Evening had settled gently over the city, painting the sky in muted shades of amber and grey.
Inside the house, warm yellow light filled the living room as Inaya lay stretched across the sofa, one leg folded beneath her, phone glowing softly in her hand.
She scrolled lazily, half bored, half lost in thought, while music hummed faintly in the background.
The doorbell rang.
She sighed, dropping her phone onto the cushion beside her.
"Coming…" she called.
Rising slowly, she walked to the door and pulled it open.
Danish stood there.
A bag of fruits dangled from one hand, the other tucked casually into his pocket. His posture was relaxed, almost too relaxed, and a small smile rested on his lips as though he had been expected.
"Hi," he said.
Inaya blinked, surprise flashing across her face.
"How come you're here?" she asked. "And how did you get my address?"
Instead of answering, Danish stepped forward.
Slowly.
The smile on his face stretched into something unsettling playful, but sharp at the edges.
Her instincts stirred.
A chill slid down her spine as he closed the distance between them. Her hands turned cold, and without realizing it, she stepped back.
"Danish…" she said, her voice tight. "What are you doing?"
He tilted his head slightly, eyes fixed on her.
"If I want to," he replied calmly, "I can find out about your ancestors too. Your address wasn't that hard to find."
Her breath caught.
The hallway suddenly felt too narrow, too quiet despite the music playing somewhere behind her. Her heart thudded faster, and for a brief moment, she didn't know whether to move or stay still.
Then....
Danish burst out laughing.
"Inaya, look at your face!" he said. "Relax. I'm kidding. I got your address from Meher."
She exhaled sharply, the tension melting away as irritation took its place. She glared at him.
"That's not funny."
"Okay, okay. Sorry." His smile faltered.
Seeing his expression drop, she laughed.
"Got you."
Danish shook his head, amused.
"Nice one."
"So why did you come?" she asked.
"Am I not allowed?"
"It's not like that."
"I brought you some fruits." He lifted the bag slightly.
She stepped aside.
"Sit. I'll be right back."
In the kitchen, she set the bag on the counter and turned back.
They sat on opposite sofas, talking easily. Laughter mixed with conversation as the music grew louder, filling the house and wrapping the evening in a sense of normalcy.
Ten minutes later
Faqair stood outside her door, pressing the bell.
No response.
Music thumped from inside, muffled but loud enough to explain the silence. He knocked, and the door shifted slightly, opening on its own.
He frowned.
It's open… she's so careless.
He rang the bell again, but the music swallowed the sound.
"Maybe she can't hear it," he muttered.
Gently, he pushed the door wider and stepped inside.
"Inaya?" he called.
His voice vanished into the song echoing through the house.
He walked toward the kitchen and stopped.
Danish was standing behind Inaya.
In his hand was a knife.
Inaya was completely unaware, focused on something on the counter. For a split second, everything froze. Faqair's heart dropped, instinct taking over before fear could slow him down.
He lunged forward, grabbed Danish's wrist, and twisted hard. The knife slipped from his grip and clattered across the tiles, skidding until it reached Inaya's feet.
It tapped her toes lightly.
She frowned, confused, and looked down.
Then slowly, she lifted her head her gaze moving from the knife… to Faqair… to Danish.
Her face filled with stunned confusion, trying to piece together what had just happened and what almost had.
To be Continued...