chapter 2

 “Are you alright?” I asked quietly.

He didn’t answer. His head turned a little, and a faint groan slipped out.

The air smelled strange—sharp and chemical. It stung my nose and throat. I covered my mouth, frightened by the bitter scent.

Before I could step back, the door opened behind me.

My heart leapt. I turned quickly and pressed myself behind the heavy curtain. The fabric brushed my cheek, and I held my breath.

Footsteps came in. Then a cold, mocking voice filled the room. “You’ll die here, cousin, unless a woman saves you. But who would save you now?”

My pulse pounded so loud I thought he would hear it. I stayed still, not even daring to blink.

The voice lingered for a few seconds, then faded. The footsteps moved away, and the door closed.

Silence fell again.

I waited. I counted my breaths—ten, maybe twenty—before I dared to move. When I was sure the man was alone, I stepped out slowly.

He was still on the bed. His body shook with tremors, his face tight with pain. Sweat ran down his neck and onto the sheet. His lips moved like he was trying to speak.

I hesitated. I should leave. This had nothing to do with me. Yet my feet wouldn’t move.

Then he stirred. His eyes cracked open. Even in the dim light, I saw they were dark and hazy—but sharp enough to find me.

“Who are you?” His voice was hoarse, barely there.

“I…” My throat felt dry. “I came by mistake. But you’re not well.”

“Leave.” His eyes burned through the weakness. “Leave now.”

I thought of the words that other man had said—the cruel, careless ones. I couldn’t walk away and let him die.

“I can’t leave you like this,” I said.

“You must.” His chest heaved as he tried to rise. He fell back hard against the bed, pain twisting his face. “Go,” he said again, his voice breaking. “Don’t make me a monster.”

My chest ached. He was proud, but he was falling apart. I took a step closer. “If this is the only way to save you,” I whispered, “then let me help.”

His hand shot out and caught my wrist. His grip was weak but steady. “No,” he said hoarsely. “I won’t take what isn’t given. I won’t drag you down with me.”

I met his eyes. My voice shook, but the words came clear. “It is given. I choose this. Not because of what that man said. Not because you asked. But because I can’t just stand here and watch you die.”

His hand loosened. His pride slipped away. He looked at me like he wanted to argue, but the strength left him.

“You’ll regret it,” he whispered.

“Maybe,” I said. “But I’d regret your death more.”

The rest of the night blurred. His breathing steadied little by little. I could feel the heat leaving his skin. The tightness in his body eased. Finally, he let out one long breath, and the pain seemed to fade from his face.

His eyes fluttered open once more. With trembling fingers, he pulled a pendant from his neck and pressed it into my palm.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice faint. Then his eyes closed, and he sank into deep sleep.

I sat there for a long time, unable to move. My hands trembled. I didn’t feel shame—only relief. Somehow, I had saved him.

The pendant was warm against my skin, heavier than it looked. I closed my fingers around it and stood. My legs felt weak.

When I stepped out of the room, the corridor light hit my eyes. It was bright and cold after the darkness I’d left behind.

I walked out of the hotel as the sun began to rise. The city looked quiet, the morning air cool on my face. I told myself I would never see him again. 

and i secretly hoped that my family would not find out what happened last night.

But when I reached home, that hope disappeared.

Father sat in the lounge, his face dark with anger. Two women stood waiting beside him, their eyes fixed on me.

The pendant in my hand suddenly felt like proof of something I couldn’t explain.