It was past midnight when I woke up, my throat dry and parched. The soft rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, reminding me that the storm Ahaan Bhai had warned about had finally arrived. I blinked at the clock—it was 12:07 AM. We had returned from dinner earlier, around 10, just before the sky broke open.

Still in my dinner dress and cardigan, I got up and padded downstairs quietly. The whole house was asleep, the grand corridors dimly lit by the golden sconces. I reached the kitchen, grabbed a bottle of water, and drank, feeling the coolness soothe my throat.

Just as I set the bottle down, I caught a movement from the corner of my eye—a shadow gliding from Ahaan Bhai's wing toward the other side of the house. My stomach tightened. Instinct whispered that something was off.

Without thinking, I followed. My bare feet made no sound against the cold marble as I crossed through the hallway and stepped out onto the balcony that overlooked our sprawling garden and sports area. The rain had started in earnest now, sheets of it falling heavily against the earth, the wind howling through the trees.

I looked around, heart pounding a little faster with every step. The storm made everything feel heightened—louder, darker, more intense.

Suddenly, a deep voice rumbled right behind me, close enough to make me jump.
"What are you doing out here, Adira?"

My breath caught. Only one person said my name like that, stretching the vowels with that soft Italian lilt.
"Lorenzo," I whispered, turning around sharply.

He was there—too close, towering over me with rain glistening on his skin and that same unreadable look in his dark eyes. He was a head taller, broad and solid, and the heat of him contrasted sharply with the cold bite of the storm.

Before I could even take a step back, a violent gust of wind whipped through the balcony, sending a spray of rainwater slapping against us. I gasped, instinctively shielding my face, but Lorenzo moved faster.

His hands came up, firm and sure, caging me in as he pressed closer, blocking me from the rain and the wind.
"Careful," he murmured, his voice rough and low.

I realized then—I was backed up against the wall, his chest just an inch from mine, his arms braced on either side. Our faces were so close I could feel his breath against my lips.

I turned my head quickly to the left, trying to put some distance between us, but the wall behind me left nowhere to go. My pulse raced so loudly I could barely hear the storm anymore.

He dipped his head lower, so close that I felt the brush of his breath before the warmth of his skin. Slowly, deliberately, he ran his nose along the curve of my throat—an unspoken claim in that silent, breathless moment.

A shiver coursed down my spine, not from the rain, but from him. From the way he inhaled softly, like he was trying to memorize my scent. Like I was something forbidden he'd been aching for far too long.

My fingers curled tightly into fists at my sides as I struggled to control the rise and fall of my chest. My breath came faster, too loud in the quiet between thunderclaps.

"Adira," he murmured, my name like a prayer on his tongue.

His hand found my arm, his fingers trailing lightly down from shoulder to wrist—featherlight, but burning.

"You don't even realize," he said in a low voice, "how impossible it is for me to be around you and not want more."

I swallowed hard, the storm raging around us, but nothing felt louder than the silence between us.

"Lorenzo..." I said, finally. A whisper. A warning. A plea. I didn't even know which.

He leaned in, just a fraction more, his forehead nearly brushing mine.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said, voice tight with restraint. "But don't expect me to be good either. Not when it comes to you."

My heart thudded painfully in my chest. I could still feel the wall at my back, solid and unmoving. But it was his presence—his gaze, his hands, his closeness—that truly left me trapped.

"Now go and get some sleep," he said, his voice quieter now as he stepped back, finally putting some distance between us. He turned away to face the storm, the wind tugging at his hair and shirt as if trying to carry his emotions with it.

I didn't say anything. I just ran.

My bare feet padded quickly against the cold floor, heart pounding in my chest. I didn't stop until I reached my room, and the moment I was inside, I locked the door behind me. I slid down against it, knees curling to my chest as I sat there, breathless, confused, shaken.

What just happened?

The rain continued to lash against the windows, thunder rumbling somewhere far above, but it all felt like background noise compared to the storm brewing inside me.

Lorenzo.

I've known him since childhood, but never like this. Never with this strange electricity in the air, this unspoken tension that made my skin heat and my thoughts scatter. The way our eyes had been meeting lately... the way he saved me from that fall... and tonight—

It didn't make sense. None of it did.

Dragging myself up, I moved into the washroom and changed into a soft cotton T-shirt and pajamas. I tried not to look at myself in the mirror. I wasn't ready to face whatever was written in my eyes.

I slipped into bed, curling beneath the sheets as I let the silence of the room settle over me. My body was tired, but my mind wouldn't stop spinning.

Still, as I closed my eyes, I whispered a quiet prayer.

"Please... just no nightmares tonight."

And then, like a switch flipped, sleep pulled me under.

_____________________________________________________________________________

The air was thick, cold, and silent—too silent.

