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Continue from Shivaksh and Isha's side story

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Isha's POV

The dim room seemed to shrink around me, its air thick with the suffocating scent of incense and despair. My body ached with every movement as Mayuri gently draped the black sharara over me. Her hands were soft, careful, as though afraid her touch might deepen the bruises that already marred my skin. But no touch could match the agony of Ammaji's whip, the sharp bite of her nails as she reminded me of my place.

I sat motionless, letting Mayuri bhaji work in silence. Words felt foreign to me now, swallowed by the unending torment that had become my life. I stared at the small crack in the wall, my only escape from this room, this hell. It was a faint reminder of a world outside, one I could barely remember.

"Isha," bhaji whispered, her voice trembling. "I know you hate this-who wouldn't? But Ammaji... she won't let it go. She'll kill you if you refuse."

I bit down hard on my lip, the taste of iron filling my mouth. Tears slipped down my cheeks without permission, silent confessions of my helplessness.

The door creaked open, and Sonali walked in, her presence sharp and mocking. A string of jasmine flowers dangled from her fingers, and before I could react, she slipped it into my hair.

"You look beautiful, Isha," she sneered, her tone laced with cruel amusement. "Lucky man, paying a crore for you. You'll be his toy tonight, whether you want it or not."

Her words stung, but I said nothing. I had no words left to give.

"Sonali, stop it!" Mayuri bhaji snapped, her voice sharper than I'd ever heard it.

Sonali smirked, unfazed. "Why should I? It's the truth, Mayuri. You know it as well as I do. This place breaks everyone. Men come, take what they want, and leave. And us? We're left to pick up the pieces, to smile through the pain."

She knelt beside me then, her mocking tone replaced with something... softer. A small, cold object pressed into my palm. I looked down to see a tiny packet of white powder.

"Mix this in his drink," Sonali whispered. "Milk, water-it doesn't matter. Once he's out cold, you run. Don't look back, Isha. Run and never come back."

Her words hung in the air, heavy and terrifying. Run? Where? To whom?

Bhaji grabbed Sonali's wrist, her voice trembling with fury. "If you care so much, why didn't you ever try to help before?"

Sonali froze, her body stiffening like a cornered animal. When she spoke, her voice was hollow, stripped of emotion. "Because there's nothing left to feel, Mayuri. My father sold me here when I was thirteen. Thirteen. I stopped counting the men, the touches, the pain. Blood, bruises, tears-they didn't stop. They don't stop."

Her words sliced through the room like a knife. She was trembling now, her hardened exterior cracking. "But when I look at her... I see the girl I used to be. And if I can save her, maybe-just maybe-it'll mean something."

Her voice broke, and I shattered along with her. The packet fell from my hand as I threw myself into her arms, sobbing uncontrollably. My tears soaked her blouse, but she held me, her hand gently patting my back.

Bhaji stood nearby, her face a mixture of grief and determination. She didn't say anything, but her eyes spoke for her.

In that moment, we were three broken souls bound together by shared pain and a flicker of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, we could fight.

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Shivaksh's pov

The secret chamber was dimly lit, a single overhead bulb casting flickering shadows on the walls. I stood in the center, my figure tense and unyielding, surrounded by a chaotic web of red threads connecting dozens of photographs. Each picture told a fragment of a story-a map, an unfamiliar face, and among them, the faint outline of someone I couldn't identify.

My sharp eyes scanned the wall for the hundredth time, my mind racing with possibilities. Clenching my fists, I yanked one of the threads down, scattering pins and photographs to the floor.

"Damn it," I muttered under my breath.

Frustration bubbled within me. I had been at this for years, chasing an elusive truth that seemed to mock me at every turn. With a growl of exasperation, I reached into my pocket and retrieved a cigar. Lighting it with practiced ease, I leaned against the cold concrete wall. The lighter's flame briefly illuminated my face-sharp lines etched with exhaustion and the weight of too many sleepless nights.

I exhaled a stream of smoke, the gray tendrils curling in the air like ghosts of my unresolved past. My gaze lingered on the photographs before me. They meant nothing now, just fragments of a puzzle I couldn't solve. Without hesitation, I flicked the cigar ash onto the floor and picked up the lighter again.

One flick. The small flame danced.

I pressed it to the edge of the photographs, watching as the fire greedily consumed the paper, curling it into ash. The orange glow reflected in my eyes as if fueling the storm brewing within me. The room was filled with the acrid smell of burning paper, but I didn't flinch.

