Tuesday, 8:17 a.m.
Ballygunge, Kolkata
The soft strains of "E tumi kemon tumi" drifted from her phone, a morning tune she'd set weeks ago. It was slow, gentle, a sharp contrast to the city outside where honking taxis and dripping rainwater created a persistent rhythm.
Shanchayita groaned, muffling her face against the pillow, then peeked out through the half-drawn curtains. Morning light glittered across the room, catching floating dust motes that danced lazily in the calm air.
"Fine," she muttered, sitting up and grabbing her phone. The lock screen glowed.
"Lunch with Ashmit – 2:00 p.m. 😬".
She smiled faintly. The thought of the afternoon made her pulse quicken, a mix of nerves and anticipation.
Her room smelled faintly of wet cotton and the faint traces of flowers from the balcony. The study desk bore the familiar chaos. A half-read copy of Jibanananda Das, a cracked coffee mug, a tiny potted money plant leaning toward the morning sun. She swung her legs over the bed, bare feet brushing against the floor, and stretched, letting the morning warmth seep into her.
Shanchayita tied her bob-cut hair into a straight ponytail, shivered under the slightly cool air, and moved toward the bathroom. The cold splash of water on her face sharpened her senses, flushed her cheeks, and left her looking at her reflection; bare, natural, just herself. Enough. She liked it that way.
Back in her room, she opened her wardrobe, fingers brushing over folds of pastel kurtas, a lone indigo saree, and the pale beige kurta she always wore when she wanted calm. Today wasn't the day to decide yet. She only let herself imagine the softness of the fabric against her skin and the quiet confidence it would bring.
Her phone buzzed insistently. Three missed calls, one message. She smiled faintly, seeing the sender: Sheyoshi.
"Wake up, you! Big day. Don't make me late for all the fun 😏"
Shanchayita laughed, calling back while walking toward the balcony. "Tui ki Pagol ?" she said, teasing, holding the phone to her ear. "It's too early for this madness."
"Early?" Sheyoshi's voice crackled through the line. "You're the one meeting Mr. Smooth at two! I can't even think straight. You better not mess this up."
Shanchayita chuckled, leaning on the balcony rail, watching water trickle down the edge of the grill. "Relax. I won't be able to mess this up. Mostly."
"Mostly?" Sheyoshi's tone was sharp, teasing. "Uh-oh. That doesn't sound confident."
"I'm confident," Shanchayita said softly. "Just… alert. You know how he can be."
Sheyoshi laughed, the sound bubbling through the line. "Alert, huh? As if you need to be. You already know the man's type. Don't let him slip one of his ridiculous tricks."
Shanchayita smiled at the memory. Yes, she had said yes. Last Friday, beneath the soft shade of the college park trees, Ashmit had proposed.The nervous way he had held her hands, the quiet sincerity in his eyes, the subtle tremble in his smile. She remembered every detail.
"I know," she said, voice light. "I told you everything already. Today's just lunch. Nothing fancy. Hopefully no surprises."
"Oh, don't tempt fate," Sheyoshi warned. "And please, if he tries any 'special moves,' I swear, I'll come hunt him down."
Shanchayita laughed, leaning further on the rail. "You'll survive my wrath instead. He'll be fine. He's… nervous too, I think."
"Ha! Nervous or not, you better not be like last time someone tried to propose you with poetry. Remember that disaster?"
Shanchayita shook her head, the memory clear. The shy, awkward boy in the library with the tattered book of Jibanananda, all stammer and nervous apologies. She had smiled, of course, but inside she had teased herself mercilessly. "Yes, I remember. Don't worry, I'm prepared today."
Sheyoshi's voice softened a little. "Good. Just… enjoy it. I know you're cautious, but… let yourself have a bit of fun. You deserve that. You've been studying and worrying and..."
"I know, I know," Shanchayita interrupted, smiling. "I'll be fine. Lunch, a movie maybe, and then I can come home, alive and happy."
