ABHIMAAN’S POV

I was driving back home from the sea, lost in my thoughts, when the road curved near a small village. The night was silent, only the hum of my engine filling the air. Suddenly, out of nowhere, a girl stumbled right in front of my car.

I slammed the brakes hard. The tires screeched against the road, and she hunched down, barely saving herself.

My heart was racing.

“What the hell!” I muttered under my breath. Who suddenly jumps in front of a moving car like that? Does she want to die? And if she does… why in front of my car?

I pushed the door open and got out quickly to check on her. As I stepped closer, my breath caught in my throat.

She looked… broken.

Her wrist was covered in blood, her blouse and saree were torn, her hair a wild mess around her face. She was trembling, crying softly, like her entire world had just fallen apart.

I crouched down in front of her and gently asked,

“Are you okay?”

Slowly, with visible effort, she lifted her tear-streaked face and met my gaze. The moment our eyes locked, something shifted inside me.

Her tears made my chest tighten painfully — something I’d never felt before. My heart clenched just seeing her like that.

I turned back to grab my jacket from the backseat. The winter nights were getting colder, and looking at her shivering like this… I just couldn’t stand it.

But before I could return, a loud, drunken voice tore through the silence.

“Gauriii! Stop, or I’ll kill you!”

The girl instantly flinched. Panic flashed in her eyes, and she scrambled to get up, ready to run again.

I caught her hand gently, trying to stop her.

“Hey, hey, wait. You’re hurt—”

She shook her head violently, tears streaming down her face.

“Please… please let me go!” she cried, her voice trembling with pure fear.

And then he appeared — a man, staggering toward us, reeking of alcohol.

“Thanks for catching her,” he sneered, glaring at me. “Now give me my wife.”

My stomach dropped. Wife?

This fragile, terrified girl was his wife?

The first ever girl for whom my heart skipped a beat is married ..?

I glanced at her. She was shaking her head desperately, silently begging me not to hand her over. That was all I needed to know.

Men, listen carefully.

If a girl says no —

or shakes her head —

or hesitates —

or even stays silent in fear —

it’s a BIG FAT NO.

No debate. No excuses. No force.

I rose to my full height, glaring at him.

“No,” I said coldly. “I won’t give her to you. Leave her alone.”

Turning back to her, I carefully draped the jacket over her trembling shoulders. The moment was tender, protective — until that bastard lunged at me from behind.

Big mistake.

I spun around and punched him squarely in the jaw. He stumbled backward, stunned. The girl flinched but didn’t protest. That silence told me everything — she didn’t care what happened to him.

I guided her quickly to the passenger seat of my car and helped her inside. Once she was safe, I went back and kicked the man hard enough to knock him out cold.

When I slid back into the driver’s seat, she whispered softly,

“Thank you…”

I just gave her a short nod and started driving.

---

She sat quietly, staring blankly out the window, lost in her thoughts. The car was silent except for the hum of the engine.

“You want some water?” I asked gently.

Without waiting for her response, I handed her a bottle. She took it slowly, sipping carefully. My eyes kept darting toward her — at her messy hair, tear-streaked cheeks, and fragile frame wrapped in my jacket.

After a while, we reached my penthouse. I immediately stepped out, walked around, and opened the door for her.

But when she tried to step down, she winced sharply and cried out,

“Ahh—!”

I quickly crouched and saw her feet. They were covered in mud and blood, and one ankle was slightly swollen.

“Wear my coat ,” I said firmly.

She looked confused but obeyed. Once she was covered, I carefully scooped her up in my arms.

Her body went stiff with shock, but I made sure to hold her gently, keeping a respectful distance so she wouldn’t feel I was taking advantage.

With a swift kick, I shut the car door and walked toward the building. The security guard, seeing me carrying someone injured, rushed to open the private lift for us.

Throughout the ride, she just stared at me — quiet, intense, almost as if memorizing every detail of my face.

Once inside, I carried her straight to the bathroom and set her down gently on the edge of the bathtub. She glanced around, wide-eyed, taking in her surroundings.

I grabbed the handheld shower and began rinsing the dirt off her feet.

The moment my fingers brushed her skin, she jerked her foot back.

“I… I’ll do it,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

I looked up, meeting her eyes.

“I know you can. But let me.”

Something in my tone must have reassured her because she slowly let me take her foot again.

As I carefully cleaned the mud away, I noticed a tiny glint — a shard of glass deeply embedded in her heel.

“Just bear with me for a second,” I said softly, my chest tightening at her pain.

She nodded silently, clutching my shoulder as I carefully removed the shard. Her wince was so intense that a single tear slipped down her cheek.

I swallowed hard, hating that she was hurting.

