Ruhan didn't say a word as he held Nandini's hand and led her out of the restaurant.
The crowd parted without resistance. People watched, half in confusion, half in awe. Some whispered. A few stared in stunned silence. Neel had just slapped Julia in front of everyone. Antonio—who had mocked Nandini moments ago—was now uncharacteristically quiet, staring at the floor.
"Say one word now, and August will mark your downfall." That's what Ruhan had said to Antonio moments earlier. It wasn't loud. But it was enough.
Now, as they walked into the night, the humid Goa breeze swirled around them like the aftermath of a storm.
Ruhan opened the passenger door of a sleek black car, helped Nandini in, and closed it gently behind her. He slipped into the driver's seat and pulled away from the chaos.
Inside the car, silence reigned.
The low hum of jazz played from the speakers. A moody saxophone layered over a steady rhythm. But Nandini sat frozen—back straight, lips pursed, eyes distant.
Ten minutes passed before Ruhan finally spoke.
"Are you okay?" he asked quietly, glancing at her.
She didn't respond.
He tried again. "Did I take too long to get there?"
Still nothing.
His grip on the steering wheel tightened. "Did someone touch you? Hurt you? Say the word, and I swear—I'll slap those bastards one by one. Or throw one off the damn terrace if that's what it takes."
There was anger in his voice—burning, protective. But underneath, a deep, unspoken empathy.
Nandini finally looked at him. Her voice was soft, but steady. "No. Nothing like that happened."
She had heard the fury in his words. If she had stayed quiet any longer, he might've gone back and wrecked the entire party. And that wasn't what she wanted. She didn't want drama. She didn't want vengeance. She just wanted peace.
"There were too many unfamiliar faces. Everyone looked… rich. Powerful. I didn't belong there," she whispered.
"Hm." Ruhan nodded, eyes still on the road. "So, where are you headed now?"
She looked out the window at the passing trees. "Home. I guess."
Within minutes, the car pulled into a quiet residential complex. Her apartment building stood at the corner, bathed in soft streetlight.
Nandini stepped out silently.
"I'll park the car," Ruhan said. She nodded and disappeared into the building.
By the time Ruhan entered the flat, she had already gone to her room.
For a brief second, he stood in the hallway, staring at her closed door. He almost raised a hand to knock… but stopped himself. Something in him told him to give her space.
He entered his own room instead.
The moment the wardrobe opened, he took out a duffel bag, tossed it onto the bed, and began unpacking. His mind still raced with the events of the night. After removing the first shirt, he noticed something—red stains on the second.
Blood.
His jaw tightened.
Without hesitation, he stripped it off and threw it into the laundry basket. Then, quietly, he walked into the bathroom.
The shower hissed to life.
---
Ten missed calls.
By the time he stepped out, fresh in a new black T-shirt and track pants, his phone buzzed again. He picked it up.
A voice on the other end said, "Is the job done?"
"It's done," Ruhan replied.
"You need to get out of Goa as soon as possible."
"I was careful. It'll take the police at least three days to even realize anything's happened."
A pause.
"So what now?" the voice asked.
"I'm staying here another day. Maybe two. Then I'll vanish."
Another pause. This time longer. Then: "Fine. But be careful. No slip-ups."
The line went dead.
Ruhan exhaled and walked to the window. The moon hung low and luminous over the skyline. He stood still for a while, staring at it. Then, without another thought, he climbed into bed.
---
Knock. Knock.
He stirred.
The morning sunlight had only just begun pouring in through the curtains. Still half-asleep, he walked to the door and opened it.
"Good morning," said Nandini with a soft smile.
His eyebrows arched in surprise. "Ah… morning."
"I said good morning," she repeated, her tone playful now.
He blinked, still groggy. "What time is it?"
"8 AM."
"Too early," he muttered.
"Get ready and come down. I've made breakfast," she said, and turned before he could protest.
He stood there, confused. Breakfast?
Still, he shut the door, changed quickly, and headed down.
---
At the dining table, he found a neat spread—tea, poha, and a beautifully plated onion paratha decorated with coriander and pomegranate seeds.
He sat down slowly, staring at the food.
A helper stood nearby.
Ruhan frowned. "Who told you to make this? You know I don't eat onion paratha."
"It wasn't me, sir," the helper said. "It was Miss Nandini. She made everything."
He turned to her in surprise. She was sipping tea, pretending not to watch his reaction.
"You cooked?" he asked, brow furrowing.
"There's a helper here, you know."
"I know," she said. "But you helped me yesterday. I just… wanted to thank you."
"If Suhani finds out you cooked for me, she'll kill me," he muttered.
"I can throw it away," she said, reaching for the plate.
But his hand stopped hers midair.
"No. You made it. I'll eat it."
He took the first bite.
It wasn't bad. In fact… it was excellent. But he didn't say that. He kept chewing with an unreadable expression, trying not to show that he liked it.
"You don't have to do this again," he said between bites. "It's not your job."
"I know," she said, smiling. "But sometimes… it just feels good to do something unexpected."
He looked at her again—really looked at her.
This wasn't the Nandini from last night.
There was a quiet resilience in her eyes now. A subtle smile. A flicker of mischief.
She had survived the shame, the crowd, the accusations… and today, she chose kindness.
Even the helper was surprised. His eyes darted between them, as if trying to decode something brewing beneath the surface.
Ruhan picked up the tea and sipped.
"Thanks," he finally said. Not too loud. Just enough for her to hear.
---
To be continued...