The nights were colder than she remembered.
Not because of the wind.
Because no one waited for her.
Meera walked until her feet bled.
She stopped counting towns.
Stopped asking for help.
People avoided pregnant women who looked homeless.
'Bad luck,' they said.
At the market, the world spun.
The smell of spices.
The noise.
Then darkness.
When she woke, she wasn't outside anymore.
A ceiling of dark wood.
Warm light.
Voices in another room.
She tried to sit up.
Pain shot through her body.
"Don't move."
The voice was calm.
A woman stepped forward.
Late twenties. Sharp eyes. Gentle hands.
"You fainted."
Meera instinctively covered her stomach.
The woman noticed.
"I know," she said softly. "You're two months."
Meera froze.
"How—"
"I'm a doctor."
A pause.
"And pregnant too."
The second woman entered quietly.
Softer presence. Watchful gaze.
Neither asked questions.
Neither offered explanations.
Only food.
Only water.
Meera hesitated before eating.
Trust had become expensive.
That evening, two men returned.
They did not speak immediately.
They observed.
One stood by the door.
The other by the window.
Silence filled the room.
"You shouldn't walk alone in your condition," the man near the window finally said.
His voice wasn't warm.
But it wasn't cruel either.
"We're not here to harm you," the second added.
Meera said nothing.
Her hand remained over her stomach.
The first man's eyes shifted there briefly.
Something unreadable passed across his face.
He turned to his wife instead.
"Keep her here tonight."
Not a command.
Not a suggestion.
A decision.
Later, when Meera lay awake, she heard whispers in the hall.
"…energy was unstable."
"…you felt it too?"
"…not normal."
She held her breath.
They were talking about her.
Or about the child.
Fear and hope tangled inside her chest.
The next morning, the sharper-eyed man stood near the doorway.
"You don't remember your past," he said quietly.
It wasn't a question.
Her throat tightened.
"How do you know that?"
He didn't answer directly.
"Rest here for now. When the time is right, you'll understand more."
More what?
He left before she could ask.
In the courtyard, the softer woman pressed tea into her hands.
"You're safe," she said gently.
Safe.
The word felt unfamiliar.
That night, as firelight flickered across the walls, Meera finally allowed herself to breathe.
Inside her, something stirred.
Stronger this time.
Not just movement.
Presence.
And far from the Ahir mansion…
Two men stood beneath the open sky.
One spoke first.
"If we're wrong?"
The other didn't hesitate.
"We're not."
Silence.
Then—
"Protect them."
The fire crackled louder.