As soon as I stepped out of the jewelry shop, the slight weight of the brown envelope in my purse felt much heavier than ₹50,000. My heart beat just a little faster, but I kept reminding myself—it’s for Angad... it’s worth it. I tightened my grip on my bag, tucking the envelope securely inside the inner compartment of my purse.

Black Crown wasn’t far. Barely 2 kilometers. I could have taken an auto, but somehow the walk felt necessary—like I needed the breeze to cool the tension running through my veins. With every step, I repeated in my head what I’d tell Eshank sir if—no, when—he asked me why I disappeared for an hour mid-work.

The moment the massive, intimidating gates of Black Crown Industries came into view, I felt both a sense of dread and relief. This place was my workplace. My battlefield. My home. And right now, the one place I had to protect that envelope from prying eyes.

I greeted the gate guard with a tight smile, "Sat shri akaal, uncle ji," and he opened the outer gate for me. I stepped into the forecourt after thanking him.

The building entrance came next—and so did the routine. 

"Show me your ID, ma'am," one of the guards said, like clockwork.

I rolled my eyes playfully and pulled out my ID from my purse. "Main toh roz yahan aati hoon, kaam karti hoon… Aur aap roz hi check karne baith jaate ho. Kyun, veer ji?"

(I come here every day and work here... and you sit down to check every day. Why, Veer Ji?)

One of the younger guards said with a grim face. "It's our duty, ma'am... you know the protocol."

Jaisa boss, vaise employee. Matlab seriously, yahan koi normal human ki smile tak nahi karta. Sab ke sab uss Akdu Rai Singhania ki trah stoic expression rakhte hain. Jaise smile karenge, toh cheeks mein pain hoga inke.

(Like the boss, like the employee. Like seriously, no normal human here even smiles. All of them maintain a stoic expression like that Akdu Rai Singhania. If they smile, they will have pain in their cheeks.)

I gave them my best nonchalant shrug, fully aware of the chaos boiling just beneath my calm. But then came the dreaded words.

"Bag check karaiye, ma'am."

(Let us check the bag, ma'am.)

And I froze.

My hand involuntarily clutched my purse tighter, like a child holding onto a secret. If they opened the bag and saw the envelope—50,000 rupees in cash—what would they think? Worse, what would Eshank sir think? He already thinks I’m a walking disaster. This would be the cherry on the sabotage cake.

I forced a smile. "Arey, kyun check karna, veer ji? Main koi bomb leke thodi aayi hoon. Ittu sa toh bag hai mera."

(Hey, why check it, Veer ji? I am not carrying any bomb. It is just my bag.)

The senior guard didn’t budge. "Ma’am, please... It’s mandatory. Sabka bag check hota hai. Please cooperate."

(Ma'am, please... It's a mandatory. We check everyone's bag. Please cooperate.)

"I won’t," I said, my voice firmer than I expected. "Don’t you know who I am? Main Advik Veer Ji ki behen hoon… aapke boss ki behen. Let me go inside."

(Don't you know who I am? I am Advik's sister... your boss's sister. Let me go inside.)

"Kyunki agar Veer Ji ko pata laga ki aapne mujhe roka toh Veer Ji..."

(Because if Veer Ji comes to know that you stopped me, then Veer Ji...)

That made them hesitate.

But duty clashed with fear—and duty won.

"Ma'am, boss ke hi orders hain. Sabki checking hogi. Without checking, no one is allowed inside the building. Bags or anything you carry will be checked." The guard replied, eyes apologetic but resolute.

(Ma'am, these are orders from the boss. Everyone will be checked. Without checking, no one is allowed inside the building. Bags or anything you carry will be checked.)

Before I could think, they snatched my bag. My heart jumped into my throat.

"Aap log pagal ho gaye ho kya?!" I shouted as they emptied my purse onto the desk. Lip balm. Notepad. My keys. Pen drive. Hair clip. And then...

(Have you guys gone crazy?)

The brown envelope.

My breath hitched.

They reached for it—and that’s when instinct took over. I lunged forward and snatched it back, clutching it to my chest.

"Yeh nahi! Yeh confidential hai!" I snapped. 

(Not this! This is confidential!)

I did not understand anything else. How could I stop them from checking the envelope? So I lied that it was confidential. If I had not told this, then definitely they would have seen the money, and then these guards would have told about this to Arrogant Lamba Khaba and Veer Ji, and then both of them would have asked, How did I get the money? Why do I have so much money?