I looked down at myself. Still in my pajamas. Barefoot. My fingers trembled slightly as I tried to make sense of where I was. The darkness around me wasn't just absence of light—it was alive, crawling like something sentient, something watching.

As my eyes adjusted, the shadows slowly pulled back, revealing the faint outline of a room. Old. Empty. Dust and decay hung in the air. But it wasn't the room that made my blood run cold.

It was the figure curled in the corner.

A girl.

Small. Fragile. Whimpering.

Chains wrapped tightly around her wrists and ankles, bruising the skin beneath. Her head was bowed, dark hair falling over her face. But I knew that dress. The one with the delicate pink silk and soft embroidery—what I wore on my 18th birthday.

It clung to her body in torn pieces, stained and dirtied. Scratches laced her arms, legs, and back—some fresh, some old, all aching with pain. Her breathing was shallow. Her shoulders flinched at every creak in the air, like she was used to being hurt.

I stepped forward, my voice caught in my throat.

"Who..." I began, but the words crumbled away.

She slowly lifted her head.

And I froze.

It was me.

Bloodshot eyes. A lip split in the corner. Hollowed cheeks and tears tracing paths through the dirt on her skin. She stared at me—not with fear, but with something worse.

Hopelessness.

"You didn't save me," she whispered.

Her voice echoed, distant and distorted, yet sharp enough to pierce right through me.

"You left me there. You forgot."

I took a step back. My throat tightened. The chains rattled as she reached out a shaking hand toward me. The walls began to close in. The air grew heavier. A deafening clang echoed behind me like the slamming of a door.

"Don't leave me again, Adhira."

Thunder cracked like a scream overhead—and I jolted awake, breath ragged, eyes wide, heart pounding like a war drum in my chest.

The room was dark again.

But this time, I was alone.

________________________________________________________________________________

The Next Morning

Sunlight filtered softly through the pale curtains, streaking golden light across the wooden floor. I blinked against the brightness, the warmth on my skin in stark contrast to the chill still curling around my chest.

My fingers clutched the bedsheet as flashes from my nightmare bled into consciousness.

Chains.
A small body.
My dress — torn, stained.
That familiar 18th birthday dress twisted around bruised skin.
My wrists had hurt... even in the dream. And her whimper still echoed in the back of my mind.

Was that me?

I sat up slowly, pressing my palm to my throat, right over the scar — a grounding gesture. I had prayed last night for the nightmares to stop. Maybe God hadn't heard. Or maybe he was trying to remind me of something I hadn't faced yet.

I got ready in silence. Nothing elaborate — a soft peach kurti with delicate embroidery, my hair pinned loosely. But the tension in my chest hadn't eased. I carried it with me downstairs, like a weight only I could feel.

The living room was already buzzing with voices. Bhai and Ahaan were discussing something about the garden renovations, while Bhabhi and the cook argued over the breakfast menu. It should've felt normal.

But my eyes searched.

And then I saw him.

Lorenzo stood by the French windows, white shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, sunlight turning the edges of his hair to gold. He looked calm — too calm — sipping his coffee like he hadn't cornered me in a thunderstorm just hours ago with his breath on my neck and my name on his lips.

Our eyes met.

And just like that, the air shifted again. My breath stalled, like my body remembered everything even if I was pretending it hadn't happened.

I turned away first.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Sid bhai called as he walked past, giving my head a light tap.

"Bhai," I said, half-annoyed, smoothing my hair and walking to the kitchen.

I grabbed a glass and poured myself some juice, trying not to care that I could feel someone watching me.

"Did you sleep well?" The voice was low. Familiar.

I turned slightly, heart already racing. He was closer than expected, his eyes lingering just a second too long.

"I did," I lied. "Eventually."

He tilted his head, studying me. "Bad dream?"

I didn't answer at first. Just looked at him.

And maybe something in my silence made his gaze soften.

"You looked... upset last night," he said, barely audible. "After you ran."

"It wasn't you," I said quickly. "It was... just something I saw. In my head."

A pause. Then, "You want to talk about it?"

I shook my head, managing a faint smile. "No. Not today."

He didn't push. But he stepped a little closer.

"Still," he murmured, "you looked beautiful last night."

I looked up, startled by the sincerity in his voice.

"Thank you," I whispered.

He glanced at my throat, but not in a way that made me uncomfortable. More like he saw something I'd been hiding.

And then, quietly, he added, "If you ever want to talk about the things in your head... you don't have to do it alone."

Before I could say anything, Atharva bhai shouted from the next room, "Adiii! Come here, help me figure this stupid speaker out!"

I exhaled. A part of me wanted to stay and hear what else Lorenzo wasn't saying.

But I turned and walked away, saying over my shoulder, "Coming!"

Behind me, I heard him say softly, "We'll talk later."

And I knew he meant it.

________________________________________________________________________________There goes chapter6. 

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