"Alive and happy?" Sheyoshi teased again. "Sounding like you're heading into battle."
"Maybe I am," Shanchayita said softly, looking down at the city below. The streets were half-empty, the rain leaving reflective puddles that mirrored neon signs and the morning light. Cars honked softly, a stray dog barked in the distance, and a faint smell of wet asphalt and jasmine hung in the air. "But it's the kind of battle worth fighting."
Sheyoshi laughed. "Just don't let him see you sweat. Or I'll know, and I'll know exactly how to mock you later."
Shanchayita glanced at her wardrobe once more. Today was about confidence, not aesthetics. Not makeup, not accessories, just her. Just her calm smile, her bobbed hair, her bright eyes. She took a deep breath, letting the sounds of the waking city fill her lungs, steadying herself for the afternoon.
"Promise me one thing," Sheyoshi said, still playful, but slightly more serious now. "If anything feels off, you leave. Immediately."
Shanchayita nodded, almost reflexively. "Promise. Nothing will happen I don't want. You know that."
"I know," Sheyoshi said, relief in her tone. "Good. Now, go. Plan your outfit. Eat something. Hydrate. You'll need all your energy for the charmer."
"Got it," Shanchayita whispered, smiling at the distant hum of the city below. She glanced again at her clothes, thinking, considering, imagining the gentle touch of a kurta against her skin, the way she could move freely, the way the wind would play with her hair on the way to lunch.
The city was heavy, quiet in certain pockets, yet alive in the reflections of rain. And she, with a fluttering heart, was about to step into the day that awaited her, armed only with her calm, her instincts, and the faint smile that never failed to reach her eyes.
Tuesday, 01:20 p.m.
Shanchayita stepped out into the muted chaos of the city. Rainwater still glistened on asphalt, reflecting the muted Sun behind the clouds. Barricades and police vans threaded slowly along narrow streets. Vendors packed up early, their voices lost in the residual hum of sirens. The faint smell of wet earth and exhaust filled the air, pressing gently against her senses.
She tightened the strap of her sling bag, adjusted the beige kurta she had chosen, and pulled her bobbed hair back into a tidy ponytail. No makeup, just herself. Confidence and caution folded neatly together as she made her way toward the Mall, where Ashmit had said he'd meet her.
Her footsteps splashed lightly over puddles as she moved, alert, observing. The city had changed in the past few days. The airport blast had left it tense, quiet in the wrong places, too alert, too unpredictable. People avoided lingering, as if aware that chaos could lurk behind every corner.
She reached the designated spot near the Mall entrance. Ashmit was already there, sitting on a bench , checking his phone. He looked impossibly confident, tall, the faintest smirk teasing the corner of his lips. His shirt was crisp, sleeves rolled, and there was a subtle glint of a gold watch on his wrist.
"Shanchayita," he said, voice smooth, as she approached. "Right on time. Impressive."
"Hello, Ashmit," she said softly, offering a polite smile. She kept her hands loose at her sides, alert but calm.
He straightened, brushing invisible dust from his sleeve. "I thought we could grab lunch at the Mall café first. Heard they have some excellent biryani."
She nodded. "Sure."
As they walked, he started talking about his life: his father, an influential MLA, the sprawling family home, vacations in Europe, and subtle hints about the kind of social circles he moved in. There was pride in his tone, a little boasting, as if every word had been polished for impact.
Shanchayita listened, eyes scanning the reflective streets, noting barricades, the occasional police patrol, the wet leaves skittering across sidewalks. The city had a quiet vigilance now. Her pulse matched its rhythm, a mix of nerves and curiosity.
"You see, my father always says," Ashmit continued, leaning slightly closer, "connections matter. You have to know people, not just for yourself… but to get things done." His grin broadened, the kind that suggested charm but also self-assured entitlement.
She smiled faintly. "I see. Sounds… strategic."