"But ma’am, we still need to—"

"Kaha na, confidential hai!" My voice was sharp, my hands trembling slightly.

(I told you, it's confidential!)

And then... like divine intervention, I saw Rivan Veer Ji walking past. My heart leapt. I called out like a drowning person calling a lifeguard.

"Rivan veerji! Dekhiye naa! Yeh log mujhe andar jaane nahi de rahe!"

(Rivan Veerji! Look! These people are not letting me go inside)

He turned, brows furrowed. "Kyun rok rahe ho inhe?" he asked the guards, approaching us.

(Why are you stopping them?)

"Ma’am, envelope check nahi karva rahi," the guard explained hesitantly.

(Mam is not letting us check the envelope.)

I looked at Rivan with pleading eyes. "Veerji, confidential papers hain. Mr. Rai Singhania ne bola hai mujhe unko direct dena hai. Agar check karwa diya toh woh mujhe zinda gaad denge!" I wasn’t even exaggerating. Eshank sir would lose it if I made even a half-step out of line.

(Veerji, these are confidential papers. Mr. Rai Singhania has told me to give them to him directly. If I get them checked, he will bury me alive!)

Rivan paused for a moment, then looked at the guards.

"Let her go," he said. "Don’t bother her."

The guards immediately backed off. I let out the biggest sigh of relief, offering a soft "Thank you, veerji..." as I quickly gathered the rest of my things and shoved them back into my bag, the envelope buried deep.

Only the last check was left. It was the full-body scanner.

Veer ji and I, turn by turn, crossed the full-body scanner, and it didn't beep. So finally, after all this checking drama, we entered the main building.

Veer ji pushed open the glass door and signaled me to enter first, saying, "After you." I gave him a small smile as I entered.

As soon as Veer ji and I reached the lobby, I went towards the stairs, and to my surprise, Veer ji also came with me. I looked at him confused.

As if sensing my confusion, he smiled a little and said in a concerned voice, "I know you are claustrophobic. Let’s take the stairs. Anyways, there is no fun in going to the lift."

I smiled a little, and my eyes got a little teary. I nodded my head and, I took the stairs with Veer ji. 

As we climbed the stairs, Rivan Veer Ji glanced at me.

"Sab theek hai na, Avleen?" he asked gently.

(Everything alright, Avleen?)

I nodded a little too quickly. "Haan ji, Veer Ji, sab theek hai." Lies. But necessary ones.

(Yes, brother, everything is alright.)

As we stepped on the first floor.

"Avleen," Rivan said, pausing near the hallway, "Eshank sir ne bola tha—tumhara aur mera cabin shift ho gaya hai. First floor pe hai ab. Tum seedha unke cabin mein jao aur meeting agenda check kar lo. Jab tak boss aate hain, wahan kaam kar lo."

(Eshank sir had said, your and my cabin has been shifted. It is on the first floor now. You go straight to his cabin and check the meeting agenda. Till the boss comes, you work there.)

My stomach twisted at the thought of stepping into his cabin. That space felt like the lion’s den. But I nodded.

"Thik hai, veerji. Thanks again."

(Okay, Veer Ji)

I watched him disappear down the hallway before turning to look towards the cabin of the man who could make or break me—Eshank Rai Singhania.

I looked around the floor and noticed the difference immediately. The cabins here were more spacious—sleek and elegant, a mirror to the ones on the 30th floor—but with one major change. One entire wall of each cabin was glass. Transparent. Exposed. It was a strange feeling, like even our thoughts could be seen here.

I sighed to myself. Why did he shift things so suddenly? Nothing in Black Crown happened without a reason. And Eshank Rai Singhania never did anything without an intention behind it.

With the envelope still tucked deep in my purse like a ticking time bomb.

I walked to my new cabin, pushed the door open, and sat heavily on the chair. The brown envelope in my bag felt like it was burning a hole through the leather. Without even realizing, my hands moved to my face, and I hid my eyes behind my palms. And then, it all spilled out.

Tears.

Tears for the anklets I mortgaged this morning—my mother’s wedding anklets.

The last piece of her that I held onto with pride… gone. Mortgaged. And for whom? For Angad. Because he needed to be admitted tomorrow. Because time was running out. Because the hospital doesn’t run on emotions, it runs on money. 

