Hospital, Dubai

Miransh lay unconscious on the hospital bed. A cannula was fixed into the back of his hand, the IV drip running steadily, each drop of fluid slipping through the tube like a slow, mechanical heartbeat.

His fingers twitched.

A faint change crossed his face—as if something far away was pulling him back.

He slowly opened his eyes.

Everything was blurred at first, like the world had been washed in water. Shapes wavered. Light stung.

Then, gradually, his vision steadied.

Kiaan and Nayab stood in front of him.

They were smiling—but their eyes betrayed them. Relief, exhaustion, and fear all tangled together in silence.

Miransh’s gaze hardened instantly, even in weakness.

“I am alive,” he said coldly. “Stop giving me those pathetic looks. I am not weak.”

Kiaan exhaled sharply, as if he had been holding his breath for hours.

“But we are,” he said. “You literally scared us, Miransh.”

Miransh ignored him.

Something else had already caught his attention.

“Where is Eyelid?”

Kiaan and Nayab exchanged a quick glance.

That single look was enough to deepen the crease between Miransh’s brows.

His voice dropped lower, sharper. “Nayab. Where is she?”

Nayab hesitated before answering. “Boss… she is outside the room.”

“Why outside?” Miransh asked immediately.

Nayab’s gaze lowered. “She blames herself for your condition.”

A faint irritation crossed Miransh’s face—as if even pain had no right to slow him down.

He pushed himself up.

Instantly, his body protested. A sharp wave of pain tore through his shoulder and chest. His jaw tightened, but he didn’t let a sound escape. The injury was there—visible in the stiffness of his movements, the controlled breathing, the way his hand instinctively pressed against the wound.

Kiaan stepped forward at once.

“What are you doing, Miransh? You’ve been shot. You just had surgery. You need rest.”

Miransh didn’t answer.

He simply adjusted his stance, using his other hand to steady his injured shoulder, and took a step forward.

Then another.

Kiaan followed quickly, still holding the IV stand as it moved with them, the drip bottle swaying slightly like a silent warning.

Nayab opened the door.

Miransh stepped out.

His eyes immediately began searching.

And then he saw her.

Palki.

She sat in a chair just outside the room, completely still, as if she had stopped participating in time itself. Her head rested against the wall, eyes closed—not in peace, but in exhaustion. Tear stains marked her cheeks, now dried into faint trails. Her lips were cracked from dehydration, her hands tightly crossed over herself as though she was holding her own guilt in place.

She looked broken.

Not loudly. Not dramatically.

But in a quiet, unbearable way.

Miransh’s expression shifted.

The coldness in his eyes didn’t disappear—but it softened around the edges, as if something inside him had recognized something familiar.

He remembered her words.

How she had said she failed to find her mother.

He remembered the way she had been trapped by those criminals—cornered, helpless, yet still standing.

And now… she was blaming herself for his condition.

A faint tension tightened his jaw.

Without saying a word, he stepped forward.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Each step heavier than the last—not because of the wound alone, but because of what he was walking toward.

And for once, Miransh didn’t look like someone who commanded fear.

He looked like someone approaching something he couldn’t afford to lose.

He stopped in front of Palki.

For a moment, he simply looked at her.

The exhaustion on her face was impossible to miss. Dark circles rested beneath her eyes. Tear stains still marked her cheeks. She looked like she hadn’t slept for even a second since he had been taken into surgery.

Something tightened inside his chest.

Slowly, he lifted his hand and gently brushed it over her head.

The touch was light.

Yet it was enough.

Palki’s eyes flew open.

For a second, she looked disoriented. Then her gaze landed on Miransh.

Shock flashed across her face.

She immediately stood up.

“What the hell?” she exclaimed. “Why are you here?”

Her eyes traveled over his pale face and the bandage hidden beneath his hospital clothes.

“Are you mad?” she continued, unable to hide her frustration. “You should be resting in this condition, and you’re roaming around outside. Why?”

Miransh looked at her quietly.

His voice, when it came, was unexpectedly soft.

“You were not inside.”

The words were simple.

But they struck something deep inside her.

Palki pressed her lips together, wanting to say something.

An apology.

An explanation.

Anything.

Yet no words came out.

Instead, she found herself looking directly into his eyes.

And Miransh wasn’t looking away either.

The hospital corridor suddenly felt strangely silent.

No one spoke.

Not Kiaan.

Not Nayab.

Not even the nurses passing by.

It was as if the entire world had faded into the background.

Only their eyes continued the conversation.

For the first time, Miransh wasn’t trying to control her.

And for the first time, Palki wasn’t trying to escape him.

Neither moved.

Neither looked away.

They simply stood there.

As if, for a brief moment, they had forgotten everyone else existed.

Then suddenly—

A memory flashed through Palki’s mind.

The moment he had been shot.

The panic.

The blood.

His weakening voice.

