Unseen Gift

The soft chime of a message tone interrupted the silence of the room.

Prashant had just returned from a shower, his hair damp and mood refreshed. He picked up his phone to check the notification.

> "Sending you a precious gift. Please accept it."

He stared at the message, puzzled. A gift? From whom? he thought, frowning slightly. Before he could reply, the door to his room creaked open.

Startled, he turned toward the door.

A girl stood there — fragile, unsteady, as if she were lost in a dream. Her eyes were half-closed, her steps uncertain. She was clearly intoxicated. What shocked him more was her identity. It was Pakhi, someone he had briefly noticed at a recent business event.

Unbeknownst to him, Tanya — a cunning and manipulative woman — had taken advantage of Pakhi's naive trust. Tanya had spiked her drink and, intending to send her to a business associate's room as part of a vile plan, ended up confusing the room number and pushed her into Prashant's room instead — Room 601, not 106.

And as fate would have it, his door hadn't been locked.

Prashant, now frozen by the unexpected intrusion, watched her with wide eyes. He had just started typing a message to decline the "gift," but now his fingers paused mid-air as his eyes locked on the disoriented girl.

Pakhi, under the influence, wasn't aware of her surroundings. She was sweating, trembling, trying to find relief from an invisible fire burning inside her. She tugged at her clothes, attempting to cool herself down.

Prashant's expression shifted from shock to concern, then confusion, and slowly, suspicion.

Was this the gift? Had someone sent her here on purpose?

A storm brewed inside him. He had never entertained feelings for anyone — women were distractions, momentary illusions. But something about Pakhi's presence struck differently. Her vulnerability, her innocence… and yet, here she was, in his room, behaving in a way that screamed manipulation.

He misunderstood.

She's just like the others, he thought bitterly. A puppet sent by someone to tempt me.

In a wave of anger and resentment, he raised his voice. "Why are you here? Who sent you?"

Pakhi, barely conscious, mumbled incoherently. She couldn't even form words.

Mistaking her silence for seduction, Prashant's frustration exploded. He grabbed her by the arms, trying to shake the truth out of her, but she whimpered in pain. That sound — soft, helpless — pierced through his anger.

And then... he saw it.

The tears.

Streaming down her face, silent but powerful. Her expression wasn't seductive. It was terrified.

He froze.

His grip loosened. His breath caught in his throat. What am I doing?

Suddenly, everything changed.

He gently helped her to sit on the edge of the bed, offering her a glass of water. Her body trembled in confusion and fear. She looked at him with wide, glossy eyes — not with seduction, but as if begging for help.

That night, he stayed awake beside her. He covered her with a blanket, stayed at a distance, and watched her sleep restlessly, guarding her like a silent protector.

He didn't touch her.

He couldn't.

Something inside him had shifted.

For the first time, he saw a woman not as a momentary pleasure, but as a story — one full of pain, mystery, and innocence.

By morning, around 4 AM, he finally drifted off, sitting beside the bed, her delicate form curled under the sheet.

He didn't know who she was or what brought her to him… but he knew one thing:

She wasn't the "gift."

She was a mistake that felt destined.