My shoulders trembled as I silently cried, careful not to make a sound, not to draw attention. I wanted to scream—to break something. But I couldn’t. I wasn’t allowed that privilege.

After a few minutes, I forced myself to calm down. I took a deep breath, wiped my tears with the back of my hand, and quickly went to the restroom. I splashed cold water on my face until it stung. I scrubbed away every trace of vulnerability, patted my cheeks dry, and looked at myself in the mirror.

"Nothing happened," I whispered to my reflection.

"Smile, Avleen. Smile and survive."

I walked out as if I hadn’t broken down just moments ago. Reaching my cabin, I picked up my laptop and purse and went to Eshank Sir’s cabin, telling the guard posted nearby, "I have to work from inside. Sir told me to check the meeting agenda."

He nodded, and I entered quietly.

The space smelled of him—crisp, intimidating, sharp. His chair was vacant. I moved towards the table, saw the agenda papers lying neatly on the right side, picked them up, and settled on the couch. My laptop on my lap, fingers typing—but my mind elsewhere.

I kept glancing at the envelope in my purse.

Will this be enough?

Will they admit Angad without asking questions?

What if they don’t?

The sound of the door unlocking snapped me out of the spiral. I straightened immediately, wiping the last bit of dampness from my lashes.

Eshank Rai Singhania walked in. As always—crisp black shirt, sleeves folded at his forearms, expression unreadable. He didn’t even glance at me initially, just closed the door behind him, and the room filled with silence.

I stood up and greeted him quietly, "Good afternoon, Mr. Rai Singhania."

No chirpiness. No sass. No awkward fumbling. Just me—quiet and heavy-hearted.

He gave me a quick look, nodding slightly, and he curtly replied, "Morning."

I picked up a file to hand it to him and walked over—but a sharp pain shot through my left foot. I winced and tried to hide it, adjusting my limp. But of course, he noticed.

"What happened to your foot?" he asked, his tone sharp and immediate.

I forced a small smile and waved my hand casually. "Oh, that? Just my usual clumsiness, sir. I tripped. Nothing major."

He stared at me for a moment longer. That unnerving stare that made you feel like he saw everything, even what you tried so hard to hide.

I sighed in relief when he didn’t probe further. Because how could I explain? That I went to an NGO this morning, humiliated myself begging for help, and they refused. That I was thrown out… And in the rush, I twisted my ankle on the stairs outside their gate. No sympathy, no answers—just rejection and pain.

I was still lost in those thoughts when I heard him call me.

"Avleen."

I didn’t respond. My ears heard him, but my brain... didn’t. Until he said again, this time sharply, "Avleen."

I blinked, startled, snapping out of my head. “Yes, sir?”

“Kapoor file.”

I nodded and rushed to bring the file, my mind fogged, my focus scattered. I picked one and handed it to him quickly.

He took it, opened it… and just stared. One eyebrow arched.

That look.

That made it look like I was some alien being who had wandered in from the wrong planet.

I glanced at the file… and my stomach dropped.

Wrong one.

"Oops, mujhe lagta hai mera dimaag ghaas charne gya hai." I said, laughing lightly, trying to hide my nervousness. I quickly reached to take that wrong file back. "I will grab the Kapoor one." 

His voice was lower now but laced with steel. “What’s wrong with you today?”

I paused. For a second, I thought I might actually tell him.

That I was breaking inside. That I was failing. That I was running out of time and strength.

But instead, I smiled that same tired smile.

"Nothing, sir. You are thinking too much."

He didn’t believe me.

I knew he didn’t.

But thankfully, he didn’t press either.

And I, once again, survived another moment where I almost shattered.

I handed him the correct file this time and stepped back quietly, avoiding eye contact. My fingers gripped the edge of my laptop as if that would hold me together. I expected silence from him—or maybe a sarcastic remark about my ‘efficiency.’ But what I didn’t expect…

Was what came next.

He leaned back in his chair slowly, fingers tented, jaw ticking with restrained annoyance—or was it something else?

And then, in that same deep, unreadable tone he always used, he said:

"Am I?"

My eyes snapped up to his face.

His voice was cold—but laced with something that didn’t belong there. Concern?

"You didn’t hear me the first two times. You brought me the wrong file. And you’re dragging your damn foot like it’s not screaming in pain."