And the single word he had spoken before losing consciousness.

Momma.

A realization struck her.

Her heart skipped a beat.

She lowered her gaze for a second, trying to process the thought that had just formed inside her mind.

Then she looked at him again.

This time, something had changed in her eyes.

Without saying a word, she reached forward and held his hand securely.

Miransh glanced at their joined hands but didn’t pull away.

Instead, he quietly let her lead.

Slowly, she started walking him back toward his room.

Miransh matched her pace, taking careful steps beside her.

Kiaan followed behind, still holding the IV stand.

Nayab quickly moved ahead and opened the door for them.

***

Sharad stood in the middle of the room, surrounded by armed men.

His face was dark with fury.

The events of the auction kept replaying in his mind like an endless nightmare.

Palki escaping.

The unknown men interfering.

The humiliation.

And worst of all—

Manav’s mocking words.

His jaw clenched.

The veins in his neck became visible.

Suddenly—

Bang!

Both his palms slammed against the table with such force that the glasses on it rattled violently.

“They cannot run away like that!”

His voice echoed through the room.

One of the guards lowered his head.

Sharad’s eyes burned with rage.

“One of them was injured,” he growled. “Search every hospital in Dubai.”

His gaze swept across the room.

Every man present straightened instantly.

“I want that girl.”

A dangerous silence followed.

“At any cost.”

The men immediately left to carry out his orders.

Soon, the room became empty.

Silent.

Only Sharad remained.

The anger still lingered in his eyes, but beneath it was something far more complicated.

Something broken.

He grabbed a beer can from the table and dropped heavily onto the couch.

The exhaustion of the night finally began catching up to him.

Opening the can, he took a long sip.

Then another.

Finally, he rested his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes.

Just for a moment.

Just to find a little peace.

But peace never came.

Instead—

A woman appeared.

Not clearly.

Just fragments.

A blur of laughter.

A flowing dress dancing with the wind.

Her running through green fields.

Her smiling.

Her playing.

Her sitting on a swing while her laughter echoed around him.

For a brief second…

The memory felt warm.

Alive.

Then—

A gunshot.

The smile vanished.

Blood.

The woman staggered.

Another shot.

And another.

She fell.

Sharad’s eyes flew open.

His chest heaved violently.

Sweat covered his forehead.

His breathing became uneven.

For a few seconds, he simply stared ahead.

As if he could still see the scene unfolding before him.

Then rage exploded inside him.

“Enough!”

With a violent movement, he hurled the beer can across the room.

It crashed against the wall and burst open.

Beer splattered everywhere.

Sharad stood up.

His fists trembled.

His eyes had turned red.

“After leaving my life…”

His voice cracked unexpectedly.

“…why do you still come into my thoughts?”

The room remained silent.

No answer came.

Only the echoes of his own pain.

His expression hardened again.

As if he hated himself for even remembering.

Bang!

His fist slammed onto the table.

A deep crack appeared across the wooden surface.

But even that pain was nothing compared to the wound he carried inside.

A wound that years had failed to heal.

A Few Hours Later

A helicopter cut through the Dubai sky, its blades roaring against the wind.

Inside, silence ruled.

Kiaan and Nayab sat across from each other, both occupied with their phones. Palki was sitting near Miransh, completely focused on a prescription sheet in her hands.

Meanwhile, Miransh rested his head against the seat, his eyes closed.

At least, that’s what it looked like.

Whether he was actually resting or simply lost in thought was something no one could tell.

Flashback

Palki was trying to make Miransh lie back on the hospital bed.

But Miransh refused.

The stubbornness on his face confused all three of them.

Kiaan crossed his arms.

“Palki is here now. What else do you want?”

Miransh looked at him calmly.

Yet there was an unmistakable seriousness in his eyes.

“We have to leave this country as soon as possible.”

Everyone frowned.

“It’s not safe for us to stay here even for a single second.”

Palki immediately protested.

“But you’re not recovered yet.”

“I’m fine.”

His answer came without hesitation.

Then he turned toward Kiaan.

“Call the chopper.”

Kiaan studied him for a moment before finally nodding.

Flashback Ends

Back in the helicopter, Kiaan grabbed a water bottle and took a sip.

His gaze shifted toward Palki.

She was still staring at the prescription with the concentration of someone trying to decode an ancient language.

A smile appeared on his face.

“Miransh has to take his medicines today, Palki.”

Nayab chuckled.

Palki didn’t even look up.

“I know.”

Then she frowned at the paper.

“But this is doctor’s handwriting.”

She narrowed her eyes.

“Terrible handwriting.”

Both Kiaan and Nayab burst into laughter.

Palki glared at them.

“Don’t disturb me. I’m almost done.”

She returned to her mission.

Meanwhile, Kiaan’s attention drifted toward Miransh.

Still motionless.

Still silent.

Still carrying the same expression he had worn since leaving the hospital.