He laughed softly. "Of course. Life's a game. You play to win."
They reached the café. Inside, the air was warm, smelled faintly of spices and fresh bread. The hum of conversation filled the space, punctuated by the clink of cutlery and distant music. They sat by the window, watching the wet streets outside.
Lunch was a careful balance of polite conversation and light teasing. Ashmit leaned closer occasionally, brushing his fingers near hers, testing boundaries subtly. Shanchayita held herself still, calm, letting him talk, keeping a mental note of each gesture, each word.
"You always look so calm," he said suddenly. "Like nothing ever surprises you."
"Maybe I just don't let things," she paused, smiled faintly, "surprise me easily."
He chuckled, leaning back, clearly enjoying the tension. She noticed the subtle arrogance, the confidence that bordered on entitlement. He didn't mean harm, not yet, but she felt the faint unease that had been growing since their first meeting.
Lunch ended. They walked through the Mall corridors, the smell of coffee and fried snacks mingling with polished floors. By 2:30 p.m., they reached the theater.The movie started. She sat, alert to his movements, noting every gesture. He leaned in once, arm brushing hers. She shifted slightly, polite but firm.
As the minutes stretched, Ashmit's subtle attempts increased, a closer shoulder, a hand resting near hers, a gentle pressure of proximity. Shanchayita's pulse quickened. She was aware, cautious, ready.
Tuesday, 6:14 p.m.
Kolkata streets outside the theater were quieter, the rain now a thin mist. Neon lights shimmered on wet asphalt. Ashmit suggested a café nearby.
"I know a place. Cozy. Private," he said, eyes gleaming slightly.
Shanchayita agreed, her mind alert. The city's tense atmosphere seemed to press in from all sides, empty streets, flickering streetlights, distant sirens.
Inside, the café was dim, the smell of roasted coffee and damp air mingling. Ashmit moved closer, trying to guide her toward a secluded corner. "It's quiet here," he said, voice lower, leaning in.
Shanchayita took a deliberate step back.
"I think we should just sit."
He smiled faintly, misreading her distance as playful hesitation. He leaned closer again. "Come on. One kiss won't hurt…"
Her heart raced, not with anticipation, but with alarm. "No," she said firmly, voice cutting through the dim warmth of the café. "I'm not ready for that. Not now. Not like this."
His face hardened. "What do you mean, not ready?" His tone sharpened, frustration creeping in. "I thought… I thought you liked me."
"I do," she said, careful to remain calm. "But I like myself more than your impatience. I'm serious, Ashmit. Stop."
He rose, anger visible now. "Stop? You think you can just..."
She shoved him lightly, her resolve hardened. "I said stop!"
Panic and urgency surged. She turned and bolted from the café, slipping through the empty street. Her sandals splashed through shallow puddles. Rain misted around her face, hair damp, breath sharp in the cool air.
Ashmit hesitated at the door, realizing pursuit might damage his carefully polished image. Reputation mattered more than immediate satisfaction. He paused, thinking of options. College influence, maybe even his father's underground contacts. But for now, she was gone.
Shanchayita's legs carried her instinctively, heart hammering. And then, unexpectedly, she stumbled into someone familiar.
"Shanchayita?" Arnab's voice was calm but sharp, slicing through the humid mist of Kolkata streets.
She skidded to a stop, shoes splashing in puddles, hair damp and clinging to her forehead. Her chest heaved with rapid breaths.
"Arnab…" she whispered, voice trembling. "I… he..Ashmit...he tried to…" Her words caught in her throat.
Arnab's eyes scanned the empty street instinctively, alert, calculating, the mist curling around the dim streetlights.
"It's okay. Slow down. What happened?"
She clutched her kurta, her fingers tight around the fabric. "He… he tried to kiss me. I said no. He got… angry. I ran…" Her eyes darted to every shadow, every reflective puddle as if expecting him to appear behind her.
