CHAPTER NINETEEN

Aahil brought Raneya to the car and drove her to the safe house. The safe house was small, dim, and smelled faintly of mothballs and sterilized linens. It was a place that once meant refuge. Now, standing inside again, Raneya felt nothing but the weight of everything she had buried come crashing back in waves.

She hadn't spoken since they left the confrontation on the street.

Her words… her confessions… they hung heavy in the air like storm clouds refusing to rain.

Aahil stood in the corner of the room, arms folded, watching her with unreadable eyes. The silence between them was thick. Uneasy. Restless.

Raneya picked up a shawl, a pair of worn sandals, and her books. Her fingers trembled slightly.

She didn't expect him to speak.

But he did.

"You know," he said, voice low and distant, "sometimes… vengeance keeps people alive."

Her hand froze midair.

He didn't look at her as he continued.

"People talk about forgiveness like it's a badge of honor. Like letting go is noble." His lips curled in a wry smile. "But sometimes, being vengeful—putting yourself above everyone else—is exactly what you need to survive."

His voice wasn't angry. It was calm. Too calm. The kind of calm that concealed a graveyard of buried rage.

Raneya turned slowly to face him. Her eyes searched his face for any hint of warmth. There was none.

But there was honesty.

Raw. Unfiltered. Brutal honesty.

"I used to think I could fix things," she whispered. "That if I kept trying, someone, they would finally choose my dream. Value me."

He scoffed. "The world doesn't reward goodness, Raneya. It devours it."

She bit her lip, staring at the floor.

Then he stepped closer—just enough to make her breath hitch.

"But don't misunderstand," he said coldly, his tone shifting back into steel. "This isn't charity. I don't care for sob stories."

She looked up, startled.

"This," he gestured vaguely toward her and the safe house, "is me paying my dues."

Her heart sank.

He leaned in slightly, and for a moment, his voice dropped to a near whisper, brushing against her skin like a winter breeze.

"You saved my Dadi's life. That's it. Don't get any fancy ideas."

Her throat tightened, but she swallowed the sting.

"You don't have to worry about that," she murmured, trying to sound steady.

He stared at her for a beat too long—his jaw clenched, his eyes glinting with something indecipherable.

And then, just like that, the wall went up again.

His entire demeanor shifted.

Cold.

Impassive.

Distant.

They didn't speak in the car.

Raneya sat in the passenger seat, the wind whipping through the half-open window, carrying with it the bitter taste of unspoken thoughts.

But even though he didn't say it…

Even though he acted like her pain meant nothing to him…

Something in the way Aahil looked at her—in the way he had listened, without judgment, without interruption—lingered in her chest like a spark refusing to go out.

But then, to her utter disbelief, he drove to a luxury mall.

"What… what are we doing here?" she asked, disoriented.

"Dadi expects more than one pair of clothes," he replied without emotion. "I don't intend to be scolded."

Raneya blinked, confused. "What? No—I don't need—"

"I don't care what you need," he cut her off coldly. "If you return with nothing, Dadi will turn the house upside down. And I hate drama."

Just as she opened her mouth to thank him, his expression turned stony again. He flicked a platinum card toward her feet with calculated detachment

"Two hours. Use it wisely," he said.

Raneya stared at the card like it was a grenade, a whirlwind of emotion spinning in her chest.

"Take it," he said. "Call it… compensation. For keeping your secrets intact."

Raneya bent down to pick it up, her pride resisting but her logic winning.

"You don't owe me anything," she said quietly.

"I don't," he replied icily. "But my grandmother does. So consider this her gesture, not mine."

She looked at him then, really looked at him—at the mask of indifference, at the carefully crafted cold exterior.

But now she knew.

Somewhere behind those walls was a man who had also been broken once.

And he was never going to let anyone see it again.

"Thank you… for listening," she whispered, almost to herself.

He didn't answer.

Didn't even blink.

Just turned on his heel and disappeared into the glass doors of a high-end restaurant across the street, leaving her standing in the middle of the mall with his card in her hand… and an ache in her heart she couldn't explain.

She shopped modestly, only grabbing a few essentials. Clothes. A pair of shoes. Hair ties. But when she saw the bookstore—she couldn't help herself. It was almost like it called to her soul. It was as if, for the first time in weeks, her heart beat for something other than survival.

The shelves called to her like an old friend.

She ran her fingers across leather-bound covers, paperbacks, collector's editions. She touched every genre like a child exploring wonderland. Fantasy. Thrillers. Biographies. Romance. She disappeared into the pages like falling into another world. A world where girls like her had agency. Power. Destiny.

While other stores claimed fifteen minutes, the bookstore held her hostage for forty. 

For a fleeting moment, she was Raneya again—the dreamer.

Not the fugitive. Not the pawn.

Just a girl who loved words more than the world had ever loved her.

But in the shadows of the café across the street, Aahil watched through the glass wall of the bookstore.

His jaw clenched, fingers drumming the table.

Aahil Shah watched her like a hunter tracking a flame that refused to die- with a gaze colder than steel… and more curious than ever.

She had secrets, yes. But she also had fire. And something about that fire made it impossible to look away.

The way her eyes lit up around books—the way she stared defiantly even when terrified—made it dangerously hard for him to forget her.

He didn't know if she was a threat, a pawn, or something else entirely.