Once her feet were clean, I scooped her up again and carried her to my bedroom, setting her gently on the bed.

“You’ll get the sheets wet,” she murmured hesitantly.

I chuckled softly. “Shhh, don’t worry about that.”

Then I fetched the first-aid kit and began dressing her wound. The cut was deep, and she kept flinching in pain.

“Just a little longer,” I murmured. “I’ll call a doctor to check properly.”

When I finished the temporary bandage, I noticed how uncomfortable she was in her torn saree. Without a word, I went to my closet and brought out one of my longest shirts and a pair of shorts.

Handing them to her, I said, “Here. Wear these. You’ll feel better.”

She hesitated.

“No, it’s fine. I’m okay—”

I fixed her with a serious look.

“I said wear it.”

She blinked at me, then nodded reluctantly.

“I’ll step out. Call me when you’re done,” I said gently, leaving her some privacy.

While waiting, I called a trusted lady doctor and asked her to come immediately.

A few minutes later, she called out, sounding slightly embarrassed,

“These shorts are… too loose.”

I winced. Of course, they would be.

“I’m sorry,” I replied through the door. “That’s the smallest size I have. The shirt should cover you at least till your knees.”

A hum of agreement came from inside. “I’m done.”

When I walked back in, my breath hitched.

She stood there in my oversized gray shirt, the fabric almost swallowing her tiny frame. She looked impossibly cute yet so vulnerable that I had to control myself from reaching out to comfort her.

“You look… good,” I said honestly, then added softly, “Much better than before.”

Her cheeks flushed faintly, and she looked away.

“Sit down,” I told her gently. “The doctor’s coming to check you.”

Her eyes widened in fear.

“Check me? What do you mean?”

Seeing her panic, I immediately reassured her.

“Relax. Nothing serious. She’ll just do the proper dressing and make sure you don’t have any other injuries.”

Before she could respond, the doorbell rang. The doctor had arrived.

I gave her a reassuring smile before heading out to let her in.

The doctor followed me into the bedroom. The moment Gauri saw her, she stiffened, clutching the quilt tightly around herself.

“Please,” I said softly, crouching beside her so she could see my face clearly, “there’s nothing to be scared of. She’s just here to check if you have any other injuries and to do proper first aid.”

Gauri’s wide, tear-brimmed eyes darted between me and the doctor.

The doctor gave me a polite nod and said, “Sir, please step out for a while. I’ll need to check her thoroughly.”

I hesitated. Gauri’s lips were trembling, her hands clutching the quilt as if her life depended on it. Her fear was unmistakable — she didn’t want me to leave. My chest tightened at the sight, but this was necessary.

I gave her a reassuring look.

“I’ll be right outside, okay? Just a few minutes.”

She didn’t reply, only stared at me with those pleading eyes. I forced myself to turn and step out. Because as much as it hurt me to leave her alone, her health came first.

Fifteen minutes later, the door opened. The doctor’s expression was tight with frustration.

“Sir,” she said, exhaling sharply, “she’s not allowing me to check her at all — not even a simple examination. She won’t let me touch her, and like this, I can’t treat her properly.”

My jaw clenched. I glanced at her , who was curled up on the bed, looking small and terrified. She was hugging herself as though she needed to hold her body together.

“Alright,” I said after a moment, my voice calm but firm, “then just treat the visible wounds — her wrist and her heel. Don’t force anything else.”

The doctor nodded and began her work.

As she carefully cleaned and bandaged Gauri’s wrist, I stayed close, murmuring reassurances whenever she flinched. But when the doctor examined her heel, she frowned.

“This cut is deep,” she said gravely. “She’ll need stitches. I’ll have to give her local anesthesia.”

Gauri froze at the word stitches. Her grip on the quilt tightened. I immediately sat beside her, taking her trembling hand in mine.

“Hey, it’s okay,” I said softly, meeting her terrified eyes. “Nothing to worry about. Just a few stitches — it’ll be over quickly.”

She nodded hesitantly, still pale, but didn’t pull away.

The doctor numbed her heel and began stitching. Gauri winced, clutching my hand tightly, her tears threatening to spill.

I stayed silent, letting her squeeze my hand as hard as she needed, my thumb brushing gently over her knuckles.

Finally, the doctor finished and looked up.

“It’s done. But she must not walk much for the next few days. Keep the wound clean, ensure she takes her medicines on time, and plenty of rest.”

I nodded, committing every word to memory. The doctor packed up, handed me the medicines, and left.

Now it was just the two of us.

The silence in the room felt different — heavier, intimate.