Kiaan sighed inwardly.

We had our only clue about that murderer.

And we lost the opportunity to catch him.

Miransh must be blaming himself again.

The thought weighed heavily on him.

Just then—

“I got it!”

Palki’s excited voice echoed through the cabin.

Everyone looked toward her.

Everyone except Miransh.

She quickly opened the medicine box, selected the correct tablets, placed them in a tray, and triumphantly held them up.

Then she turned toward Miransh.

“Come on, Ansh.”

For the first time since the journey began, Miransh opened his eyes.

His gaze settled on her.

Palki handed him the medicines and a bottle of water.

Miransh took them slowly.

Then, with a completely serious face, he asked,

“Are you sure I won’t die after taking these medicines?”

Palki rolled her eyes so dramatically that Nayab almost laughed.

She gave him a look that clearly said keep talking and I’ll throw you out of this helicopter.

A faint smile appeared on Kiaan’s face.

At least Miransh was talking.

After swallowing the medicines, Miransh took another sip of water.

Then he spoke.

“Nobody at home will know that I got shot.”

The statement was less of a request and more of an order.

Nayab immediately frowned.

“But Boss, they’ll understand when they see your injury and your condition.”

Before Miransh could respond, Palki spoke.

“Oh, not at all.”

Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“He’s a very good actor.”

Miransh slowly turned toward her.

Palki continued without fear.

“He hides pain from everyone.”

She folded her arms.

“And lies with unbelievable confidence.”

The atmosphere inside the helicopter changed instantly.

Kiaan and Nayab exchanged glances.

Neither dared to interrupt.

Palki wasn’t finished.

“You’re a liar, Ansh.”

Her voice softened, but somehow became even more dangerous.

“And not just recently.”

She looked straight into his eyes.

“You’ve been lying since childhood.”

The smile disappeared from Miransh’s face.

He turned his head away.

But before he could avoid the conversation, Palki reached forward and gently held his jaw, making him look back at her.

The gesture shocked everyone.

Including Miransh.

“You told everyone that you’ve moved on from your parents’ death.”

Her voice lowered.

“But you never did.”

The helicopter suddenly felt much smaller.

Much quieter.

Miransh remained silent.

His eyes stayed fixed on hers.

Neither anger nor denial appeared on his face.

Only silence.

A silence that felt like an answer itself.

“You can’t escape me this time, Ansh.”

Palki’s grip softened, but she didn’t let him look away.

“I want answers.”

For several seconds, nobody spoke.

The roar of the helicopter filled the cabin.

Miransh remained quiet.

Still looking at her.

Still refusing to answer.

Then Kiaan finally broke the silence.

His expression was serious.

There was no teasing in his eyes this time.

No humor.

Only concern.

“Tell her, Miransh.”

The words were calm, but firm.

Miransh slowly shifted his gaze toward him.

Kiaan met his eyes without hesitation.

“How long are you going to carry everything alone?”

The question hung heavily in the air.

Nobody spoke.

Kiaan continued.

“She deserves to know.”

Miransh’s jaw tightened.

His fingers curled slightly around the water bottle.

But he remained silent.

Kiaan exhaled slowly.

“You both are searching for answers.”

His gaze moved between Miransh and Palki.

“Different questions.”

He paused.

“But the same pain.”

The roaring sound of the helicopter seemed distant now.

Almost irrelevant.

“Sometimes the road becomes easier when you stop walking alone.” Kiaan completed.

For a moment, nobody reacted.

Palki quietly looked at Kiaan.

Then at Miransh.

Nayab lowered his gaze.

Miransh stared at his best friend for several seconds.

A warning was clear in his eyes.

He didn’t want this conversation.

Not here.

Not now.

Not ever.

But Kiaan didn’t look away.

For years he had watched Miransh bury his pain beneath responsibilities, control, and silence.

And for years he had remained quiet.

Today, he wasn’t willing to do that anymore.

The tension inside the helicopter became suffocating.

Yet neither of them broke eye contact.

One refusing to speak.

The other refusing to back down.

***

Sitara’s Note

Some wounds bleed.

Some scars stay hidden beneath smiles, silence, anger, and strength.

This chapter is not about bullets, hospitals, or danger.

It is about the pain people carry when they convince themselves that they must carry it alone.

Miransh believes that protecting others means hiding his own wounds.

Palki believes that every loss is somehow her fault.

Sharad believes that anger is easier than grief.

And perhaps that is why all three of them are suffering.

Sometimes healing doesn’t begin when someone gives us answers.

Sometimes healing begins when someone refuses to let us hide anymore.

When someone looks beyond our carefully built walls and says, “I know you’re hurting.”

The strongest people are not those who never break.

The strongest people are those who finally allow someone to see the broken pieces.

Thank you for walking through this chapter with me.

Until the next chapter,

With love,

— Sitara Chandria