5. past
The soft sensation brushing against my face stirred me awake. Something warm… gentle… like a feather dancing on my skin. I blinked my eyes open slowly, and the first thing I saw wasn’t the ceiling… but her.
My little cute mute ghost.
She was right there, sitting beside me, completely engrossed in something near my pillow. Her lower lip was trapped between her teeth, eyes narrowed in innocent focus. A few soft strands of her hair had fallen over her face, brushing her cheek like a shy kiss.
And that mole just at the left corner of her lower lip.
A weird sense of familiarity struck me. I’ve seen this mole before… on someone else… or maybe… somewhere.
I shook the thought off and just stared at her.
She turned, catching me watching her. And the moment her eyes met mine, her whole face lit up like the first sunlight slipping through curtains.
A bright, dimpled smile stretched across her lips, childish, pure.
She raised her hands in front of me and waved softly, then tapped her index and middle fingers together like a silent clap followed by placing both palms near her chin and pushing them slightly forward.
“Are you trying to say good morning?” I asked, eyeing her gestures. She nodded instantly, her usual bright smile lighting up her entire face. But before I could say anything else, I felt it again, something soft brushing over my face.
I looked down and saw a thin painting brush in her fingers, which she was gently circling around my nose.
What the hell was she doing?
I tried to sit up, confused, but she placed her hand firmly on my shoulder and shook her head silently telling me don’t move, stay.
So I did.
She inched closer, hovering over me now.
Her warm breath grazed my skin, but my eyes remained fixed on her face. Soft, innocent... like a page from some forgotten poetry. I couldn’t look away.
But the questions kept hammering in my head.
Is she really this innocent? Or is it just a well-played game... a veil of sweet deceit? Because if she’s faking it, God knows what I’ll end up doing.
But if she’s truly innocent...
Then I’m going to destroy that innocence completely, mercilessly.
Her hair spilled forward, brushing over my face like soft threads of silk. Instinctively, my hand reached up and gathered them in my palm. She kept on with her mysterious little "art project" on my face, completely unfazed.
I held her strands carefully, feeling their texture, soft, silky, annoyingly perfect.
My hair isn’t this soft. Why hers? She doesn’t even comb them properly. Doesn’t oil them. Doesn’t care.
I was jealous. Honestly.
But I let it slide. I’ll just find out which shampoo she uses and switch mine. Quiet revenge.
While I was busy sulking over her unfair hair genetics, time passed unnoticed. She finally moved back, stepping down from the bed to the floor.
Before I could say anything, she grabbed my hand and tugged it like an impatient child. I followed her, half-confused, half-curious--until she dragged me in front of the mirror.
“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!”
I screamed.
Loudly.
My reflection stared back at me in horror. Or rather, a clown version of me.
Painted cheeks, colored eyebrows, a mustache in fluorescent pink, and a red heart on my forehead.
My nose was also red like a bloody joker.
I stared. And then I turned slowly… only to find her standing there, smiling like a guilty child who found mischief cute.
My blood boiled.
I strode toward her, grabbed her arm tightly, yanking her closer. “How dare you do this?” I snapped, my voice rising. “Do I look like a fucking joker to you? Am I your personal canvas?”
My grip tightened involuntarily. She tried pulling her hand back, panic flashing in her eyes. She pushed at me weakly, trying to free herself but I didn’t let go.
She has no idea how much I care for my skin. And now God knows what crap she’s used. Paint? Markers? Cheap colors?
The silence from her only added fuel to the fire.
Enough of this mute act.
I stepped closer, breathing harshly.
“Say something! Why the hell don’t you ever answer?!”
She began gesturing with her handsfrantically trying to explain, but it only frustrated me more.
“Fucking stop this drama!” I let go of her with a sharp jerk. She stumbled back, landing roughly on the bed. I turned my back on her, jaw clenched, fists tight. My mind was spinning.
The girl Samarth used to talk to on video calls, over the phone, the one whose voice I know I’ve heard…
She can speak. Then why is she pretending otherwise? If she’s really his girlfriend… what kind of game is she playing with me?
I stormed into the washroom, slamming the door shut behind me. One glance in the mirror, and rage bubbled up again. The colors on my face weren’t the issue anymore. It was the feeling of being played.