I glanced at Gauri, who sat propped against the pillows, looking so fragile in my oversized shirt. My mind still couldn’t wrap around the fact that there was a girl — this girl — in my home, on my bed, and in this condition.

She was visibly uncomfortable in these clothes, her posture stiff. Of course she would be. She’d been wearing a saree before, and now she was sitting in a strange man’s only shirt.

Quietly, I took the quilt and tucked it gently around her, pulling it up to her waist so she’d feel more secure.

Her wide eyes followed my every movement.

“Hello,” I said softly, giving her a small, reassuring smile. “I know a lot has happened tonight, and… we don’t even know each other’s names.”

She hesitated, then gave a tiny nod.

“H-hi.”

“My name is Abhimaan,” I said. “And yours?”

She lowered her gaze and whispered so softly I almost missed it.

“Gauri.”

So it is Gauri. The same name that drunkard had been shouting earlier.

“Okay, Gauri,” I said gently. “I’ll ask you a few questions. Please answer honestly.”

She nodded, still avoiding my eyes.

“What’s your age?”

Her lips parted slightly. “Twenty.”

Twenty. So young. Almost a decade younger than me. The realization made my chest ache.

I exhaled slowly before asking the next question.

“Are you married to that man?”

Her eyes flickered with pain, and she gave a small, reluctant nod.

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to stay calm.

“Was he… hitting you? Is that why you ran away tonight?”

She stared at me for a long moment, then finally whispered, “Yeah.”

Her voice cracked on the word, and my hands curled into fists.

Before I could say anything more, she blurted out, “I’ll leave tomorrow. I’ll go somewhere far. You… you don’t have to worry about me.”

My head snapped up, disbelief and anger surging in me.

“You’re not going anywhere,” I said firmly.

She looked startled, almost scared.

“But… what will I do here, at your house?”

I ran a hand through my hair, forcing myself to stay patient.

“You’ll stay here. You’ll rest. You’ll heal.” I took a deep breath, softening my tone. “Once your injuries are better, then we’ll decide together what to do next. But until then, you’re staying here. Quietly. Safely.”

She stared at me for a moment, then gave a small, uncertain nod.

Taking a steadying breath, I asked her the question that had been haunting me since I first saw her.“Tell me honestly, Gauri… do you want to go back to your husband?”

Her reaction was immediate — she shook her head violently, her voice breaking into a terrified shout.“No! No, please! Don’t send me back to him! He… he’ll beat me, he’ll—he’ll kill me! He—”

Before she could finish, I moved quickly, wrapping my arms around her trembling body.

“Shhh,” I murmured against her hair. “Calm down. You’re safe now. You’re with me.”

She sobbed softly into my chest, her small fists clutching my shirt.

“Nobody will harm you here,” I promised, my voice fierce and low. “Your husband won’t even know where you are. You’ll stay here as long as you want. I swear it.”

Gradually, her breathing steadied, though her body still shook with the aftershocks of fear. I gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering briefly.

“Now,” I said softly, “you should sleep. You’re exhausted.”

I laid her down carefully and tucked the quilt around her snugly. She looked up at me, her eyes filled with a storm of emotions — fear, relief, confusion… and something else I couldn’t quite name.

“I’ll be right outside,” I told her gently. “If you need anything, just call for me. You can… you can just say my name — Abhimaan.”

She gave a tiny nod.

I switched off the lights, leaving only the soft glow of the bedside lamp, and slipped out of the room.

As I stood alone in the hallway, my heart felt strangely heavy.

I didn’t understand why, but something about her was pulling me in deeper and deeper.

Was it her eyes? Her innocence? The way her breath had brushed against my skin when she’d first looked up at me?

From the moment I saw her, I’d felt an overwhelming urge to protect her. To shield her from the world — from pain, from fear, from him.

She was so small, so delicate, yet she’d endured so much. No woman — no person — deserved what she’d been through.

Maybe… maybe that’s why God had sent her into my path tonight.

To save her from a nightmare.

And maybe… just maybe, to save me too.

Because in this darkness I’ve been drowning in it for so long…

Gauri feels like a faint, fragile light. A light I never knew I needed — until now.

GAURI’S POV

I lay there, tucked under the soft quilt, staring blankly at the ceiling.

A few hours ago, I was running through dark, lonely roads, desperate to escape my husband and save my unborn child.

And now… I’m in a stranger’s home — a man who says I can stay here, rest, and heal without lifting a finger.

It felt unreal. Too unreal.

---

When I first saw him, standing there in the glow of the headlights, I thought he was my savior — sent by God himself to protect me.

The moment he draped his coat around me, I knew he wasn’t like the others.

He hadn’t even looked at me improperly, not once. His eyes didn’t carry the same hunger or cruelty I’d grown used to seeing in my husband’s.

