strange deliveries

The next morning, Raghavendra woke to the usual chaos of his neighborhood: vendors calling out their wares, the screech of brakes from a nearby intersection, and the faint clatter of children playing in puddles left from last night’s rain. He rubbed his eyes, grimacing at the ache in his shoulders, remnants of the long ride yesterday.

He swung his bag over his shoulder, noticing that it felt heavier than usual. Odd. His first few deliveries had gone smoothly, but something in the list of addresses caught his attention. Several were for the same street: Rathore Lane. Not unusual in itself—wealthy areas did have multiple houses—but the addresses were increasingly precise, each one leading closer to the towering mansion from yesterday.

Raghav frowned. Why so many packages for the same place?

He shook his head, trying to ignore the creeping unease. Business was business. He had no reason to get involved in someone else’s affairs. Still, there was a strange pattern emerging, one he couldn’t entirely dismiss.

---

The First Encounter of the Day

By late afternoon, the skies had darkened, warning of another downpour. Raghav navigated through narrow lanes with his bike, the familiar hum of the engine comforting. The streets were quieter now, residents having retreated indoors. A small café spilled light onto the wet road, the smell of brewing chai mingling with rain-damp earth.

And there it was—the Rathore mansion again, looming with its oppressive silence. Guards at the gate gave him a quick once-over before pressing the buzzer. The gate swung open as though expecting him, familiar now.

Raghav swallowed the lump forming in his throat. This is getting ridiculous.

He parked and approached the massive front door, package in hand. His heart thudded—not from fear, but a strange premonition. Something told him that the man who had watched him yesterday was already waiting.

Sure enough, as he lifted the package, the door opened before he could ring. And there he was. Viraj Singh Rathore, standing like a statue, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You’re early,” Raghav said, keeping his tone steady.

Viraj’s lips curved into that faint, infuriating smile. “No. Just on time.”

He stepped aside, allowing Raghav to enter. The interior of the mansion was even more imposing in daylight. Marble floors reflected light in harsh angles, and the quiet hum of air-conditioning felt almost alive. The package didn’t matter to Viraj—he didn’t even glance at it. His eyes were locked on Raghav, following each movement as if memorizing him.

Raghav’s cheeks heated under the scrutiny. He set the parcel on the counter. “Sign here,” he said, extending the clipboard.

Viraj’s fingers brushed his again, deliberately slow. Raghav jerked back reflexively. “Careful,” he muttered, his voice low.

“Am I?” Viraj asked softly, his tone teasing yet edged with something darker. “I suppose I’ll find out.”

Raghav’s pulse quickened, though he hated to admit it. Something in the mansion’s air—oppressive, intoxicating—made him unusually aware of every look, every movement.

---

Kabir’s Observation

In the corner, almost invisible, Kabir Malhotra watched the interaction. His arms were crossed, and his expression was unreadable.

This is new, he thought, frowning. Viraj’s never been distracted like this. Not by a delivery boy.

Kabir had known Viraj for over a decade—through business deals, fights, betrayals, and victories. He had seen men terrified in his boss’s presence, women flustered, rivals trembling—but never this quiet fascination. The way Viraj’s eyes followed the young man, the subtle trembling of his fingers, even the faint flush on his cheeks… Kabir had seen obsession before, but not like this. Not for someone so fragile, so ordinary.

“Sir,” Kabir said cautiously, stepping closer. “Should I…?”

Viraj waved him off. “No,” he murmured, barely audible. “Let him go. For now.”

Kabir’s brow knit. “For now?”

Viraj didn’t answer. He couldn’t explain it yet. He didn’t even want to.

---

A Mystery Gift

By evening, Raghav was already exhausted from the extra deliveries. His backpack was heavy, and the rain had soaked him despite the jacket. He returned home to find a small package waiting outside the door—neatly wrapped in black paper, no sender’s name, just a golden seal.

His father, Vijay, glanced at it suspiciously. “Beta… what is this?”

Raghav shook his head. “I don’t know. I didn’t order anything.”

Aarti peeked curiously. “Maybe someone’s secret admirer?” she teased.

Raghav ignored the joke, inspecting the package carefully. Inside was a small envelope and a rare, handcrafted pen—expensive, elegant, something that would cost a month’s salary for a man like him. His fingers brushed the pen, and he felt an odd, uncomfortable flutter in his chest.

Who would send this? he wondered. It didn’t feel like a gift meant for thanks—it was something else. Something… possessive.

---

Raghav’s Inner Conflict

He sat on the edge of the cot, holding the pen, thinking. He hated that he felt drawn to it. He hated that part of him wanted to know who had sent it, why.

Yet he couldn’t deny it: the name Viraj Singh Rathore lingered in his mind. The way he had looked at him yesterday. The way he had watched him today.

Is he dangerous? Raghav thought. Probably. Probably extremely dangerous.

And yet, his heart refused to listen to reason.

---

Viraj’s Obsession Intensifies

Back at the mansion, Viraj was pacing in his private study. His hands clenched around a glass of whiskey, though he hadn’t drunk a drop. His eyes were fixed on a monitor showing the street outside Raghav’s home—security cams, yes, but mostly for him. For observation.

There he is, Viraj thought, watching Raghav unload the bike, greet his sister. The way he moves… the way he breathes… it’s mine already. I just haven’t taken it yet.

Kabir stepped in again, quietly: “Sir, this is… unusual. You’ve never—”

“Shut up,” Viraj snapped, his voice sharp, dangerous. He immediately softened, taking a deep breath. “I don’t need anyone else. Only him.”

Kabir let the statement slide. He had learned over the years that arguing with Viraj Singh Rathore rarely ended well. But this… this was different. Something was changing in his boss, and Kabir didn’t know whether to be alarmed or… relieved.

---

The Evening Escalates

Night fell, and Raghav finally settled in, trying to ignore the package on his table. He ate dinner quietly with his family, but his mind wandered back to the pen, to the way Viraj’s fingers had touched his. He couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching him, even though logically he knew it was impossible.

The rain returned, drumming against the windowpane. Somewhere in the distance, a sleek black car rolled past the house. Raghav’s pulse quickened. Paranoid, he thought. I’m just tired.

But in the mansion, Viraj watched the same scene unfold. He traced the outline of Raghav’s figure through the camera, studying every subtle movement. A shiver of something deeper ran through him—an obsession he couldn’t explain, couldn’t control.

Tomorrow, he whispered to himself, “I will see him again. And then… everything changes.”

---

Chapter Two Cliffhanger

Outside, the rain fell heavier, and Raghav pulled his shawl tighter around his shoulders. He didn’t know that in the mansion miles away, Viraj Singh Rathore was already planning the next delivery—watching him, following him, waiting.

And Raghav had no idea that his life was about to spiral into something he could never have imagined.

Because one delivery was never enough.

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