Author’s POV
Ruhi was asleep. Her breathing was even. Slow. Exhausted rather than peaceful. Shrey sat on the chair beside the bed, laptop closed, phone face down, watching her like a guard who refused to blink.
She didn’t see the message arrive. It came without a sound. No vibration. No call. Just a notification silent.
Unknown Number: You did the right thing by leaving.
Across the city, in a dark room lit only by the glow of multiple screens, the man watched a map update.
Ruhi’s location hadn’t moved in over an hour. Good.
“She always shuts down before she wakes up,” he murmured to himself. “Predictable. Still the same.”
He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled, eyes calm. Not rushed. Not anxious. He had waited years.
A few more hours meant nothing.
On one screen a paused CCTV still from the hospital corridor Ruhi being wheeled in, Aayansh’s hand clenched around the file.
On another an old photograph.
Ruhi. Younger. Standing beside her father.
The man’s jaw tightened, just slightly.
“You were never meant to be protected like this,” he said quietly. “You were meant to remember.”
His phone buzzed again confirmation was received. The envelope had been delivered.
At Shrey’s apartment building, the night guard barely glanced up as a courier dropped a thin brown file at the reception desk. No sender name. No return address.
Just three words written neatly across the front:
FOR RUHI RAICHAND
Inside the envelope was not proof. Not yet. It was worse.
A single photocopy of an old police report half redacted, time stamped years ago. And a handwritten note, folded once.
Shrey noticed the envelope when he stood up to stretch. Something about it felt… off.
He picked it up. His name wasn’t on it. Ruhi’s was.
His instincts screamed. He hesitated then carefully opened it. His face drained of color as he read.
Behind him, in the quiet bedroom, Ruhi stirred. Her brows knit together, like a memory tugging at her from somewhere deep.
At the same moment, Ruhi’s phone lit up again on the bedside table.
Another message.
Unknown Number: I told you I’d give you proof. This is only the beginning.
Shrey turned slowly toward the bed. “Ruhi…” he said under his breath.
Because whatever this was, it wasn’t random. It wasn’t impulsive. And it wasn’t over. Far from it.
Then he placed the envelope beside the bed and sat on a chair to look after her but he didn’t know when he himself slept.
Across the city, the man shut down his screens one by one.
He stood, slipped on his jacket, and looked at his reflection in the dark glass.
A faint smile curved his lips.
……
Ruhi woke slowly. Not with panic. Not with fear. Just a strange heaviness in her chest, like something had already changed while she slept.
Her eyes opened to unfamiliar light. Different curtains. A different ceiling.
Shrey’s place.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Her body felt drained, as if sleep had taken something out of her instead of giving it back. She turned her head slightly.
Shrey was asleep on the chair beside her bed, his head tilted back, exhaustion carved into his features. He had stayed.
That realization grounded her just a little. Her hand shifted, brushing against something cool.
Her phone.
The screen lit up instantly. Two unread messages.
Her heart slowed instead of racing. She didn’t know why, but some part of her already knew who they were from.
Unknown Number.
She opened them.
You did the right thing by leaving.
Her fingers tightened around the phone.
The second message waited beneath it.I told you I’d give you proof. This is only the beginning.
She stared at the words for a long moment. No shock. No denial. Just understanding.
A quiet, sharp kind of clarity slid into place like a missing piece finally locking in.
He knew where she was. He knew she had left. And he wanted her to know that he was still watching.
Ruhi slowly sat up, careful not to wake Shrey. Her gaze moved to the table beside the bed.
The envelope. She hadn’t noticed it before.
Brown. Plain. Her name is written on it.
She didn’t open it.Not yet.
Instead, she looked back at her phone, her reflection faintly visible on the dark screen. Her eyes looked different now. Not broken.
Awake.
“So this is how you want to play,” she whispered, more to herself than to the empty room.
Her hand didn’t shake as she locked the screen. Fear wasn’t what filled her chest anymore.
It was resolved. She leaned back against the pillow, eyes fixed ahead.
Whoever he was… Whatever he thought he owned…He had just made one mistake. He had reminded her. And Ruhi Raichand didn’t forget anymore.
Ruhi stood by the window, phone clenched in her hand.
Whatever this was fear, confusion, unfinished truths she was done letting it stretch into another night.
It ends today.
Her fingers moved quickly.
Ruhi: Let’s meet and end this today.
The reply came faster than she expected.
Unknown: Okay. Come outside the city. There’s an old factory. Be there.