Only I know how hard I rubbed my face to get those damn colors off. But they didn’t go. Instead, they smeared even more mixing into a horrifying mess on my skin. The fluorescent pink bled into the red, turning into an ugly purple. My cheeks were raw. Nothing worked.
Then came a knock.
I tried ignoring it.
Not again…
Another knock. A pause. Then another.
Frustration bubbled up. I stormed to the door and yanked it open.
There she stood. again. Head lowered. Shoulders tense. Eyes not meeting mine.
“What the fuck do you want now?” I shouted, stepping closer. “Haven’t you done enough?!”
She flinched at my tone.
Something slipped from her hand and hit the floor with a soft clink. She instantly stepped back, almost like she was afraid I’d strike her. Her eyes lifted for a brief second and I saw them. Red. Wet. Glassy with tears. And in that moment, all the anger I was carrying… it collapsed.
Shit.
“Go away…” I muttered, this time my voice lowered. Softer. She turned and ran, her anklet clinging.
I exhaled sharply, dragging my hand down my face, rubbing my throbbing forehead. Then my gaze fell to the object she had droppup with a paper.
I bent and picked it up.
A small glass bottle. The label read: Oil-Based Color Remover – Skin Safe. Below it, in small print: Only works on activated festival paints.
I unfold that paper, Just one line was scribbled, in soft, slanted handwriting: "I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you."
“Fuck,” I muttered, kicking the bathroom door open before storming inside. I poured some of that liquid on my palm and rubbed it over the colored parts of my face. It came off instantly no scrubbing, no pain. Just like that.
I sighed, taking a long shower to calm myself. Fresh clothes, a clean face… and a slightly heavier heart than I’d admit. I got ready for the office.
As I walked into the living room, breakfast was perfectly arranged on the table warm food, everything in place. But she wasn’t there.
There was no soft jingle of her anklets. No glimpse of her swaying near the kitchen. Nothing.
I sat down, confused, and called for one of the maids. “Go and bring Dhwani,” I said. She nodded and walked toward her room.
A few minutes passed. Then finally, I heard the soft chime of her anklets. Slow. Hesitant. She came down the stairs quietly and stood beside me.
“Sit… and have breakfast,” I said, gently.
She sat. But not beside me she left two chairs between us. She was upset. I could feel it.
As I reached out to grab the pasta bowl, she slid it to her side instead. In the process, some of it spilled onto the table, but she didn’t seem to care. She served herself without looking at me.
I shook my head, trying not to react, and reached for the garlic bread next. But again she tugged the plate to her side, a little harshly this time, and took a piece for herself.
She didn’t even push it back.
And still, she began eating like a child who had been starving and was finally letting it out. She hadn’t eaten properly since yesterday… just some Maggi in the afternoon.
She looked small… stubborn… hurt. And hungry.
I picked up my cup of coffee and took slow sips, eyes fixed on her as she ate quietly, focused, almost like nothing else existed.
Once done, she stood up without glancing at me and rushed back to her room. Yeah… she’s angry. I should probably go and apologize.
I stood halfway… but then paused.
Why should I apologize?
It wasn’t just my fault. She’s the one who treated my face like some kind of canvas. Who gave her the right? Does she think just because I’m handsome, I don’t mind being turned into a joke?
I scoffed to myself.
Forget it.
Acting as chill and composed as ever, I grabbed my overcoat and walked out of the mansion.
Because let’s be honest my ego won’t let me say sorry. And frankly, she’s not even here by choice. She’s here because of her boyfriend.
Samarth.
He’s the reason all this is happening. I didn’t bring her here as some pampered guest. I brought her here to punish her to make him pay through her.
Because when he finds out where she is, what I’ve done, he’ll come running.
Begging. And that’s when I’ll make him suffer… for everything he did to my family.
I still remember the day I brought Dhwani here for the first time.
Two years ago…
After meeting Samarth’s uncle in Rajasthan in their grand palace I tried to find some trace of Samarth. Anything. But he had just… vanished.
I did everything I could. Dug into records, questioned people, traced contacts. But every lead ended in silence. Only two people seemed to know where he was: Samarth’s uncle and his sister who, God knows where she had disappeared to. No one could reach her.
Eventually, after weeks of hitting dead ends, I let it go. Not because I wanted to but because I had tried everything. And if after giving it my all, I still couldn’t find him, that only meant one thing:
I returned to Mumbai.
