Shaurya's POV
The aroma of simmering vegetables filled the kitchen as I stirred the pot, my focus unwavering. The rhythmic bubbling of the soup was the only sound breaking the silence. A simple dish—vegetable and chicken soup. Something light, something easy to digest. Something she might be able to eat.
I glanced at the freshly made juices—pomegranate, apple, and watermelon.
I didn’t know what she liked, what she preferred, or if she would even have the strength to eat. But I knew one thing—she needed to regain her strength.
The doctor had warned about her weak digestive system, and I wasn’t going to take any risks.
Siya is with her, watching over her. Veer and Ryan had left, knowing their presence might be overwhelming for someone who had already suffered so much.
And me? I wasn’t sure if my presence would be any better.
She had seen me when I found her. Maybe, somewhere in the haze of her trauma, she remembered me. Or maybe I was just another shadow in her nightmare.
If I see even a flicker of fear in her eyes, I swear, I will never go in front of her again.
As I stepped inside, my eyes instantly found her.
She was stirring, her breathing uneven, sweat forming on her forehead. Her hands gripped the sheets tightly, her body trembling as if trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape.
Siya was by her side in an instant, leaning close, her voice soft but firm.
“It’s just a bad dream. You’re safe… See?” Siya whispered, her hand gently brushing against the girl’s.hair “Just wake up, Dove. There’s no one to harm you. You’re safe… It’s just a bad dream, Dove.”
Dove.
The word made me pause. My sister had given her a name—one that carried warmth, protection, something delicate that needed to be cared for.
I looked at Siya, a quiet realization settling in. She had grown up. The girl who once relied on me for comfort was now offering the same to someone else.
And as if answering her call, the girl’s breathing slowed. Her grip on the sheets loosened, and with a deep, shuddering breath, she opened her eyes.
She blinked a few times, her lashes fluttering as her vision adjusted to the dim light. Her body remained stiff, as if bracing for something unknown.
Siya leaned in slightly, offering her a small, reassuring smile. “Relax… You’re in a hospital. And I’m Siya Singh Rathore.” Her tone was soft but clear, carefully measured so as not to overwhelm her.
The girl didn’t respond—no questions, no visible relief, just silence. Her face remained blank, unreadable. She simply nodded, as if accepting the information but not truly reacting to it.
Then, slowly, she started scanning the room, her eyes darting from the IV stand to the bedside monitor, then to the door—almost as if mapping an escape route.
But when Siya spoke again, her gaze finally stopped.
“There he is… My brother. The one who saved you.”
And then, for the first time, I saw something change in her expression.
Her eyes found me.
For a brief second—just a flicker—something flashed across them. An emotion too raw to be ignored.
Then, just as quickly, she turned away, her face tilting to the side.
Anger.
I exhaled sharply,If I wasn’t wrong, that was anger in her eyes.
But why?
"Oh, you can’t blame her. Your face is just like that—anyone would get pissed off after seeing it."
My subconscious mocked me mercilessly.
I ignored it, but a smirk tugged at my lips.
She hadn’t shown any emotions when she woke up—no fear, no relief, not even curiosity.
But at me? She reacted.
Not with fear. Not with terror.
But anger.
Something in my chest eased—a strange sense of relief washing over me. She wasn’t scared of me.
I wasn’t sure why that mattered so much, but it did.
“Ohh… Look at you, Aaron Warner ki sasti copy! Neeche aa ja… Gussa hai wo tujhse, pagal aadmi.”("Ohh… Look at you, a cheap copy of Aaron Warner! Come to earth… She's angry with you, crazy man.")
My subconscious was right about one thing. She was angry.
And strangely, I wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or a bad one.
I pass the food tray to Siya.
Siya sits beside her, voice light but firm. "I know you must be hungry. Come on, let’s have some food, okay?"
She doesn't react.
But she’s hungry.
Anyone could tell just by looking at her. Her body is tense, her fingers twitching slightly, her gaze flickering toward the tray but then pulling away—as if she doesn’t want to give in.
Siya notices too.
She takes a spoonful of vegetable soup and drinks it herself. "Wow, so good. You should try it, dove."
Still, no response.
Siya sighs. "Come on, just one spoon. It's warm, it'll make you feel better."
Hesitation.
And then—she opens her mouth.
Siya feeds her the first spoonful.
The moment the soup touches her tongue, her whole body stills.
Her expression softens.
Her eyes close for a brief moment, as if finally—finally—her body is getting what it needs.