Her chest tightened but she didn’t hesitate.She glanced toward the bedroom.
Shrey was asleep, exhaustion finally claiming him, his breathing slow and even. For a second, she considered waking him.
Then she shook her head.
This was hers. She picked up her bag quietly, slipped out of the room, and closed the door behind her without a sound.
The drive out of the city felt unreal. Streetlights thinned. Buildings disappeared. Silence replaced traffic.
When she reached the location, the car slowed on its own.
An abandoned factory stood ahead rusted gates, broken windows, walls stained by time and neglect. The place looked dead.
Too dead.
Ruhi stepped out of the car. The wind brushed past her, cold and sharp. There was no one in sight. No cars. No movement.
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown: Inside. On the terrace.
She swallowed. Took a deep breath. And walked in.
The factory smelled of dust and decay. Her footsteps echoed as she climbed the stairs, each step heavier than the last.
When she reached the terrace, she stopped.
He was there.
Sitting on a chair in the middle of the open space, completely still. Calm. Like he had been waiting for her all along.
He looked slightly older than her broad shoulders, composed posture. A mask still covered his face.
Another empty chair stood in front of him.
“Sit,” he said.
His voice was steady. Familiar in a way she couldn’t place.
She hesitated for only a second before walking forward and sitting down. The distance between them was small but it felt loaded.
The wind stirred his hoodie slightly. The mask stayed in place.
Ruhi straightened her spine.
“No more games,” she said firmly. “Who are you and why are you doing this?”
He leaned back slowly, folding his hands together. "You always were direct,” he replied.
Her eyes narrowed. “I didn’t come here to hear riddles.”
A pause.
Then he spoke again, quieter this time.
“You came because you already know this won’t stop until the truth is out.”
Her jaw tightened. “You’ve been watching me,” she said. “Following me. Sending me messages. Dragging my past out of the ground.” Her voice trembled despite her control. “Why?”
He tilted his head slightly, studying her.
“Because you forgot me,” he said simply.
Her breath hitched.
“And forgetting me,” he continued, “was never part of the plan.”
Silence stretched between them. The air felt heavier now. Charged.
Ruhi’s fingers clenched in her lap.
“I’m not afraid of you,” she said. “But if you think you can control my life..”
“I don’t want control,” he interrupted. He leaned forward. “I want you to remember.”
Her heart started pounding.
“Remove the mask,” she said.
He didn’t move.
“Not yet,” he replied. “First, answer me something.”
Her eyes burned into him.
“When your father died,” he asked slowly, deliberately, “what do you remember about that day?”
Her chest tightened painfully.
Memories stirred. Broken. Incomplete.
“I remember leaving,” she said. “I remember being angry. I remember… guilt.”
He nodded, as if that confirmed something.
“You remember what they allowed you to remember,” he said.
Ruhi stood up abruptly, chair scraping against concrete.
“Enough,” she snapped. “You brought me here now talk. Or this ends with me walking away and calling the police.”
For the first time, his composure shifted.A slow, humorless chuckle escaped him.
“You really are his daughter,” he said softly.
Her heart skipped. “What did you say?”
He reached up.
His fingers curled around the edge of the mask.
And slowly He lifted it.
Ruhi froze.
Her breath left her lungs in a sharp gasp as recognition slammed into her like a wave.
Not from sight alone.
But from memory. From a voice. From a promise buried deep inside her childhood.
“No…” she whispered.
Her knees weakened as the past finally snapped into place.
“You…” her voice broke. “It was you.”
And in that moment, Ruhi didn’t just meet her stalker.
She remembered him. And absolutely nothing would ever be the same again.
Her head started pounding violently, like something was trying to break free from inside her skull. She clutched her head with both hands, her breath turning shallow as memories long buried and forcefully forgotten came crashing back.
Fragments flashed before her eyes. Blurred. Disjointed. Too fast.
A younger version of herself. A man standing in front of her his face unclear, but his presence unmistakable. And then his smile.
Not kind. Not gentle. Certain.
His voice cut through the chaos, echoing inside her mind as if he were standing right beside her.
“Finally… you remember me.”
Her chest tightened painfully. Another memory surged forward a promise spoken years ago, words she had buried so deep she had convinced herself they never existed.
“I’ll always find you,” the voice whispered. “No matter what.”
Her knees weakened.
Everything she had forgotten every suppressed moment, every warning she had ignored came rushing back all at once.
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