False Hopes

The cold air brushing against my skin roused me, yet the surroundings remained shrouded in darkness. I blinked away the rising fear that threatened to take hold of my mind. No, I couldn't be blind. I wasn’t blind.

I could feel the weight of whatever they had pulled over my head. What exactly were they trying to hide?

I had no clue where I was or where the muffled voices were coming from. But the echo of their voices indicated a spacious room, an expansive area.

I couldn’t see anything. Something was covering my head. My wrist began to throb from whatever they had used to keep my hands bound to the chair.

I heard the sound of a door opening and closing, followed by approaching footsteps. Some rustling echoed in the background, and the footsteps grew louder. My pulse quickened.

The footsteps drew nearer, then suddenly stopped somewhere close by. “Who's there?” I asked from beneath the folds over my eyes. The footsteps did not pause.

Cold hands on my knees made my blood run cold. “Aren't you glad to know we're here together?” He sounded unhinged.

“Take off the mask from my face. I don’t think you should hesitate to tell me face to face whatever it is you brought me here to say,” I said, maintaining a calm tone.

He hesitated. Then he stood, and I heard his footsteps as he moved away before muttering something under his breath. The footsteps approached again; this time, he was with someone else. I had no idea which of them had pulled the mask off, but it was swift, the black knitted cotton was now on the floor.

I stared at him. He was standing beside the one with short, wavy auburn hair from the hospital—the person who had pretended to be a doctor.

“You didn't have to go through all this if you wanted to see me so desperately. You knew where I was, and you could have come in if you’d been honest about your reasons.”

He let out a harsh laugh. “Yeah, sure. But you see, I wasn’t desperate to see you.” He leaned forward. “I desperately need you.”

He stepped back, his hands tucked into his pockets as he held my gaze. His eyes were cold, uncertain, devoid of warmth.

“What do you need me for?”

He ran his fingers lightly through the hair at the back of his neck, something he did when deep in thought or trying to compose himself.

He said nothing.

“Is this some kind of trick to persuade me into signing a new marriage contract?” I asked, glancing at the bundle of papers in his hands.

He remained silent, motioning for someone to bring over an old, worn-out, jittery chair that sat abandoned in a corner of the warehouse. He sat cross-legged in the chair, clutching the papers in his hand.

I couldn’t move my hands to grab the documents and see what was written, nor could I move my legs if I decided to run. All I could do was sit, watch, and wait.

He had patience, and silence was his weapon. It allowed him to brood over things for long periods, and that silence now felt like a needle piercing my skin, delving deep into my thoughts every second.

The silence in the space was deafening. No one spoke. The windows were shut. Shouting for help was pointless; no one was here. No one would hear me, and no one would find me.

“Your scholarship papers.” He held the front page of the documents up to me. His voice sounded sluggish, like he had sniffed something.

My blood ran cold, unable to swallow any saliva to moisten the dryness spreading from my throat to my brain.

Hadn't Father said he would inform the counsel that I was no longer interested in the admission? Had he changed his mind? Was it just a prank he played that night?

But what was he doing with the papers if Father had decided not to notify the counsel about the marriage? Or was this Father’s plan to revive false hopes? All for what? To mourn hopelessly?

Surprise turned to anger. “Why do you have them?”

He sat upright in his chair, a sudden softness appearing in his eyes. “You see, I understand how important this is to you, and I know what the academy would mean for you.”

I nodded absentmindedly, unaware of a tear escaping down my cheek.

“But you see, I love you too much to let you have these.”

“You can't say that!”

Tears burned at the back of my eyes as I stared at the scholarship copy in his hand—remembering how it had been my flicker of hope, the effort I poured into passing the exam.

I roughly brushed my face with my shoulder. “So, what do you want?”

“Just to have you. Alone— for myself. Not Vikron, or anyone else.”

“Why in the name of everything? Would you want that! You sound crazy. I…”

I saw a flash of hurt cross his face before he straightened up sharply, then delivered a sharp slap across my cheek. “Do you know what favor I did for you to get you out of there?”

I stiffened. Maybe it was the way he said “favor,” like I had asked him for it, begged, even. Starved for his help. “I didn’t ask for any of your favours!” I shot back, unable to hide my disgust.

He laughed dryly. “You don’t have to ask for it. I’ve wanted to do this for years, but you never let me. Now, I’m doing what’s best for both of us.”