The kitchen was filled with the comforting aroma of spices as Iraaya worked, her hands moving swiftly as she prepared a simple meal. Her brother had just returned from school, and her grandmother was due back from the temple any moment. Amidst the rhythmic sounds of chopping and the occasional clinking of utensils, Iraaya's focus remained solely on her task, every movement purposeful. For her, this time in the kitchen was a refuge—a small, familiar space that allowed her a rare sense of peace, away from the world outside.

Suddenly, her concentration broke. A loud, booming voice echoed through the street, accompanied by the distant hum of excited chants. The slogans were unmistakable—"Vote for progress! Vote for security! Vote for a better tomorrow!" Iraaya's hand stilled, her knife hovering above the vegetables. She knew exactly what this was about. Today, a powerful political leader had arrived in her locality, canvassing for votes. The crowd's fervor was palpable, each chant louder than the last, rippling through the air like waves crashing against her home.

Iraaya tried to brush it off, forcing herself to stay focused on cooking, but the voices grew louder, closer. Curiosity tugged at her. She could feel the electric charge in the air as the slogans blared, the speakers amplifying the rally's clamor until it practically rattled the walls of her modest home. Unable to ignore it any longer, Iraaya wiped her hands, made her way to the balcony, and looked out.

What she saw made her heart freeze.

The man at the center of the crowd, basking in the adulation of the mob, was someone she could never forget. He stood directly below her balcony, a garland of fresh marigolds around his neck, smiling that cold, empty smile that only she knew was a mask for something monstrous. Iraaya's chest tightened, her breaths shallow and rapid, as she stared down at him in horror. Time seemed to stop, and for a moment, it was as if her entire body turned to stone. Memories flooded back, sharp and searing—a flash of his hand grabbing her, his voice dripping with malice, the way he’d shattered her life without a second thought.

She watched as the crowd chanted his name, revering him like a god. Some of the older women, even familiar faces from her neighborhood, pressed their palms together in prayer, showering him with blessings. Men shook his hand with respect, eyes gleaming with admiration for a man they believed was their protector, their savior. Iraaya knew better. She knew the dark soul that lay beneath his benevolent facade. He was no hero—he was a beast, a merciless predator who preyed on the weak, who thrived on the fear he instilled.

A shiver ran through her as his gaze seemed to lift, scanning the homes around him, and then pausing briefly—too briefly—on hers. Panic shot through her like lightning. Without another thought, she pulled back from the balcony, her mind racing. What if he saw her? What if he knew she was here? The terror of that possibility left her breathless. She hurried inside, her hands shaking as she locked the door, as if that flimsy barrier could somehow protect her from the nightmare that was too close for comfort.

Iraaya pressed her back against the wall, sliding down to the floor, her knees pulled to her chest as she tried to quiet her frantic breathing. The walls of her home, once a haven, now felt like they were closing in on her, trapping her in a place where he could reach her again. She had to leave. She couldn’t stay here, not with him so close. But as she peeked out from the curtain, she saw the dense crowd blocking every possible exit. There was no way out—not without drawing his attention.

Helpless, Iraaya locked every door, pulling the bolts tight, as though that small action could shield her from the memories surging within her. But it was futile. Images she’d tried so hard to bury resurfaced with brutal clarity: his hands, cold and unfeeling, the humiliation, the despair, the feeling of being stripped of her dignity with no one to help. Tears pooled in her eyes, and despite her efforts to keep herself composed, the anguish broke through. She wrapped her arms around her knees, burying her face, sobbing softly.

She didn’t know how long she sat there, drowning in her grief and fear, but eventually, exhaustion pulled her under. As her sobs faded into silence, her body finally gave in, falling into a restless sleep. In her dreams, the memories replayed—haunting and unrelenting, trapping her in a darkness that felt as real as the cold floor she lay on. And even as she slept, the voice of the crowd lingered, echoing in her mind, a chilling reminder that the man who had destroyed her life still held the power to shake her to her core.

Iraaya slowly awoke, her eyes heavy from exhaustion. As she sat up, the silence in her surroundings struck her. The loud shouts and chants that had once filled the air were now gone. She took a deep breath, feeling a sense of relief, hoping that the man she feared had finally left. But the silence weighed on her, and a prickling unease crept up her spine. She walked cautiously to her balcony, gazing out at her once lively neighborhood, now eerily deserted. Not a single soul in sight. Every street, every corner was cloaked in a tense stillness.

A shiver crawled up her spine as panic settled into her bones. *Something's not right,* she thought, her heart beginning to pound as her gaze darted around, searching for a sign of life. It was as if the entire world had gone silent, swallowed by an unnatural void.

Just then, a familiar, haunting sound pierced through the quiet. The faint tune drifted toward her ears, unmistakable and terrifyingly intimate. She knew this melody. She could never forget it. That old song he would hum with a sickeningly sweet tone—*“Pyar manga hai tumhi se, na inkaar karo…”*—echoed through the silence, winding its way around her like a snake, squeezing her breath away.

Iraaya’s pulse raced. Her hands trembled as fear gripped her, every fiber of her being screaming to hide. She glanced around desperately, her eyes falling on an old, worn metal suitcase in the corner of the room. Without a second thought, she climbed inside, pulling the lid down as tightly as she could, curling herself into the cramped space. The metallic smell filled her senses as she clasped her hands over her mouth, her breaths shallow, desperate not to make a sound. Tears prickled at her eyes, rolling down her cheeks as she fought to stay silent. *This has to be a nightmare,* she pleaded within, her mind racing. *Please, let this end soon.*

But her hope shattered as she heard slow, deliberate footsteps entering her house, each one echoing ominously in the empty halls. She recognized his gait, a dreadful rhythm that drummed in sync with her racing heart. His footsteps were patient, almost savoring each step as he closed in on her hiding place. She could feel him coming closer, like a predator drawing out the chase, enjoying her helplessness, savoring her fear.

Her breath hitched when the footsteps stopped just outside the trunk. She held her breath, curling tighter, praying he wouldn't find her. *Please, please,* she begged internally. But then, the trunk’s lid creaked open. She gasped, her eyes shutting tightly, as if the darkness could protect her from his gaze. His scent—rich, musky, and overpoweringly familiar—invaded her senses, wrapping around her like chains, binding her in fear.

Then came the voice. Low, mocking, dripping with the pleasure of his triumph.

“Caught you, *jaan,*” he drawled, his words twisting like a blade into her heart.

A shiver ran through her body, her skin crawling with terror as she heard his taunting voice. She opened her mouth, her voice a faint, broken whisper, “S...Sharv…”

But before she could say anything more, her body gave in to the fear. Darkness overtook her, and she sank into unconsciousness, the last sensation being his looming presence, casting a shadow

that even her dreams couldn’t escape.