanswered. For now, don’t go near the basement. Or the third floor. Just… stay in the safe zones."

"Safe for me, or safe for you?"

He chuckled. "Maybe both."

And then he walked away, leaving me more confused than before.

Author’s POV

Back in Navi Mumbai, in a cozy living room filled with the aroma of chai and a blanket of worry, Ifra sat cross-legged on the floor, fidgeting with the hem of her dupatta.

She hadn’t eaten properly in a week.

Mrs. Raees watched her like a hawk, concern etched into every wrinkle of her face.

Mr. Raees kept pacing the floor like it owed him answers.

"I don’t care if the police won’t file an official case yet," Ifra said, voice cracking. "She’s not the type to disappear for no reason. Something happened. I feel it."

"We believe you," Mr. Raees said softly.

"But what can we do, beta? We have no leads. Just her last known location… and the vague idea that she was shopping alone. There’s no CCTV, no witnesses…"

"Ifra," her foster mother said, placing a hand on her shoulder, "we’ll go there. We’ll search ourselves if we have to."

"And that guy—what was his name? Yeah, Zeeshan?" Mr. Raees asked gently.

"He’s doing everything he can," Ifra said. "He’s asked people he knows—his father has connections. He said he’ll join us tomorrow.

But…" she paused, her throat tightening,

"...what if she’s not even in Mumbai anymore?"

That sentence hung in the air like a thundercloud.

No one responded.

But they all knew: Ifra wasn’t going to stop until Bilqish was found.

And Zeeshan? He had his own reasons to be just as relentless.

Whoever had taken Bilqish had messed with the wrong people.

Even if they couldn’t bring the world to its knees, they wouldn’t stop—

Not until they found her.

Not until she was safe.

Not until she was home.