12:37 AM.
The train shuddered once, twice, then groaned to a stop with a long metallic screech that echoed through the empty platform of Udaipur Railway Station. The fluorescent lights above flickered weakly, casting a sickly yellow glow over the deserted benches and the cracked tile floor.
Divya stood up from her seat, joints stiff from the hours of travel, and pulled her trolley bag down from the overhead rack. Her dupatta had slipped off one shoulder; she adjusted it absently as she stepped out of the compartment and onto the platform.
The air hit her first — cold, dry, smelling faintly of dust and diesel. Rajasthan's nights always carried that particular chill, the kind that seeped through fabric no matter how many layers you wore.
She scanned the platform.
Empty.
No coolies. No chai-wallahs shouting their last calls. No families waiting with garlands. Just silence, broken only by the distant hum of the train pulling away behind her.
She checked her phone. One message from Tanisha, sent two hours ago:
"Pahunch ke batana, main aa rahi hoon lene tujhe. Khud aaungi is baar 🖤"
Divya smiled faintly at that — Tanisha rarely came herself. She always sent Bhairav uncle with the old Land Cruiser, citing some excuse about haveli work. The fact that she'd promised to come in person tonight had warmed something in Divya's chest the entire train ride.
She walked through the station gates, wheels of her suitcase clattering against uneven stone, and stepped out into the open street.
Empty.
Not a single auto. Not a single stray dog curled up near the tea stall, which was unusual — there were always dogs near that tea stall. The shutters of every shop were down. The streetlamp above her flickered once, twice, then steadied.
She pulled out her phone to call Tanisha —
And that's when she heard it.
The deep, guttural growl of an engine. Headlights swung around the corner, blinding white, and a black SUV rolled to a stop directly in front of her, so close the bumper nearly grazed her shins. She stumbled back a step, heart lurching.
The rear door swung open.
A man stepped out first.
He was massive — not gym-built massive, but the kind of muscle that looked earned, forged through violence rather than vanity. His shoulders strained against a black jacket. His jaw was carved sharp, foreign in feature, pale-skinned but weathered, like he'd spent years somewhere far harsher than India. His eyes swept over Divya once, clinically, the way a predator sizes up something before deciding whether it's worth the chase.
He had to be at least 6'2.
A woman followed him out from the other side, circling the hood of the car with unnerving silence. She was smaller than the man but moved with the same coiled, controlled precision — like every step was calculated, every breath measured. Her dark hair was pulled back into a severe braid, and there was a thin scar running along her collarbone, just visible above the neckline of her jacket.
Divya took an instinctive step backward, her own height — a modest 5'2 — suddenly making her feel like a child standing between two giants.
"Welcome back home," the woman said.
Her voice was smooth. Accented. Pleasant, even — and somehow that made it worse.
Divya's mouth went dry. "I— I'm sorry, who—"
"Tanisha ma'am sent us," the woman continued before she could finish, tilting her head slightly. "She wanted to come herself, but something came up. And right now... she isn't picking up her phone."
Divya's grip tightened around the handle of her suitcase. "She's not picking up? That's strange, she just texted me—"
"Get in the car, please," the man said. It wasn't rude. It wasn't even loud. But there was a finality to it that made arguing feel impossible.
Divya's eyes flicked between the two of them — the unnervingly calm woman, the towering silent man, the SUV's tinted windows reflecting her own small, frightened face back at her.
Tanisha trusts them. They must be fine. They must be fine.
She swallowed her fear, forced her legs to move, and climbed into the back seat.
The door shut behind her with a heavy, final thud.
The SUV pulled away from the curb, gliding through the empty streets of Udaipur like a shadow.
Divya sat pressed against the window, knees together, hands clasped tightly in her lap. The leather seats smelled of something faintly metallic — gun oil, maybe, though she immediately scolded herself for the thought. You read too many thrillers, Divya.
She glanced up at the rearview mirror. The woman was driving now; the man sat in the passenger seat, utterly still, staring straight ahead like a statue carved from granite.
"So... how do you both know Tanisha?" Divya asked, just to fill the silence pressing down on her chest.
No answer.