But then, something shifts.
It’s not enough.
She grabs for the spoon, but her fingers tremble too much. Desperation flickers in her movements.
She’s starving.
And then, before anyone can stop her, she reaches for the bowl itself.
Her injured wrist shakes violently under the weight, her breath quickening as she struggles to lift it.
Siya immediately moves to help. "Hey, hey, it's okay—here."
She brings the bowl closer.
Without hesitation, She clutches the edges and drinks straight from it.
Not in small sips.
Not carefully.
She drinks as if she has never tasted food before.
The warmth of the soup slides down her throat, and for the first time, her body stops shaking.
I feel something deep in my chest.
Pain. Guilt. Helplessness.
She was starving. This much.
Siya doesn’t stop her. She just holds the bowl steady, letting her drink every last drop.
Only when it’s empty does she stop, gasping softly, her lips slightly parted.
She looks at Siya.
Then at the tray.
Her eyes land on the juice.
Without a word, Siya lifts the pomegranate juice toward her.
She drinks it just as desperately.
One by one, she finishes everything.
Every sip, every bite—it’s like she’s trying to feed a body that has been ignored for too long.
I will make that bastards feel very bit of the pain she has gone through.
And I have never been more proud of my sister for handling this moment so gently.
But then, as soon as the last bite was swallowed, she tried to say something.
Her voice.
She opened her mouth, her lips forming words that never came.
Nothing.
Her brows furrowed. Confusion flickered in her eyes, then panic.
She tried again.
Still nothing.
Her breathing became uneven as she raised her trembling hand to her throat, pressing it lightly, as if trying to feel what was wrong.
Again, she opened her mouth. Tried to whisper.
Shout.
Anything.
But the only thing she get is..
Silence.
She looked at Siya, eyes searching for answers, for reassurance—but no tears fell.
Just panic.
Siya immediately moved toward her. “Relax. Listen to me. Relax dove.” Her voice was soothing, gentle, but the girl wasn’t responding.
Panic had taken over.
Siya placed a hand on her shoulder, trying to calm her, but she was too lost in her fear.
Before Siya could say anything more, the doctor rushed inside.
She quickly took the girl’s hands in hers, forcing her to look at her. “Relax,” the doctor said firmly. “Breathe in… breathe out.”
The girl’s chest heaved as she tried to follow the doctor’s instructions.
“Again. Breathe in… hold it… and out.”
Slowly, her panic lessened. Her body relaxed just slightly.
The doctor held her gaze, her voice now calm yet serious. “Your voice is temporarily gone, but it will come back with time. You need to relax and don't strain your vocal cords.”
The girl blinked. Processing.
“And about your ankle and wrist injuries,” the doctor continued, “they will heal within two weeks. After that, you’ll be able to walk and write without any support.”
A small nod.
For a second, I thought the worst was over.
But then… she tried to adjust her position.
The moment she moved, sudden pain shot through her body.
Her breath hitched, and her hand instinctively pressed against her lower abdomen.
The doctor’s eyes immediately flickered toward me.
I froze.
She knew.
I shook my head slightly, silently telling her not to say anything.
Not now.
The girl was already broken. If she found out the truth in this state… if she realized that the choice that should have been hers was already stolen - not by fate… but by the cruelty of this world…
No.
I wouldn’t let her regret being alive.
Understanding my silent plea, the doctor turned back to her with a calm expression. “This pain is from internal injuries,” she said gently. “With proper rest, it will heal soon.”
The girl slowly nodded again.
The doctor checked her vitals, made a few notes, then stood up. “If you feel any discomfort, let me know, and these are you medicines which you should take daily.”
And with that, she left.
The room was quiet again.
As I turned to leave, I felt her gaze on me again.
She looked at me, eyes narrowing slightly before she turned her face away.
I blinked.
What… was that?
Did she just—?
A small chuckle threatened to escape, but I controlled it.
I was amused.
Being the Chief Minister and most feared mafia leader "Sarkar". People feared me. Respected me. Some even worshiped me. But this girl…
She had barely reacted to anything until now. She hadn’t spoken, hadn’t moved much. Yet, the first real expression she gave me—was annoyance?
It was…absurd.
A small, unexpected smirk tugged at my lips.
Fragile, broken, barely conscious—and yet, she had the audacity to glare at me.
Interesting.
I gave her one last glance. Her face was still turned away, refusing to acknowledge me.
Without another word, I turned and walked out. But the amusement lingered.
This girl… intrigued me.
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