I strode over to the leather sofa and sank into it, my body sinking under an invisible weight. The smoke from my cigar swirled around me as I inhaled sharply, my fingers running through my hair.

Closing my eyes, I let the silence of the room engulf me. But my mind offered no respite.

"Isha..." Her name slipped through my lips like a prayer, a whisper filled with longing and desperation. Her face flashed in my mind-those vulnerable eyes, the bruises on her delicate skin, the silent strength she carried even amidst her torment.

"You've occupied my mind completely," I thought, my inner voice both accusatory and admiring. "Your pain, your eyes ... they haunt me. And yet, you're the only one who can help me unravel this mystery."

I opened my eyes, staring at the empty wall where the photographs once hung. "But for that," I murmured aloud, the smoke from my cigar trailing off like my fleeting resolve, "I have to win your trust."

The idea gnawed at me. I was a man of action, a manipulator of circumstances, someone who didn't need to earn anything from anyone. Yet with Isha, it was different. Her trust was not a prize I could take-it had to be given willingly, and that was unfamiliar territory for me.

I stubbed out the cigar, my hand lingering over the ashtray. My mind raced with strategies, plans, and half-formed ideas to get closer to her, to break the walls around her heart. But for the first time in years, the doubt crept in.

Could I protect her? Could I pull her out of the hell she was trapped in, while still pursuing my own agenda?

I leaned back, staring at the ceiling as if searching for answers in the cracks above. A bitter laugh escaped my lips.

"Looks like the hunter has finally found something he can't control," I said, my voice tinged with sarcasm and a flicker of vulnerability.

But beneath the cynicism, a single thought remained constant, burning like the ember of my cigar.

"Isha... I'll find a way. I don't know how yet, but I will. For both of us."

The fire had burned itself out, leaving only smoke and ash in its wake. But for me, the flames had only just begun.

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Author's pov

Ammaji kota

The dimly lit hallway of Ammaji's brothel echoed with the muffled laughter of the women gathered around her. She smirked as she spoke, her voice dripping with mockery and authority.

"Yaad hai na, customer ke saath kaise behave karna hai? Mujhe complaint nahi aana chahiye. Ek raat ke liye ek crore dera hai bande ne. Dekh kar toh paise wala lagta hai. Acchese passav aur life set kar lo. Jawaani ka faida uthao aur paise kamao," she said, her words slicing through the silence like a dagger.

"Remember how to behave with the customer? I don't want any complaints. The man is paying a crore for one night. He seems rich, so win him over and secure your life. Use your youth to earn money," Ammaji sneered, her tone leaving no room for argument.

The women around her burst into laughter, their mirth as hollow as the lives they led.

In the corner, Isha stood with clenched fists, her nails digging into her palms as she silently chanted prayers to Mahadev. Her chest heaved with controlled breaths, her face a mixture of defiance and suppressed fear.

Sonali, placed a reassuring hand on Isha's shoulder. Her lips curved into a sly smile, but her eyes held a silent message of solidarity.

"Ammaji, tension mat lo. Maine Isha ko acchese samjhaya hai. Customer ke saath kaise rehna hai, kyu Isha, yaad hai na?" Sonali said, her voice laced with an underlying edge of defiance.

(Ammaji, don't worry. I've explained everything to Isha-how she should behave with the customer. Right, Isha? You remember, don't you?)

She turned to Isha, adjusting her earrings in a show of obedience while whispering softly.

"Whatever happens today, run away from here ," she murmured, her tone urgent yet soothing, her hands trembling slightly as she pretended to fix Isha's jewelry ,, giving Isha an encouraging look.

Isha gave a slight nod, her resolve solidifying. With a deep breath, she turned and walked toward the room designated for her. Each step felt like walking on shards of glass, but her mind clung to Sonali's whispered words like a lifeline.

Behind her, Ammaji sucked on her betel leaf ( pan );, the crackling sound breaking the tense atmosphere. She sneered, her voice laced with bitterness.

"Jab tak do laathi tootti nahi, tab tak kisi ko samajh mein nahi aata. Dekho kaise ja rahi hai customer ke paas. Isi liye Ammaji ke samne nakhre dikhana nahi chahiye."

