Veins of Smoke, Threads of Fate

"Some hearts hide whole worlds behind locked doors, and even shadows bow before their secrets."

Reyaansh lay still on the hospital bed, white sheets stained faintly with the memory of blood. Machines beeped their steady lullaby around him, and doctors moved like quiet shadows, weaving life back into his broken body. His face, so often carved from stone, now looked fragile in sleep—yet even in this forced surrender, power seemed to hum under his bruised skin.

Outside the room, Kabir Malhotra paced restlessly. Tall as an old oak, built like a fortress, dark brown hair falling across his olive-toned forehead—yet tonight, even he looked haunted. His sharp gaze locked on every doctor, every nurse passing by, as though daring danger itself to approach.

Finally, the doctor emerged, mask pulled down, relief softening his features.

“Mr. Malhotra, Mr. Singhania is out of danger,” he said gently. “He needs rest and some more tests, but he’s stable.”

Kabir let out a breath, shoulders dropping an inch. “Thank you, doctor,” he murmured, voice low with relief—but his eyes never lost their steel.

Moments later, Kabir’s men approached, broad-shouldered, dressed in shadows and purpose.

“Sir… about the kidnapping,” one began, voice tight with dread. “The tracker in Mr. Singhania’s clothes, his phone, and his iPad—they were all hacked. And… there was a traitor among our own. He lured the guards away… and removed the bullets from Mr. Singhania’s gun.”

Kabir’s jaw clenched, rage burning cold in his veins. “Impossible,” he hissed. “No one touches Reyaansh’s gun. And hacking our systems? That’s no common criminal; that’s a phantom who knows how to dance in the dark. Whoever it is—they’re clever. And dangerous.”

“And the person who brought Reyaansh to the hospital?”

“We still don’t know, sir,” the man admitted, shame in every word. “They vanished before we could see their face. But they seemed to know he’d be found quickly.”

“And the traitor?” Kabir’s voice was ice.

“He’s… been dealt with, sir,” the man answered, head bowed.

Kabir nodded slowly. “Good. Increase security everywhere. Triple it if you must. And bring me a file on every single guard—every cleaner, every driver, every soul who walks these halls. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” they echoed, scattering like crows at dawn.

Just then, Kabir’s phone vibrated, screen lighting up with a softer name: Aparna Aunty.

“Hello, aunty,” he said, voice instantly gentler.

“Hellooo, Kabir,” came her warm, familiar voice. “Is Reyaansh with you? He’s not answering his phone. His uncle and aunt are here, and he hasn’t come home.”

Kabir swallowed, the lie rising bitter in his throat. “Aunty… he had to leave suddenly. Russia—urgent factory work. He’ll be back in a week,” he managed.

“What? And he didn’t even tell me?”

“It came up suddenly, aunty. He didn’t want to worry you,” Kabir soothed.

“This boy… when he returns, I’ll pull his ears tightly,” Aparna scolded, half in worry, half in love.

Kabir forced a small chuckle. “Yes, aunty.”

He ended the call, guilt gnawing at him. If only she knew how close death had stalked her son tonight…

---

Far from the sterile white halls, under softer lights, Aparna paced in worry.

“This boy… always work, always distant,” she murmured.

A familiar arm wrapped around her waist. “After all, he’s my son,” Vikram teased, warmth in his voice.

“Vikram, stop,” she scolded lightly. “Your son went to Russia and didn’t even call me.”

“Maybe it was urgent,” Vikram offered gently.

“I just hope he’s safe,” she whispered, voice raw.

“He will be,” Vikram promised.

“When will he stop running from everyone?”

“Soon,” Vikram murmured.

“Maybe only his wife can slow him down,” Aparna sighed.

Vikram chuckled. “Wife? I doubt there’s anyone made for a heart like his.”

Aparna glared and lightly slapped his arm. “God has made someone for him. You’ll see.”

---

Elsewhere, under the same sky but a different world, a window clicked open. A pair of delicate heels landed softly on the floor. Slowly, a girl slipped inside—pale skin kissed by moonlight, long black hair cascading like silk, dressed in traditional attire, anklets whispering secrets to the night. Her eyes—large, doe-like, impossibly deep—made her look like an angel born from shadows.

She tiptoed forward, breath held… until—

“Ouch! Maa, it hurts!” she yelped as someone pulled her ear.

“Oh, really? It hurts, Meher?” Maya’s voice was sharp, but her worry was deeper.

“Maya Maa, please leave me!” Meher whined.

Maya released her ear with a jerk. “It’s past 10, Meher! Where were you?”

“I was out with friends! I didn’t even want to go!” Meher pouted, rubbing her ear. “And those timings are for people who belong to this orphanage, Ma’am… I don’t belong here anymore.”

“You still have to respect the rules,” Maya scolded softly.

Meher threw her arms around Maya in a quick hug. “Goodnight, Maya Ma’am!” she chirped, dashing off before more scolding could follow.

Maya sighed, her gaze softening. This girl… will she ever truly take care of herself?

From the age of five, Meher had grown in this orphanage’s walls. And while she might not belong here by paper anymore… in Maya’s heart, she always would.

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