My breath hitched.

I blinked, stunned.

He had noticed.

Not just noticed—he had kept track. He had watched. He had seen me.

And for a moment, I nearly broke.

My throat ached with words I couldn’t say. My eyes burned. My chest rose with the pressure I had shoved deep for hours.

But I didn’t cry.

Instead, I did the only thing I knew how to do when I was about to fall apart—I joked.

I gave a short, soft chuckle and said, "If it makes you feel better, I promise... main itni jaldi aapko pareshan karna nahi chhodungi.” I tilted my head slightly and added with a half-smile, “You’re just lucky today. I’m not in the mood to trouble you."

(I promise I won't stop bothering you so soon.)

It was weak—my version of fake sass.

And I knew he didn’t buy it.

He looked at me like he could see right through the mask. Like he knew I wasn’t fine—but he didn’t know how to ask.

I turned quickly before I could crumble under that gaze and headed toward the door. My foot still throbbed, but I didn’t dare limp in front of him again.

Just as I reached the threshold, something struck me—something that had been itching in the back of my head since I arrived on the new floor.

I turned slightly, just enough for my voice to carry back to him.

"Sir?" I asked.

He didn’t look up from the file.

"Why did you shift floors?"

There was a pause—just for a beat—before he answered without looking at me.

"For my convenience."

That was it.

Simple. Cold. Dismissive.

But it didn’t sit right.

I studied the line of his jaw, the flick of his pen over the page, and the way he deliberately avoided looking at me.

Something about his tone said otherwise. Something said this wasn’t just about ‘convenience.’
But I wasn’t in a state to question further.

So I just nodded once, swallowing the hundred questions that rose in my throat.

“Oh... samjhi,” I murmured quietly.

Like I hadn’t just been seen more clearly by the one man I had spent weeks trying to hide from.

Just as I was about to cross the threshold of his cabin, his voice rang out again—sharp and demanding.

"I want a coffee, Miss Avleen. Now."

I paused mid-step, hiding the flicker of exhaustion on my face, and nodded without turning back.

"Of course, Mr. Rai Singhania needs his fuel." I tried to reply to him with my usual sass to avoid his suspiciousness.

I walked out quickly, not because I was in a hurry to obey—but because standing in that room any longer would’ve cracked the shield I was holding with my last ounce of strength.

As I made my way to the pantry, my thoughts swirled like a storm.

49,50,560 Rs left to arrange. But how? Who will help me now? It's such a huge amount; who will give it to me without any mortgage? I don't even have anything left to use as collateral. The most precious thing, jiska koi mol nahi, jo amol hai, usse toh main already de chukki hoon. Ab kuch nahi hai mere pass.

(The most precious thing, which has exceptional value, I have already given away that thing. Now I have nothing.)

The NGO didn’t help. No institution had responded. No one wanted to assist a girl with no ‘background’ trying to get her disabled brother admitted. Just charity cases, one-time prescriptions, or long waiting lists.

I reached the pantry, and my hands began moving out of habit—boiling water, scooping coffee—but my mind was elsewhere entirely. My stomach churned at the thought of going to the hospital later. I had to pay the deposit today for Angad's admission tomorrow. A private ward, proper supplies, and a clean room—that’s what he deserved. Not a dark, crumbling government bed with flickering lights and no dignity.

I walked back toward his cabin, coffee in hand, bracing myself for another round of cold comments. I entered and quietly placed the mug on his desk.

He picked it up and took a sip.

I waited, half-turned to leave.

But then... he paused. His expression changed.

His brow creased slightly. His lips pressed together. A moment of hesitation.

"Should I get you anything else, sir? You look cranky."

Then came the short, clipped command—voice slightly gruffer than before.

"Just... go."

I swallowed hard and nodded.

I left, biting the inside of my cheek, and returned to my cabin, dropping onto the chair like all the weight of the world had followed me back.

I opened my laptop, stared at the screen, but couldn’t process a word. All I could think about was the envelope. The money. The hospital. Angad.

The afternoon passed in a blur of half-hearted work and full-blown anxiety.

And then, finally—break time.

I reached into my bag and slowly pulled out the brown envelope again. The cash sat inside like a heavy heart. I counted it again, though I knew the total already.

₹50,000. Not a rupee less.

This was all I had.