The woman's eyes flicked to the mirror briefly, met Divya's gaze, and then returned to the road. A faint, almost imperceptible smile touched her lips — and said nothing.
Divya's stomach twisted.
She turned to look out the window instead, watching the city blur past in streaks of amber streetlight and black shadow.
And then she noticed it.
The roads were empty.
Not just quiet — Udaipur at midnight always had some life, a late-night paan shop, a wandering cow, a couple of bikers racing down the lake road. But tonight there was nothing. No headlights. No pedestrians. No animals. The entire city felt hollowed out, like a stage set after the actors had gone home.
A cold prickle crawled up the back of her neck.
It's like someone cleared the streets on purpose.
She wanted to say something, ask if it was always this quiet this late, but the words caught in her throat. Something about the stillness in the car — the way neither of them so much as shifted in their seats — told her that voicing her fear out loud would only make it more real.
So she stayed silent. Watching the dark windows. Counting the minutes.
Forty-five minutes passed before the haveli's towering iron gates finally emerged from the darkness, lit faintly by two old lanterns flickering on either side of the entrance.
The SUV rolled to a stop.
"We're here," the man said — the first words he'd spoken the entire ride.
Divya didn't wait for further conversation. She pushed the door open, grabbed her suitcase, and stepped out onto the gravel driveway, drawing in a long, shaky breath of relief.
When she turned back to thank them —
The SUV was already reversing, tires crunching against gravel, headlights sweeping away into the darkness.
Gone. Just like that.
The haveli stood before her, ancient and golden-stoned, its carved jharokhas casting intricate shadows under the moonlight. Divya had grown up half her childhood within these walls — she knew every creak in the wooden stairs, every crack in the courtyard fountain.
But tonight, it felt wrong.
No lights in the windows. No sound of servants moving about, no distant clatter of utensils from the kitchen, no Sushi's wings flapping somewhere in the dark. The entire haveli sat in absolute, suffocating silence.
She walked up the stone steps slowly, her sandals echoing far too loudly against the silence.
"Tanisha?" she called out, voice small.
Nothing.
She pulled out her phone and dialed Tanisha's number again, pressing it to her ear as she pushed open the heavy wooden door.
The ringtone sounded — not from the phone against her ear, but from somewhere inside the house.
Faint. Distant. Coming from the living room.
Divya's breath caught in her throat. Slowly, she lowered her phone, ended the call, and walked toward the sound, each step deliberate, dread pooling thick and cold in her stomach.
She reached the archway leading into the living room. Her hand hovered over the wooden frame.
She pushed it open.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Confetti cannons exploded into the air. Lights flooded on. Music blasted from somewhere near the gramophone corner.
"SURPRISE!!"
Divya screamed, jumping back so hard she nearly tripped over her own suitcase, hand flying to her chest — and then, as the chaos registered, a stunned laugh burst out of her, half-relief, half-disbelief.
The entire living room was packed. Streamers hung from the chandeliers. A banner reading "WELCOME HOME DIVYA 🖤" stretched across the far wall. Servants stood grinning near the doorway, Dadi sat regally on the velvet sofa with a soft proud smile, and right in the center of it all—
Tanisha came sprinting across the room, arms thrown wide.
"You're finally here, pagal!!" she shrieked, crashing into Divya with enough force to nearly topple them both.
Divya laughed — a real, full laugh this time, all the fear of the past hour dissolving in an instant as she wrapped her arms tightly around her best friend.
"I thought— I thought something happened to you!" Divya said into her shoulder, voice muffled. "Your phone wasn't picking up, and those two people—"
"Shh, shh, forget all that," Tanisha said, pulling back just enough to hold Divya's face between her palms, eyes glassy. "You're home. That's all that matters right now."
They hugged again, tighter this time, the way two people hug when they've genuinely missed each other for far too long.
Divya turned, eyes searching the room — and found Dadi already rising from the sofa, arms outstretched.
"Dadi!" Divya rushed forward and folded herself into her grandmother's embrace, breathing in that familiar scent of sandalwood and ittar that always clung to her saree.