Arnab's jaw tightened imperceptibly. Inside, a surge of fury coiled like a tightly wound spring. Ashmit! That fucker! Thinking his father's influence and a brash smile could override decency. Arnab's fingers flexed; his body remained perfectly still, calm, unshakable, but beneath that exterior, the storm brewed. Every instinct screamed to chase, to strike, to tear that arrogance apart.
But he didn't. Not yet.
"I've got you," he said quietly, a measured calm that belied the storm inside. "Nothing's going to happen now."
Her shoulders sagged fractionally, the first hint of relief softening her rigid stance. "Arnab… what are you… doing here?" Her voice was barely audible.
"I was meeting Aditya," he said smoothly, voice casual, unassuming, almost mundane. She blinked, nodding. The explanation felt normal enough; she didn't question it.
The rain had stopped, but the streets still glistened, reflecting neon lights from the distant shops, the occasional passing taxi. Arnab held out his hand. "Come on. Let's get you somewhere safe."
She hesitated, then took it, her fingers brushing his. He didn't flinch. He led her down the quiet lane to a waiting taxi, the engine humming softly, a low constant beneath the distant city chaos.
Inside, the car smelled faintly of leather and rain. Shanchayita pressed her palms to her lap, hands trembling slightly. Arnab remained still, his eyes forward, but his mind raced. Every street corner, every flicker of movement in the rearview mirror, every honking car registered subconsciously.
"Shanchayita… tell me everything," he said finally, voice calm, steady.
She inhaled shakily, her eyes glistening. "We… we had lunch near the Mall. Everything seemed fine. He...he wanted to watch a movie afterward. I didn't think anything of it."
Her voice trembled as she recalled the cinema lights, the laughter that had died abruptly.
"Afterward, he… he suggested a café… or… or something. And then he tried to...kiss me. I said no. I...I just ran. I didn't know where to go."
Arnab's fingers curled subtly around the edge of his seat. His jaw tightened, the fury boiling beneath a calm mask. Ashmit, that pretentious, arrogant motherfucking son-of-a-bitch! He imagined the slick, overconfident smile, the shallow charm that masked entitlement, and the blood boiled. Yet his expression remained neutral, unreadable.
"You're safe now," he said softly.
"That's what matters. Everything else… we deal with later."
She looked at him, finally allowing herself to breathe. The presence of calm authority, the sheer confidence in his tone, made her chest unclench. He wasn't patronizing. He wasn't exaggerating. He simply… was.
The taxi maneuvered through half-empty streets, puddles shimmering like shattered glass in the faint neon glow. Shanchayita's gaze drifted outside, noticing the silence in the city, the aftermath of the airport blast still haunting the lanes. Broken shop shutters, cautious pedestrians, murmurs of the news on car radios, a city tense, aware, fragile.
"I… I didn't know what to do," she admitted, voice small. "I was so scared… I ran without thinking."
"You did the right thing," Arnab said softly. His eyes flicked to hers briefly, calculating. "And you ran into me. That's all that matters."
She exhaled, leaning slightly against the door. "Arnab… I...thank you. I didn't know what to…" She trailed off, words lost to the hum of the taxi engine.
He offered a small nod, turning his gaze forward. Inside, thoughts churned relentlessly. Ashmit's father, the MLA. The wealth. The arrogance. The potential reach. But right now, it was about her safety, her trembling hands, the faint tremor in her voice. Everything else could wait.
The taxi pulled into a quieter lane, a familiar building ahead. Arnab led her inside. The apartment was modest, sparse, yet ordered. Books stacked neatly on shelves, a faint aroma of brewed coffee lingering in the air, subtle shadows dancing under the evening lights.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the couch. "I'll make tea. You need to calm down."
She sank into the cushions, hair still damp, eyes wide. Arnab moved to the kitchen, his movements precise, deliberate. Each motion unhurried, calculated. Even in normal acts, there was an undercurrent of discipline, of alertness that mirrored his mind.