I tucked it back in, zipped my bag shut, and stood. Time was ticking. The hospital admin office would close by 5 PM, and if I didn’t submit the deposit today, Angad’s surgery schedule and treatment would be pushed back by weeks. He couldn’t survive that delay.

I left my cabin and moved quickly toward the stairs. My mind was too full of panic and calculations to notice much around me.

And that’s when I bumped straight into someone.

My bag slipped from my shoulder, crashing to the floor.

And so did the envelope.

A few notes slipped out—hundreds and five hundreds scattering across the floor like tiny shards of my pride.

“I-I’m sorry!” I blurted out to the employee I’d bumped into. I dropped to my knees immediately, scrambling to collect the fallen cash before someone noticed.

“It’s okay, ma’am,” the guy said, backing off awkwardly, trying not to stare. I could feel heat crawl up my face—shame burning my cheeks.

My hands trembled as I stuffed the notes back into the envelope.

But then... I froze.

Because I felt it.

That gaze.

Heavy. Intense. Unforgiving.

I looked up slowly.

And there he was.

Mr. Rai Singhania.

Standing right outside his cabin. His arms were crossed. A deep frown was etched across his face. Not angry… but something close. Something sharper.

His eyes were locked on me—or more specifically, on the money in my hands.

No. No, no, no—

I stood quickly, forcing a casual smile, trying to tuck the envelope back into my bag without fumbling.

“Just rushing out, sir!” I said, breathless but upbeat, pretending like my legs weren’t shaking. “Will be back before break ends!”

And before he could say a word—before that frown deepened or his voice could stop me—I turned and bolted.

I took the stairs two at a time, my injured foot screaming in protest, but I didn’t care. I just needed to get away.

From his questions.

From that stare.

From the risk of him discovering just how much I was falling apart.

Because if Mr. Rai Singhania found out…

I wasn’t sure if I would be able to survive what came next.

As soon as I stepped out of Black Crown, I let out a breath I didn’t even know I was holding.

Relief.

Fear. 

Guilt.

They were all tangled in my chest.

The warm air hit my face, and I just stood there for a moment, trying to calm my racing heart. My palms were still slightly trembling from the money-fall incident. And his stare—his frown—was branded in my mind like a warning.

Shaking those thoughts away, I hailed an auto.

"City Hospital, Jaldi bhaiya."

(City Hospital, fast brother.)

The ride was quiet. My head rested against the metal rod of the auto, watching the chaos of the city blur past. Horns, crowds, sellers, heat—all of it was buzzing outside. But inside me, only numbness.

I reached the hospital, paid the auto guy quickly, and walked in, trying to fix my expression into something sane. At the reception, I asked for Dr. Kabir Shergill, and a nurse directed me to his cabin.

He looked up the moment I stepped in. His eyes softened with sympathy. "Avleen..."

I held the envelope tighter and said quietly, "Doctor, I brought the ₹50,000 deposit for admission."

He nodded but didn’t smile. That worried me.

"From this deposit," he said gently, "you’ll be able to admit Angad tomorrow. I’ve booked the private ward you requested."

I let out a breath of relief—but before I could thank him, he continued.

"But his treatment will only start once the full amount is deposited. You know the rules."

My heart sank again. "Isn’t there any other way, Doctor?"

He looked frustrated, his jaw clenching. "Unfortunately... no, Avleen. I even tried talking to the director. But you know how they are. They love money more than life itself."

Tears welled up in my eyes again, but I blinked them back.

"You will need to deposit the rest of the amount by tomorrow morning," he added, his voice lower now. "Otherwise, they’ll admit him—but won’t touch him. And you know how precious every second is... the more we delay..."

"... the more we lose," I completed for him, my voice almost a whisper.

I nodded firmly. "I understand, Doctor. I’ll pay these now. And... I’ll try my best to arrange the rest. Somehow."

He offered me a hopeful smile. "Everything will be fine, Avleen."

I just gave a small nod. "Ji, Doctor."

(Yes, doctor.)

I left his cabin and went to the reception desk. The envelope was warm in my hand now. One last glance at it—and I handed it over to the woman behind the counter.

In return, she handed me a receipt with the details of the ward.

I walked out of the hospital.

But I didn’t know where I was going.

My feet were moving, but my mind wasn’t.

Thoughts raced in every direction.

Who do I go to?

Will someone help me?

