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 "STAY AWAY FROM me! I knew this place had something wrong going on. You, you lured me into this, right?"

    "Well, you finally decoded it," he raised his sleek brow, the rings on his fingers rustling again.

     She shook her head in derision. "So this is that part of the town,"

    That made him tick. He turned his neck in her direction. "Away from the sheltered crowd? The bad part of town? It is, and now you've seen why"

    "You're involved with them too, right?" 

    "To think I was expecting gratitude from this woman." He shook his head slightly. 

    "How could I be so blind?" She sighed.

    "Don't act surprised. You're no saint either,"

    "You don't even know me,"

    "No one is truly good,"

    "False. Children are"

    "I don't think you've ever spent five minutes in a room with one."

    "Like attracts like. You must only be meeting children like yourself. "

    "Excuse me? The fact that you're in my- you're safe is because of me-"

    "Alright, thank you so much, mister, whatever your name is," said Aaina as she tried to ignore every other wall and sound around them. She followed him around while he heaved a breath of annoyance. He paused afore a wide room and paused before entering, siding the lantern towards the room. 

    "There's the fireplace—"

    Before he could say more, she scurried towards the warming red flames and sat on the floor, spreading her ghagra to warm it too.

    The storm outside thundered like it had been ages since it was repressed.

    "I'll check for damage around the makaan. Don't go anywhere. "

    Did it mean he was leaving her alone there?

    "Wait—"

    He glanced back with a questioning look. It was awkward, to say the least. What could she have said anyway? The man was a stranger in every sense of the word, and the night could not have been more treacherous. Well, not exactly a stranger, she thought. Their bargain, for instance, and the fact they saw someone commit a sin together. There had already been some kind of familiarity involved. To the extent that he was courteous enough to provide her warmth in his house.

    It would've been better if he were a stranger. She sighed. He stood there, waiting for her to say more while her mind went blank, unaware of why she even called after him.

    "Um, nothing," she reverted, rubbing her palms over the heat again. The fabric of the blouse stuck to her badly, with the dupatta bunching into a thin napkin along her midriff. She felt his shadow disappearing from the rim of red on the floor, which coaxed her to focus her eyes only on the fire and nowhere else. 

    As the heat swiveled around her, melting away the cold, her breathing turned better, and fingers felt the air again. It brought along the realization that she was, indeed, inside the makaan that she always perused from afar, embracing its very floor and gazing at walls and chandeliers hidden in the midnight shadows

    What is this place? 

    Her eyes wandered towards the carvings on the walls. Miniature designs were strewn all over. The expansive floor was covered with warm crimson kaaleen that rolled off under a cushioned chaise, donning a chikankari veil. Above, the high ceiling looked down upon the fairly empty living room with its gold ornate chandelier. Aaina craned her neck to view it in its entirety. The storm had blew away all the lanterns, and only a few survived, strewn across he wide, dark room.

    She continued to gaze around when a silhouette appeared at the doorway. 

    "Are you well?"

    It almost gave her a seizure. 

    "Are you out of your mind?" She screamed. 

    All she heard was a low laugh. 

    "Oh oh, I apologise," He said, raising his palms up as if surrendering.  

    Where are they all coming from? she thought.

    His sharp nose caught her eye first, then he flashed his bright, adonic smile as if there was no storm outside and everything was well in the night. She gazed at him suspiciously. He was considerably younger and a very youthful face she had not seen in a long time, except Jaswanti's. Both had the doe like innocence of face. 

    "Mera naam Milan hai. Aur aap?"

    With an uncertain nod, she said. "Aaina"

    His boyish smile made her linger for a moment. His lean shoulders and the chirpy tone pushed her to feel a sense of unusual relief, but she couldn't push herself to feel it.

    "Tum kaun ho?"

    "Shouldn't I be asking you that? It's my house—"

    "How many times do I have to tell you, Milan?" the man's voice boomed from behind the corridor. Aaina released her hesitant breaths as the man had returned.

    "Sorry, Amar bhaiyaa," he pursed his lips in a sly smile.

     They looked at each other like a guru would at a student. Milan's eyes strained to the floor as he walked in. But Aaina was too bemused to notice that. Her mind stuck on what the young boy said.

    "Your name is A-Amar?" She asked, her voice turning hush as she finished the sentence. The man's eyes darted from Aaina to Milan and then back to her, eyeing them subtly.

    "Amar Raas Rajawat. He didn't tell you? Bhaiyaa, I have to teach you how to talk to people now. "

    "How do you know him?"

     "We're brothers,"

     "No, we're not." Amar intervened.

    "Not by birth," Milan smiled, giving the so-called Amar's shoulder, a friendly pat to which he responded dryly.

    "He is the son of a family friend,"

    The pool of information was too much for Aaina. Did she really have to encounter them like this? Why did she have to know or care who they were. But at least she came to know the name of the man who had been unusually involved in her life. Was he the one Pujari Jaidev was talking about? 

    It would be a great help to this old man if you could give this to Amar.

    She eyed him suspiciously. Should she go about his instructions? But this can't be the Amar he must be talking about. Who was he anyway? Alright, he did help her out and save her back there, and his rings and long kurta don't really scream poverty either. He was a fine, well-groomed man, not an inch of crease on his coat. Who was he anyway?

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