He returned, carrying two steaming cups. Handing one to her, he said softly, "Sip slowly."
She obeyed, letting the warmth seep into her fingers, into her chest. The calm steadied her heartbeat.
Arnab finally spoke, voice low, conversational yet sharp. "He's just one man. And he misjudged everything. You didn't."
She glanced at him. "You… don't look… angry."
"I am," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the cup. Inside, the fury remained...burning, coiled, precise, but controlled. Nothing would shatter the calm. He couldn't let it. Not tonight. Not until she was safe.
She looked down at her hands. "I… I don't want to see him again. Not ever."
"You won't," Arnab assured her, tone unwavering. "Not while I'm around."
For some time, they spoke quietly, about her feelings, the city, trivial notes of daily life. Nothing extravagant, but each word, each pause, a thread of trust weaving between them.
After a while, Shanchayita's thoughts drifted. The quiet of Arnab's flat, the distant hum of the city outside, and the lingering adrenaline from the chase had given her a strange, fragile calm. But there was one thing she couldn't shake.
She tapped her fingers on her knee, voice barely above a whisper. "Should I… tell her?"
Arnab's head lifted slightly, eyes narrowing, reading her expression with calm precision. "Tell who?"
"Shreyoshi," she said, biting her lip. "I mean… she already knows about Ashmit, but today… everything that happened… she should know."
Arnab's gaze held hers, steady and unreadable. There was no judgment, no rush to speak, just that sharp, controlled observation he always carried. "Sure," he said finally, voice low, measured. "If it's what you want, go ahead."
Shanchayita exhaled, a soft, trembling sigh. She reached into her sling bag and pulled out her phone. The screen glowed in the dim light of the room, the reflection of the lamp catching on the edges of her fingers. She pressed Shreyoshi's name, hesitated for a fraction of a second, then hit call.
The line clicked once, twice, then a familiar, energetic voice rang through.
"Shanchayita! Finally! What's up?"
Her lips curved in a small, tired smile. "Hey… you free to talk?"
"Of course, always for you. What happened? You sound… different." There was a note of concern beneath the cheerfulness.
Shanchayita drew in a steadying breath. "It's… about today. About Ashmit. I… I ran. He tried to force something...I mean, he got angry when I said no." Her words rushed, tumbling out faster than she expected, but she couldn't stop them.
There was a brief pause on the other side. Then Shreyoshi's voice sharpened, protective, instant. "What? He...he what?"
"I… I just ran," Shanchayita said softly. "I didn't know what else to do. I was… scared."
Shreyoshi's tone became low, almost furious, her words clipped. "That son of a bitch! How dare he even think...Did the fucker touch you?"
"No! I stopped him. I...he was… he was angry, but I managed to get away." Her voice faltered slightly, the memory of fear still raw.
Shreyoshi's sigh of relief was audible, yet it carried fire. "Thank God. That's good. And… wait, where are you now?"
Shanchayita's gaze flicked to Arnab, still sitting calmly on the couch, his posture unreadable. She let herself smile faintly. "I'm… safe. I'm with Arnab. He helped me."
There was a brief intake of breath on the other end. "Arnab? That's… wow. He's there? You're safe with him?"
"Yes," Shanchayita said, quietly, the words steady despite the lingering tremor in her chest. "He… he made sure I was okay. He… kept me calm."
Shreyoshi's voice softened slightly, though the protective edge remained. "I don't even know what to say. I'm… so glad. You're okay, you're safe. And… Arnab… he's… reliable, isn't he?"
Shanchayita nodded, though she knew he couldn't see her. "Yes. And calm."
There was a pause, filled only by the low hum of the city outside the flat. Then Shreyoshi's voice returned, teasing, but with warmth. "You sound… different. Braver."
"I guess I am," Shanchayita admitted softly. "After today… I had to be. And… I wanted to tell you. You should know what happened."