I don’t have time for another rejection.

Angad deserves better. I promised him a better life. I promised Ma I’d protect him…

And then—

SCREECH.

A car swerved right past me. I didn’t even realize I was walking into the road.

"Pagal ho kya?!" the driver yelled.

(Are you crazy?!)

"Marne ke liye kisi aur ki gaadi dhoondo. Meri se mat takra, kahin aur jake mar!"

(Find someone else's car to die. Don't collide with my car; go somewhere else and die!)

I blinked at him blankly. Didn’t say a word. Didn’t care.

I just kept walking.

Not even realizing where my feet were taking me.

And then…

I saw it.

The familiar white dome.

Gurudwara Sahib.

I don’t remember turning or changing direction—but suddenly, I was there.

I walked in slowly, removing my sandals at the steps. My dupatta slipped from my shoulder, and I quickly pulled it up and covered my head. My feet dipped into the shallow water at the entrance, cold and grounding.

I walked in.

I could hear the kirtan in the background, soft and soothing, like a balm on an open wound.

I knelt down and touched my forehead to the sacred floor.

And then I sat.

Legs folded. Hands joined. Eyes closed.

And finally… I whispered.

"Baba Ji... main ki kara?"

(What do I do, Baba Ji?)

"Mainu kuch samajh nahi aa reha."

(I don’t understand anything anymore.)

My voice shook as I whispered, "Tusi taan sab jaande ho naa... Tuhanu taan pata ae Angad mere layi ki ae... Je ohnu kuch ho gya... main ki karungi?"

(You know everything, don't you... You know what Angad means to me... If something happens to him... what will I do?)

A silent tear rolled down my cheek as I looked up.

"Baba ji... bohot saal baad eh ek moka aaya ae... Angad theek ho sakda ae… par main kuch nahi kar paa rahi."

(Baba ji... After many years, this opportunity has come... Angad may be fine... but I am unable to do anything about it.)

"Main haar rahi aa, Baba ji. Please... mainu raasta dikhao. Mere Angad nu theek kar do."

(I am losing, Baba Ji. Please... show me the way. Heal my Angad.)

I sat in silence.

Raw. Exposed. Pleading.

And then—

My phone buzzed.

Soft at first, but in the silence of the gurdwara, it felt loud.

I slowly pulled it out from my pocket.

Mr. Rai Singhania.

Akdu lamba khamba.

My heart stopped.

I stared at his name flashing on my screen.

A chill ran down my spine.

My eyes lifted back to the sanctum, to the divine space glowing ahead.

Baba ji... eh tuhada sign hai?

(Baba ji... Is this your sign?)

Will he help me?

Can I ask for help from the one man who looks like he’d rather let the world burn than feel something?

The skies outside had started to darken. Clouds gathering. Wind rising.

Something was shifting—in the air, in the moment...
Maybe even in fate.

I stepped out of Gurudwara Sahib, the marble cool under my bare feet. 

I bowed my head once again, whispering, "Tuhade bhrosay te jaa rahi haan, Baba ji."

(I am going on your trust, Baba Ji.)

I didn’t have a plan.

But I had a purpose.

I hailed an auto, voice trembling as I said, "Black Crown Industries. Jaldi."

(Black Crown Industries. Fast.)

The clouds were brooding now—thick, angry, and ready to explode. Just like my heart.
As the auto wove through the traffic, I clutched my bag tightly, as if the pieces of my crumbling world were tucked inside it.

Once we stopped outside Black Crown, I paid the fare, not even waiting for the change.
My feet felt heavy—like I had invisible chains dragging behind me. But I kept walking.
Step after step. One breath at a time.

I passed the reception.

15 minutes late.

Maybe that’s why he called. Maybe it had nothing to do with what I feared. Or maybe... it had everything to do with it.

I took the stairs—my twisted foot screaming—but the pain in my heart overpowered it. I couldn’t feel anything anymore, just an urgency so loud it drowned every ache.

When I reached the first floor, I walked directly to my cabin and collapsed into the chair. I buried myself in work, letting the screen distract me from the darkness creeping in again.

What if he says no?

What if I lose everything—Angad, his hope, his future?

No.

Not now.

Not when I’ve come this far.

He was in a meeting. I would wait till evening. When the crowd thins. When the air stills.

When I can ask for help without eyes watching.

❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁❁

By evening, rain had arrived.