"Meri bacchi," Dadi whispered, cupping Divya's face with both wrinkled hands, eyes scanning her like she was checking for damage after a long war. "Kitni sundar lag rahi ho tum. Aur healthy bhi. Rajasthan ki yeh trip... tumhe pehle se zyada mature bana gayi hai."
Divya smiled, blinking back the sudden sting of tears. "Main bhi bohot miss kar rahi thi aap sabko, Dadi."
A sudden flutter of wings broke the moment.
"SQUAWK!"
Divya yelped as a small dark shape swooped low across the room, narrowly missing Tanisha's head, before landing directly on Divya's shoulder with a triumphant little chirp.
"SUSHI!" Divya laughed, startled, then melted as the little bird nuzzled affectionately against her cheek. "Tu bhi mujhe darane lag gaya hai ab, haan?"
"Woh tumhe bhool nahi paaya pure mahine," Tanisha said, grinning. "Pura ghar sar pe utha liya tha rote rote."
The room buzzed with warmth after that. One by one, people came forward — Tanisha first, pressing a beautifully wrapped box into her hands. Then Dadi, with a small velvet pouch that smelled faintly of rosewater. Then the servants — Kamla didi, old Bhairav uncle, the twins Sona and Mona who worked in the kitchen — each one beaming, each one insisting Divya open their gift first.
"Itna sab kyun?" Divya asked, overwhelmed, arms slowly filling with boxes and bags.
"Kyunki tum jaisi insaan kam milti hai, beta," Kamla didi said, eyes crinkling with genuine affection. "Itni achi, itni pyaari. Sab tumhe pasand karte hain yahaan."
Divya's cheeks warmed at that, embarrassed by the sheer amount of love radiating toward her.
After the chaos finally settled, Dadi placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Chal, kuch kha le ab. Itni lambi yatra ki hai."
Divya shook her head softly. "Nahi Dadi, maine train mein kha liya tha. Bhook nahi hai abhi."
Dadi studied her for a moment, then patted her cheek affectionately. "Theek hai bacha. Ab sab apne apne kamre mein jao, neend lo. Bohot raat ho gayi hai."
The servants carried Divya's bags up the old wooden staircase to her room — the same room she'd slept in since she was a little girl, with its carved four-poster bed and the faded jharokha window overlooking the courtyard.
She closed the door behind her, exhaling a long breath, and walked straight to the attached bathroom, peeling off her travel clothes and stepping under the hot water.
The water ran over her shoulders, washing away hours of train dust and the lingering chill from that unsettling car ride. She closed her eyes, letting her mind drift —
And that's when it hit her.
The strangers. The SUV. The empty roads.
She'd completely forgotten to ask Tanisha about them. In the flood of confetti and hugs and Sushi's tiny wings, the fear had simply... dissolved.
I'll ask her tomorrow, she decided, turning off the tap. No need to ruin tonight overthinking it.
She dried herself off and changed into a simple baby pink kurta, the soft cotton comforting against her skin, and padded back into her room, finally sitting down on the edge of her bed with a tired, contented sigh.
Her eyes landed on the small table near the window — the pile of gifts she'd carried up, stacked neatly together by one of the servants.
Curious, she stood and walked over, beginning to count them under her breath.
"Ek... do... teen..."
Her finger moved from box to box, bag to bag.
"...gyarah."
Eleven.
She frowned, counting again just to be sure.
Tanisha. Dadi. Kamla didi, Bhairav uncle, Sona, Mona...
She mentally listed every single person living in the haveli — Tanisha, Dadi, and the eight servants. Ten people total.
Ten gifts. Not eleven.
So who gave the eleventh?
A small, harmless thought crossed her mind — maybe someone got confused and gave two gifts by mistake. Or maybe Dadi counted Sushi as a separate giver, that silly old habit of hers.
She almost laughed at herself for overthinking something so small. She turned away from the table, ready to climb into bed —
And stopped.
Her breath caught somewhere in her throat.
The air in the room had shifted — gone cold, gone heavy, the way it does right before something terrible.
Slowly, achingly slowly, she turned back around.
Her eyes widened in shock.
Author's Note 🖤
"Some gifts are meant to be opened.
Others are warnings."
But which one was waiting for Divya behind that eleventh box?
To Be Continued... 🖤
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