crimson dreams

> "She moved like a whisper, vanished like a secret—

and yet, she stayed, carved in the chaos of his memory."

The morning sun spilled golden light over the polished floors of Singhania Memorial Hospital, but Meher was already running late. Her dupatta fluttered behind her as she rushed through the sliding doors, weaving through patients, visitors, and nurses bustling like bees.

"Good morning, Dr. Meher!" called out Shalini, her best friend and a nurse, flashing a teasing grin.

"Morning, Shalu!" Meher replied breathlessly, brushing a few strands of hair from her face and offering her signature warm smile.

Rhea, another colleague, smirked from the nurses’ station. "Again late, haan?"

Meher sighed dramatically. "Ugh, I couldn't even wake up on time today. I hit snooze five times!"

Rhea raised a brow. "Hmm, what do you do at night that makes you sleep so late?"

Meher chuckled, leaning in slightly. "Raghav had some work… I was helping him out."

Together, the trio moved down the corridor. As Meher reached the door to her private cabin, she glanced toward the other wing of the hospital, frowning. "What's with the guards? They're pacing like vultures out there."

Rhea giggled. "Oh, you didn’t hear? Mr. Reyaansh Singhania is admitted in the VVIP ward. Tight security. No one goes in without thorough checking."

Meher rolled her eyes. "These rich people and their drama. The number of guards they bring, you'd think it’s a presidential visit."

The two laughed and went on with their morning routine.

Meher, as always, slipped into her role—a psychologist known for her patience, empathy, and quiet strength. She listened more than she spoke. Observed more than she revealed. Her heart was soft, her mind sharp, and her soul quietly haunted by a past she kept buried deep.

---

A month quietly passed like a sigh in the wind.

The storm that had shaken the Singhania empire had calmed—for now. Reyaansh had discovered the name behind the ambush: Ayaan Rathore, his long-time rival. But instead of striking him down in rage, Reyaansh chose to bleed him dry with calculated business moves. He wasn't after death. He wanted defeat.

Inside his sleek glass-walled office, Reyaansh sat with his elbows on the table, staring down at a sheet of paper. His knuckles were tight. The only thing on the paper? A tattoo—an obsidian eye—drawn over and over, shaded and retraced until the ink bled into the fibers.

Kabir stormed in, his usual swagger replaced with frustration.

“Are you serious, Reyaansh?” he said, looking at the mess of sketches and the bloodstained hoodie folded on a nearby chair. “It’s been a month. You’re still hung up on her? You don’t even know her face!”

“She’s not just a girl,” Reyaansh murmured, eyes locked on the drawing. “She’s a storm in disguise. The way she moved, the way she killed… It was art.”

Kabir groaned, rubbing his temples. “You’re obsessed. You even kept her hoodie like some twisted souvenir!”

A knock interrupted them. Reyaansh gave a simple, “Come in.”

Several guards entered, placing heavy boxes on the plush sofa.

“Sir, your deliveries,” one said before leaving.

Kabir perked up. “Ooo, finally something exciting!” He tore open the top box—only to freeze. “Wait. Is this… a bridal outfit?!”

It was. A deep red and gold lehenga, embroidered with tiny daggers and obsidian eyes, shimmered ominously in the light.

“What the actual hell, Reyaansh?” Kabir exclaimed. “You’re planning a wedding?! You haven’t even found her!”

“I will,” Reyaansh said, voice calm and eerie. “She’s not just anyone. She’s mine.”

Kabir threw his hands up. “You even bought jewelry—seriously?!”

“And weapons,” Reyaansh added proudly, gesturing to a box containing a sleek, black ceremonial knife. “She’s an assassin. A gift to honor her skill. I don’t want to cage her. I want to understand her.”

Kabir stared at his best friend, somewhere between horrified and speechless.

“You’re going mad,” he muttered.

“No,” Reyaansh whispered, his gaze far away. “I’m falling… in obsession.”

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