Not the light, romantic kind—the heavy, punishing, roaring kind. The kind that soaks you to the bone and whispers stories of pain with every thunderclap.

The building was slowly emptying. Colleagues leaving with umbrellas. Laughter in the hallway. Light-heartedness I couldn’t afford.

I stood up from my chair and walked toward his cabin. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I lifted my hand and knocked—thrice, with that same rhythm only I used.

A pause. Then his voice:

"Come in."

I pushed the door slowly. He was behind his desk—focused, unreadable, untouched by the chaos outside.

He didn’t look up.

I stepped in. My hands were clamped tightly in front of me.

"Sir... mujhe aapse baat karni thi."

(Sir... I wanted to talk with you.)

His voice was cold. "Speak." 

My throat dried. I opened my mouth. Closed it again.

Say it, Avleen. Say it. It’s for Angad.

I took a shaky breath and said it.

"I… I need a loan, sir."

His chair creaked as he leaned back.

"A loan?" he repeated, voice low, skeptical. "How much?"

I swallowed hard.

“₹49,50,560.”

The silence that followed was… violent.

He stared at me—like I was some puzzle that offended him just by existing.

"Why?"

And there it was.

The question I couldn’t answer.

Because if I told him now, he’d know I lied in the interview. That my brother was disabled, and I hid it to secure this job. If he found out, I could be fired.

And he... hated betrayal.

I looked at him, pleading, voice soft. "I... I can't tell you, sir. But please... I really need money." 

His eyes narrowed.

"You want fifty lakhs but don't want to tell me why?" He stood and came in front of the desk, arms crossed over his chest. He looked like a dangerous predator. 

"Do you think I'm a fool, Miss Avleen?"

I flinched. "No, sir. I would never think that—" I tried explaining. I requested of him that I would pay him all the money. I said, "I will do anything, sir," but his next words broke me.

"I will do anything." His voice was cold, but his words were sharper than daggers. "So that's what it is. Another girl thinking she can pull emotional strings for money. Acting helpless. Throwing in big numbers. Pleading with innocent eyes."

His words knocked the breath out of my lungs.

He thought… I was lying?

That I was like those girls?

He thinks I’m a gold digger.

I blinked back the tears. Not because of what he thought of me. But because I couldn’t care less about my dignity right now.

All I wanted...

All I needed...

Was to save Angad.

"Please, sir," I whispered, my voice cracking. "I’ll do anything."

His eyes darkened.

"Anything?" he repeated.

There was something dangerous in his gaze now.

He walked to the window and stared out at the storm raging outside.

And then turned back to me.

"If you’re so desperate for money... if you are willing to do anything..."
He paused.

"Then go stand in the rain."

I stared at him, confused. "What?"

He pointed toward the front gate.

"Stand in the rain. All night. Right there at the front gate. Don’t move an inch."

I stood frozen.

For a moment, my mind didn’t understand. Was he serious?

But one look at his face...

He meant every word.

I swallowed.

And then I nodded.

"Okay, sir. I’ll do as you say."

I turned around, silent, and walked out of his cabin.

Down the stairs. Through the lobby.

Not a single word. Not a single glance back.

I stepped outside.

And the storm consumed me.

The rain hit like cold knives. Thunder cracked the sky. Lightning split it open.

But I walked to the front gate and stood there.

Just like he said.

No umbrella.

No movement.

Just me.

And the storm.

And as the freezing rain soaked every inch of me—as my hair stuck to my face and my skin shivered under my wet clothes—I cried.

Tears spilling freely now, mixing with the rain, invisible to the world.

You think I’m a gold digger, sir?

So be it.

But tonight, I’ll stand here.

For Angad.

No matter how cold. No matter how long.

Because I promised I’d save him.

Even if I had to break first.

I stood there...

Soaked.

The rain was relentless—not soft, not kind—it fell like punishment.
Each drop heavy, sharp and cold.

My clothes clung to my skin like ice. My dupatta had long since slipped off and lay plastered to the wet floor behind me. My hair stuck to my cheeks, and my body was trembling so violently I thought my bones would crack.

But I stood. Tall. Still.

The thunder roared again—so loud I flinched. The lightning lit up the sky like a whip from the heavens, and for a moment, I truly thought it would strike the ground I stood on.

Still, I didn’t move.