Shreyoshi's tone grew serious again, protective but resigned. "I know. I just… I hate that you had to go through that. But… you handled it, and you're safe now. That's all that matters. Promise me one thing?"
"Anything," Shanchayita said, attentive.
"Promise me you won't go back there. Not ever. Not even if that fucker tries to… charm you with that fake smile of his."
Shanchayita smiled faintly, a shadow of amusement passing through the tension. "I promise. Never again."
"Good," Shreyoshi said, her voice softening, almost affectionate. "And… call me if you feel even a little unsure. I'll be there. No questions. Just… you know, backup."
"I know," Shanchayita whispered, warmth threading through her tired voice. "Thank you."
Another pause, then Shreyoshi laughed lightly, the tension breaking. "You're too calm for someone who just ran from a… disaster date. Seriously, I expected a screaming fit."
Shanchayita laughed softly, the sound trembling but genuine. "I have someone to thank for that," she said, glancing at Arnab, who gave a slight nod without looking up, expression unreadable as always.
"You do realize… you just owe him big time," Shreyoshi teased, voice bright again.
"I know," Shanchayita said. "And I will. But… let's just survive today first."
Shreyoshi sighed, the sound of relief and lingering concern mixing. "Alright. Keep me posted. And… drink water, eat something, recover. You're still trembling, aren't you?"
"Maybe a little," Shanchayita admitted, pressing a hand over her chest. "But… I'm okay now."
"Good," Shreyoshi said, finally easing. "I'll check in later. And… enjoy your calm. You've earned it."
Shanchayita smiled faintly, a quiet warmth settling in her chest. "I will. Thank you… for everything."
"Anytime," Shreyoshi replied, the line crackling slightly in the background. "Now… get some rest, or at least sit down with a cup of tea or something."
Shanchayita's lips curved in a faint smile. "I will. Don't worry."
They hung up, leaving her with the muted hum of the city outside the rain-slick streets. The apartment felt calm now, warm. Arnab remained silent, standing by the window, gazing at the streets below. He said nothing, yet his presence radiated an unspoken assurance, the kind that made her pulse steady, her breaths even.
Shanchayita leaned back, finally allowing a long exhale to slip past her lips. The apartment was quiet, yet outside, the city hummed. And Arnab, standing there, calm and unreadable, held within him a storm she could not yet perceive.
The street outside darkened, the city lights flickering like distant stars caught in mist. Arnab finally stood. "I'll get you home."
The taxi ride back was silent, except for the occasional squeal of tires over wet asphalt. Shanchayita's head rested lightly against the seat, eyes closed. She felt safe, strangely protected, the world outside the glass blurred and distant.
Arnab's mind, however, was a web of calculations and suppressed rage. Ashmit, the delivery he had retrieved earlier at the Mall, the subtle instructions he had received from Gaurav never left his consciousness.
They reached her building. He walked her up the stairs, each step measured, deliberate. "Here," he said, stopping at her door. "Safe. All yours now."
She turned to him, voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you… truly."
He nodded, with a faint smile.
"Goodnight, Shanchayita," he said in a low voice.
"Goodnight, Arnab," she replied, as she closed the door.
Arnab turned, sliding his hands into his pockets, silent, his mind already two steps ahead. The envelope would wait, the delivery's significance would surface soon. And tonight, he had ensured one thing, she was safe.
At the same time, Far across the world, on an uncharted island in the Indian Ocean, a hidden laboratory throbbed with cold, blue light. Inside, a cryogenic pod hissed, frost curling into the air as its lid slid open with mechanical precision. Issei's eyes snapped open, vision blurred, chest tight, the sterile tang of antiseptic sharp in his nostrils. Machines around him whispered, fans hummed, monitors flickered. His mind, sluggish and fragmented from a month-long slumber, fought to piece together the impossible. And then, cutting through the haze, a question that burned through his brain,
"Who am I?"