A few months passed. Life moved, slowly and reluctantly.
My parents were set to travel with my Maama, Maami, and cousin brother. He had an engagement to attend — a happy occasion. They had a late-night flight.
I still remember telling Mom that I’d join them. But she waved me off, saying there was no space left in the car that my cousin was coming along, and five people in one vehicle were enough.
So, they left without me.
That was the last time I saw them.
I was sleeping peacefully when the call came. A stranger’s voice on the line. Cold. Shaky.
There’s been an accident.
My heart stopped. I couldn’t breathe. But somehow, I pulled myself together and rushed to the hospital.
There… I found them.
My parents. Gone. My Maama and Maami too.
Dead on the spot.
My cousin brother the only one who survived was in the ICU, clinging to life.
After that… everything changed.
My sister spiraled into depression. My grandparents shattered like glass. And my cousin, the one who survived he lost his mind.
I was the most pampered one in the family the one who never had to lift a finger. But suddenly, every responsibility landed on my shoulders. I didn’t even get time to cry. I didn’t have time.
I broke that day… but no one noticed.
And the person responsible? He ran away. On the spot. Didn’t even stop to check if anyone was breathing. An investigation began. We waited for justice. After weeks of searching, we finally found CCTV footage of that accident, But the angle was wrong it didn’t show the face of the driver.
What it did show, loud and clear, was the car. A luxury vehicle. Sleek. Branded. And it belonged to the Rathores.
But I didn't trust. Samarth could’ve made a mistake. He could’ve done the accident. But run away? That didn’t sound like him. Also, nobody knows where was he since last some years how could it be possible? He was the kind of man who faced consequences head-on.
And no one had even seen him in years. How could he just show up out of nowhere so accident and vanish again?
I refused to trust anyone. Until one day… a video was released. It was Samarth. Sitting in front of a camera, admitting everything. “Yes, I did the accident. I ran away.”
I froze. He couldn’t say that.
I checked the video with multiple people. Experts. Editors. Hoping it was AI-generated. Hoping someone had edited his face in. But every one of them said the same thing–“It’s real.”
I broke. For the second time. He was like my brother, I trusted him blindly.
Another investigation began. But Samarth Rathore? He had disappeared. Days passed. Then months. Two long years.
I burned. With revenge. With guilt. With questions that never found answers.
And then… something clicked.
So I started digging again. Looking for anyone connected to him. And all roads led me back to one place–Rajasthan.
The same place I had been two years ago.
I didn’t go with the police this time. I went alone.
I cornered his uncle. Threatened him. Asked again about Samarth. Same lies. Same silence. Same rehearsed shrug. “I don’t know where he is.”
I wanted Samarth to come out of whatever shadows he was hiding in. And that’s when, For the first time… I saw her.
Hiding behind the pillar, she froze. But as she took a step back, her anklet gave her away with a soft jingle. That sound… it pulled my eyes to her. I couldn’t look away.
I started walking towards her, slowly, deliberately.
“Dhwani, go inside!” Samarth’s uncle shouted, his voice sharp, panicked.
She turned to flee, but I reached her just in time grabbing her wrist gently, yet firmly, pulling her out from behind the pillar.
“Who is she?” I asked, my voice low but cold.
The man stood there, silent. Useless. But I’d spent enough time around Samarth to know he never had much respect or attachment to his uncle. Threatening him wouldn’t bring Samarth out of hiding. No, if I wanted him out I had to find what mattered most to him.
And right now, that seemed to be the girl whose wrist I was holding. There was something in her eyes… fear, but also a flicker of defiance. She wasn’t just anyone.
Was she his sister? His girlfriend? I had never seen her before. I had no clue.
“Is she Samarth’s sister?” I asked, harshly.
“No! She’s not his sister,” the man blurted, too quickly, in anger. I smirked, that was all I needed.
“Leave her hand, Samarth will kill you if he found out you touched her. “ He threatened me.
Ohh, If she wasn’t his sister… then she had to be someone closer. Closer to his heart. So I turned to the uncle and said, calm but sharp, “Tell Samarth if he wants her back, he knows where to find me.”
“Yugant…don't touch her, Samarth will kill everyone if he find out. She is very important to him.” He tried to convince me to leave her, but I don't. And that's how Dhwani ended up in my house and life.