Location: Swindon Private Hospital – Room 207 – 7:08 AM
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The hospital room was still, the early morning sunlight now fully spilling through the blinds and painting everything in soft, deceiving gold. But Kiaan wasn't basking in it—his gaze was locked on something far darker.His wrist.
His fingers slowly curled, and the bandage shifted, revealing the ink that never faded, no matter how many times he tried to forget it.
"Rehaan Malhotra."
The name inked into his skin wasn't just letters. It was a ghost. A chain. A curse.
His breath hitched. A strange chill swept over him even under the warmth of clean white sheets.His mind wasn't in that hospital anymore. It was dragged back to that night. That suffocating silence. The blindfold over his eyes. The cold room. The hands—unseen but unforgettable—on his skin. The assault was not in the form of bruises or beatings alone. It was psychological. Raw. He remembered the voice—smooth, cruelly calm, taunting yet tender. It played games with him. Broke him and stitched him back together, only to break him again.
And then, the ink.A needle carving through his skin like it was paper. No words spoken. No mercy shown. The scent of antiseptic and blood lingered as the name was burned into his body permanently. A signature of ownership. A cruel reminder.
He never saw the face. Never got a name.
But the man left his name behind on him. As if branding him like he was a piece of property… or worse, a memory that was never meant to fade.Kiaan (softly to himself, eyes unreadable):"…You wanted me to remember you, didn't you?"
He let out a hollow chuckle, bitter and low.
Kiaan:"You really think a name is enough to make me afraid?"A pause."No… you wanted me angry."He sat up slowly, ignoring the searing pain in his head, his palm tracing the ink.The hospital door creaked slightly, and Zid entered with a paper cup of black coffee. His usual smirk was absent when he saw Kiaan's expression—empty, heavy, buried in something Zid didn't dare ask about.
Zid (clears throat):"You… alright?"
Kiaan (smiling faintly without looking):
"You ever have a nightmare so vivid you wake up… remembering a touch you never saw coming?"Zid blinked, thrown off.Zid:"…That's dark, man."Kiaan (still staring at his wrist):"It's not a nightmare if it really happened."The silence returned, thicker this time. Zid didn't press.From the hallway, Rehaan walked by with Dev and Tara—none of them noticing Kiaan's wrist, the tattoo, or the silent storm in his eyes. They were focused on the killer, the leads, the twisted paths.But Kiaan was focused on a different shadow now.The one that left their name on his flesh. The one that burned their existence into his soul with no face… only letters.
Rehaan Malhotra.The name wasn't just a mark. It was a clue.A memory.A puzzle.A ghost wearing a name still alive.