I hugged myself, rubbing my arms, trying to keep the cold from eating me alive.
My lips were trembling. I tried blowing on my hands to warm them.
But they were numb.

Everything was numb.

Except… my heart.

Because it wasn’t cold.

It burned.

It burned with purpose.

My eyes closed as the tears fell again, invisible in the pouring rain.
I saw his face—Angad. Smiling. Hopeful. That little tilt of his head, the way he looked at me like I was his whole world.

And I whispered to the storm, "For you… I can do anything, Angad."

My voice cracked as I continued, "Your Di will always protect you… always."

I shut my eyes tighter. My lips quivered.

That black day... that fate... that pain... that disability... was meant for me. But you saved me, Angad. You protected me with your life. Now it’s my turn.

A stronger gust of wind slammed into me, shaking my fragile frame.

"I’ll make you walk again," I murmured. "On your own two feet. Like before. I swear."

My jaw clenched. My nails dug into my sleeves as I rubbed my arms, trying to stay upright.

A few minutes later, the watchman approached hesitantly.

"Madam... kyun khadi hain yahaan? Bimaar pad jayengi. Baarish rukne ka naam nahi le rahi. Aap andar chali jaiye."

(Madam... why are you standing here? You will fall ill. The rain is not stopping. You should go inside.)

I turned to him slowly, my voice barely a whisper now. "Nahi, uncle ji. I need to stand here. Aap apni duty kariye. Main theek hoon. Meri chinta mat kijiye."

(No, Uncle Ji. I need to stand here. You do your duty. I am fine. Don't worry about me.)

He gave me a long look—concerned, confused—but eventually nodded and walked away under the shade.

Time kept moving.

But I remained.

The rain was now hitting sideways. My bones... I could feel them shake. Not from fear, not from weakness, but from cold that had seeped so deep into my skin, I wasn’t sure if I’d ever feel warm again.

My knees were trembling.

My throat felt like glass.

My head was pounding.

I sneezed. Once. Then again.

My nose burned. My cheeks stung. My breath came out in clouds.

My phone buzzed in my pocket—the vibration weak against my frozen skin.

I didn’t need to check.

I knew.

Angad.

I pulled the phone out and pressed answer.

"Hello…"

His voice came faintly through the broken signal.

"Di...? Tusi theek ho?"

(Sister... Are you okay?)

I held the phone tighter, shielding it from the rain with my hand.

"Haan, Angad... main theek haan. Baarish bohot ho rahi hai. Main building toh nikal nahi pa rahi."

(Yes, Angad... I am okay. It's raining heavily. I am unable to leave the building.)

The static crackled in between.

"Di... tusi... Sure, ho?"

(Sister... you... are you sure?)

I swallowed the sob that almost slipped out.

My lips were blue. But my voice stayed strong—for him.

"Main bilkul theek haan. Tusi so jao putt. Bahut late ho gaya."

(I am completely okay. You should sleep now, dear. It's late now.)

He hesitated.

"Theek ae, Di... Dhayan rakhna apna."

(Okay, sister... Take care of yourself.)

I smiled faintly, my heart tightening.

"Tusi vi, mera putt."

(You too, dear.)

The call ended.

And silence fell again—save for the thunder, the rain, and the slow crumbling of my strength.

I don’t know how long I stood after that.

Maybe an hour. Maybe more.

But then something changed.

My body... started heating up. Not from the weather, but from within.

A warning.

My vision blurred. Not from rain. Not from tears.

But from fever.

My eyelids drooped.

My knees buckled.

I tried… I really tried to stay upright.

But my body gave out before my will did.

I collapsed.

Right there, on the cold, soaked ground.

The marble stung my cheek. My arms wouldn’t move.

I was half-conscious.

And just before the world went completely dark—I saw a figure.

Running.

No umbrella. No jacket. Just a tall, blurred shadow cutting through the storm.

I couldn’t see the face... only the outline. The intensity. The urgency.

I felt strong hands pull me up from the ground.

"Avleen!" A voice. Low. Rough. Panicked.

My cheeks were patted.

"Avleen, damn it—open your eyes!"

My head was cradled against something solid. Warm.

And then... that scent.

Strong. Musk. Familiar.

His perfume.

My lips moved on their own. Barely a whisper. Barely audible.

"Eshank..."

And then… everything went black.

Hey Lovelies!

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Mili