Chains of Desire

Ranvijay lay semi-conscious, beads of sweat clinging to his brow, the fever dulling his senses and sharpening his memories. His body was weak, but his mind, cruelly, refused to rest.

The door creaked open.

Soft footsteps. Familiar perfume—jasmine and sandalwood, the scent that once clung to silk pillows and the nape of her neck.

His lids fluttered. Kiara.

She stood at the foot of the bed, dressed in a pale cream salwar that floated like mist. Her hair was tied back, but loose strands framed her face, glowing in the dim light. Her eyes—god, her eyes—looked just as he remembered. Not angry. Not afraid. Tender.

He blinked rapidly, unsure. “K–Kiara?”

She didn’t speak. She stepped forward slowly, almost reverently, and cupped his face in her hands. Her touch was cool, grounding. He closed his eyes.

“I missed you,” he whispered, voice hoarse, broken. “I was looking... everywhere.”

She leaned down and pressed her lips to his forehead, soft as prayer. Then to his cheek. Then the corner of his mouth.

For a second, everything was perfect.

Until it wasn't.

Her grip on his face tightened, nails digging slightly into his skin. He opened his eyes. Her smile had changed.

Cruel. Icy.

“You don’t get to miss me.”

He froze. “W–what?”

She tilted her head, studying him like he was something pitiful.

“You want to know what I missed, Vijay?” Her voice was calm. Too calm.
“The sound of silence. The feeling of breathing without fear. Of not being watched.”

He tried to sit up, pain lancing through him, but she pushed him back against the pillows effortlessly.

“I saved you,” he rasped. “I kept you alive—protected you!”

Her laughter was low and sharp. “You caged me. Wrapped me in velvet and called it love.”

His chest heaved. “You loved me once.”

She leaned in again, brushing her lips near his jaw. “I did. That was the problem.”

A knock came from the doorway. He turned his head weakly.

A tall man stood silhouetted by the hallway light—blazer, clean lines, calm eyes. Unfamiliar. Silent. Kiara turned toward him, her expression softening with something Ranvijay hadn’t seen in years:

Peace.

“No,” he whispered.

She turned back, slowly. Her expression was unreadable.

“I’m not yours anymore.”
She brushed his forehead again, like tucking away the past.

“I belong to someone else now.”

His heart cracked, breath faltering.

She walked toward the door, and the man reached for her hand. She took it.

Ranvijay’s voice broke. “Kiara… please.”

She looked back once, her eyes glimmering like wet glass.

Then:
“I loved you once, Vijay. And that was your greatest weapon.”

The door clicked shut.

And Ranvijay, once the ghost that haunted others, lay haunted himself — shaking, crying, breathless. Alone in a world he’d tried to control, defeated not by war, but by the one woman he couldn't keep.