It's a sunny sunday, just like every sunday. Isha is home alone, as both her uncle and aunt are in the hospital for some work. Although, she don't like being alone, but right now she had to.

So, she's sitting in her room reading a book while hugging her doll. The doll looked quite old but well maintained and cleaned.

The doll wasn't too big but the same size as that of an 8-9 year old's. The way she was tightly hugging it, showed how much she must love it. She was reading the book and talking to that doll like a kid, as if the doll is a real person.

Isha comments after reading something in the book in her hands.

"Aish, just how stupid can this girl be, right Naina"

Naina, the name of the doll in her hands. She was peacefully reading the book and commenting while talking to Naina from time to time when suddenly the door bell rings.

"Kya uncle aur aunty, hospital se aa bhi gae? Hum dekh kar aate hain, aap yahi rehna, thik hai Naina, chinta mat karo hum jaldi aa jaenge"

(Did uncle and aunty came back from the hospital already? I'll go see it, you stay here, ok Naina, don't worry I'll be back in a moment)

Isha put the book down and puts Naina aside slowly and gently. Slowly, she rose, her bare feet soundless against the cold floor as she went down.

The house was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the refrigerator and the distant ticking of the wall clock. The afternoon light filtered through the curtains, casting long, creeping shadows along the walls.

She made her way to the intercom. With steady hands, she reached for the intercom and pressed the button. The screen flickered, and an image came into view.

A group of people.

Standing just outside the door.

All of them were dressed in black.

Her pulse quickened. Something about them felt… off. Their rigid posture. The way they loomed too close to the door. A sinking dread settled in her stomach.

Something was wrong.

Isha’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. She took a slow, deep breath, forcing herself to stay calm. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe they had the wrong house. Maybe—

The man at the front lifted his head.

Her breath caught.

His dark eyes locked onto the camera, as if he could see straight through the lens. Straight through her.

He took a small step forward, leaning slightly toward the camera. Then, in a low, measured voice, he spoke.

"Isha Thakur"

Two words.

Two simple words that sent a cold shockwave through her body.

Her name. Her real name. The name she had buried, erased, ran away from four years ago.

The name hit her like a physical blow.

Her breath caught in her throat. Her vision blurred at the edges, her heartbeat slamming against her ribs. She gripped the edge of the table, knuckles white, as a suffocating wave of fear crashed over her.

How?

How did they know?

How did they find her?

She had changed everything—her identity, her city, her life. She had built walls so high that no one, no one, should have been able to climb over them. And yet, here they were.

Standing right outside her door.

A suffocating silence filled the space between them, broken only by the quiet, relentless pounding of her own fear.

Her mind screamed at her to move, to do something, but she felt frozen in place. The man hadn’t moved either. He just stood there, waiting. As if he already knew she was watching. As if he was certain she wouldn’t—couldn’t—ignore him.

Isha swallowed, her throat dry. The walls of her safe haven suddenly felt paper-thin, the door separating her from them no longer a barrier, but a countdown.

Because they weren’t here by accident.

They had come for her.

And this time, there was nowhere left to run.

Isha’s breath hitched. The name echoed in her mind, slicing through the fragile walls she had spent years building.

'Isha Thakur.'

A name she had abandoned. A name drenched in memories she had fought to bury.

Her vision blurred. The voices—whispers of a past she didn’t want to remember, images flickered like a broken reel of film. Blood. Shadows. A girl running, breathless, desperate. Screams that no one else could hear.

Her chest tightening as memories—dark, cruel, relentless—clawed their way to the surface. Flashes of a past she had buried. The suffocating weight of fear. Blood on her hands. A life she had run from, fought to forget.

A sharp pain splintered through her skull. The walls of her mind shook under the pressure.

The world tilted.

Her knees buckled, hands shaking as she stumbled back from the intercom. The walls felt like they were closing in. The room was too small. The air too thin.

Her chest tightened. Breathe. Breathe.

But she couldn’t.

The panic surged, drowning her, pulling her under. No. Not now. Not again.

Then—

A shift.

Like the flick of a switch.

Like a current snapping into place, the trembling stopped. Her grip loosened. The air, once suffocating, felt crisp and clear. The storm in her mind slowed... and then settled.

When she lifted her head again, her eyes were steady. Cold.

The fear was gone.

She turned back to the intercom, her expression smooth, unreadable. With slow precision, she pressed the button.

"Who are you?"

she asked, her voice a controlled calm.

The man outside tilted his head slightly, studying the camera. He could feel that something's different now. Not much time has passed when, he heard some muffled noises of someone gasping for air or something.

But shooking that aside he calmly said,

"We came for Isha Thakur."

A slow, amused smile curved her lips.

"You’re mistaken."

She didn’t wait for a response.

Instead, she reached for the door.

*Click*

The lock slid open. The moment the door swung ajar, a rush of cold air hit her skin.

The man in front raised an eyebrow. He hadn’t expected her to open it so easily. The others behind him stiffened slightly, as if sensing something was off.

Just seconds ago, he clearly had heard it—shallow breathing, gasping, the telltale signs of someone losing control.

But now?

She stood tall, arms crossed loosely, her face unreadable. The fear was gone, wiped away like it had never existed. In its place was something else entirely—something sharp, controlled.

Cold.

His gaze flickered over her, studying every detail. The way her posture had changed. The faint smirk at the corner of her lips. The unsettling ease with which she met his eyes.

It was as if the person inside and the person standing before him were two completely different people.

The whole situation came out.....a bit oddly. He was also a bit confused about what was happening but he quickly shakes off his confused and regained his demeanor.

She leaned casually against the doorframe, arms crossed.

She casually stated.

"There's no Isha THAKUR, only Isha"

"So"

she said, voice light,

"what do you want?"

The man studied her carefully.

"You."

Her smirk didn’t falter

"For what"

"Seems like you aren't in touch with your father and the situation he's in, lately, do you seriously don't know"

Now Isha raised an eyebrow as if realising something. Seems like the situation isn't exactly what she thought it was. And almost as if her thoughts came out of her mouth.

"You weren't sent by HIM?"

And now the turn to be surprised was theirs. The man standing in front of Isha, was once again surprised.....and confused. Not only him, even the men standing behind him were now a bit surprised and confused.

Suppressing the confusion he was feeling currently he answered honestly.

"By him, do you perhaps means, your father?"

Isha stayed silent, staring at the man quietly but that was enough to answer the question.

"I assume my guess was right, then the answer is.....no"

The man said calmly.

________