(Until someone gets beaten with two sticks, they don't understand their place. Look how she's walking to the customer now. That's why you shouldn't act smart in front of me,) Ammaji said, laughing mockingly.

Her cackling laughter echoed down the corridor, accompanied by the sinister chuckles of the women around her.

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Inside the Room

Isha hesitantly entered the dimly lit room, her heart thundering in her chest. Her eyes fell on the man standing near the window, his back turned to her. He was tall, at least six feet, dressed impeccably in a three-piece suit. The sharp lines of his shoulders and his confident posture only added to his imposing presence. A cigarette burned between his fingers, the glowing ember casting a faint light in the smoky air.

The room reeked of cigarette smoke, making Isha's breathing shallow. Her gaze darted to the window, which was oddly open. That window was always sealed shut, reinforced with iron rods to prevent anyone from escaping. Today, the rods were gone.

Her eyes then fell on a water bottle resting on a nearby table.

"Mix this powder in water and give it to him," Sonali's voice echoed in her mind. Isha's fingers tightened around the packet in her fist, and she took a shaky breath, trying to gather her courage.

But before she could act, a sudden cough escaped her lips-unintentional but loud enough to echo in the tense silence.

The man turned sharply, startled by the sound. Isha froze, her breath hitching. When the man's face came into view, her world seemed to crumble.

It was Shivaksh.

His piercing eyes met hers, and for a moment, time stood still. A lone tear escaped her eye, though she quickly brushed it away, forcing herself to remain strong.

"Aap theek hai?" Shivaksh asked, his voice soft but concerned.

She remembers her first meeting with him in the middle of the road

Isha clenched her fists, closing her eyes as memories of their first meeting surged through her mind. Back then, he had been the only man to treat her with genuine respect. But seeing him here, in this place, shattered her. If it had been anyone else, the pain wouldn't have been this unbearable.

With a bitter smile, she wiped the corner of her eye and forced herself to speak.

"Toh tum bhi baaki sab ki tarah nikle, hai na? Ek ladki ko dekhte hi tumhare andar ke armaan jaag gaye, hai na?" Her voice dripped with hatred, masking the pain that threatened to choke her.

"So, you're just like the others, aren't you? One look at a girl, and your desires awaken, right?"

Shivaksh frowned, his expression unreadable. He turned fully to face her, his movements slow and deliberate.

"Aap mujhe galat samajh rahi hain," he said calmly.

"You're misunderstanding me."

Isha's anger flared, her voice rising as she stepped closer to him.

"Main galat samajh rahi hoon? Really? Toh tum iss kothay pe kyun aaye? Yahan log sirf auraton ke jism ke saath khelne aate hain, aur tum bhi wahi karne aaye ho, hai na?"

"I'm misunderstanding you? Really? Then why are you here, at this brothel? People come here only to play with a woman's body, and you're no different, are you?"

Shivaksh remained silent, letting her words wash over him.

" You've paid a crore, right? Then go ahead and do what you came for," she spat, her anger boiling over. In a fit of rage, she yanked off her dupatta and threw it onto the bed.

Her voice cracked, but her defiance didn't waver.

Shivaksh's jaw tightened as he averted his gaze, refusing to look at her. He stepped forward, his movements calculated, and picked up the discarded dupatta from the floor.

"Agar mujhe aapke saath wahi karna hota jo baaki sab karte hain, toh main yahan aapka intezaar nahi karta," he said, his voice low and firm. "Mujhe aapke jism se koi kaam nahi hai. Main yahan kisi aur maqsad se aaya hoon."

"If I wanted to do what everyone else does, I wouldn't have waited here for you. I have no interest in your body. I'm here for a different purpose."

Still not meeting her gaze, Shivaksh gently draped the dupatta back over her shoulders. The gesture, so unexpected and tender, left Isha stunned.

Throughout the interaction, his eyes never left the floor, as if respecting her pain. But then something caught his attention-a faint bruise peeking out from her sleeve.

His expression darkened instantly. The veins in his neck and arms bulged, his anger palpable. Even with his shirt on, Isha could feel the tension radiating from him.

"Kisne maara hai aapko?" he demanded, his voice low and hoarse, carrying a dangerous edge.

"Who hurt you?"

The question hung in the air, freezing Isha in place. For the first time, her resolve wavered. His concern was genuine, but the fury in his tone sent a shiver down her spine. She didn't know whether to trust him, or fear him.

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