And then… he punched my husband.

I didn’t even flinch. I didn’t feel a single thing when I saw him hit that monster.

I was numb. Completely blank.

The only thought running through my mind was about my baby — the tiny life growing inside me.

I had to protect it.

I would protect it.

I couldn’t let this baby end up like my three daughters…

Killed before they even got a chance to live.

The memories stung, sharp and merciless.

But each time, a piece of me died along with my baby girls.

This time, I didn’t care if it was a boy or a girl. It was my child.

And I would fight the whole world to keep it safe.

When he — Abhimaan — offered me water in the car, his voice was calm, soft…

So different from my husband’s tone, which only turned gentle when he wanted something — either sex or to discuss having a child.

Hearing genuine care in a man’s voice was… strange. Foreign.

I didn’t even realize I’d hurt my feet while running.

Adrenaline had numbed the pain, my body too focused on escaping that hellhole.

But when I tried to step out of the car, the agony shot through me like fire.

For a second, I panicked, thinking I’d never be able to run again if needed.

And then… he carried me.

My heart raced — no, it ran. Faster than my feet ever had.

I was terrified.

What if I’d just escaped one prison only to land in another?

But as I looked at his face… there was nothing cruel in it. Nothing predatory.

Just determination. And something I couldn’t quite name.

For the first time in years, I didn’t feel like prey.

When he began cleaning my feet, my throat tightened painfully.

My husband had never, ever, touched my feet — not even when I was in pain carrying his children.

He’d said it wasn’t a man’s place.

And here was this stranger, kneeling on the cold bathroom floor, gently holding my feet like they weren’t dirty or unworthy.

Like I wasn’t unworthy.

I didn’t know what to feel. Gratitude? Shame? Relief?

Maybe a mix of all three.

When he handed me his clothes, it felt strange — wearing something that belonged to another man.

For a second, I hesitated.

But the kindness in his actions, the way he didn’t look at me while I changed, the care he showed when helping me settle in afterward… it all eased my discomfort.

For the first time in so long, I felt like someone was treating me like a person — not a possession.

But when he said he was calling a doctor, my blood ran cold.

I knew he was doing it for my own good, that he was worried about my wounds…

But my past wouldn’t let me see it that way.

Doctors had always meant one thing in my life — pain and loss.

Either they were there to reveal the gender of my unborn child,

or to coldly inform me that my baby girl was gone.

The sterile smell of clinics, the cold hands of strangers on my body,It all came flooding back like a nightmare I couldn’t escape.

And when that doctor and I were alone in the room my breathing quickened.

“No,” I whispered at first. Then louder, desperate.

“No, don’t touch me! Please, don’t touch me!”

I crawled backward on the bed, clutching the quilt like it was my only shield, my whole body shaking.

The doctor’s voice was calm, even kind, but I couldn’t hear her words.

All I could hear were the echoes of my past.

When Abhimaan came back into the room, I felt a flicker of safety.

I didn’t know why, but the moment he was near, my panic lessened — like my heart believed he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to me.

The doctor finally did only what was necessary — bandaging my visible wounds while carefully keeping her distance.

As she worked, I focused on one thing, and one thing only:

My baby.

I wasn’t just fighting for myself anymore.

I was fighting for us.

Because no matter what the world thought, no matter what anyone did,

this tiny life in my womb deserved a chance to live.

And I would give it that chance… even if it meant trusting a stranger like Abhimaan with both our lives.

Even though Abhimaan had asked me some questions earlier, I hadn’t told him the whole truth.

I couldn’t. Not yet.

When he asked about my husband, I admitted the bare minimum — that the man hurt me, that I ran away.

But I didn’t tell him about the baby.

It was because I don’t trust him…not this fast I can trust a stranger to tell everything about my life neither I am ready for this

How could I reveal something so delicate, so precious, when I didn’t even know who Abhimaan truly was?

Yes, he’d saved me tonight. Yes, he’d been gentle and kind.

But life had taught me one cruel lesson — appearances can lie.

My husband, too, had once spoken softly.

He’d promised to protect me.

And then he’d destroyed everything I loved.

So, I decided to wait.

I would watch him closely, see his actions, test his words.

And until I was certain, my unborn child would remain my secret — hidden deep within my heart, safe from everyone.

As I lay there, tucked into the warm bed, I tried to calm my racing mind and aching heart.

I told myself that it was okay not to tell him right now.

He didn’t ask about it either, I reasoned silently. Maybe he just wants to help me get better. That’s all.

I repeated it to myself over and over, like a mantra, until the trembling in my hands eased.

All I had to do was stay here quietly until I could walk again.

Once my body healed, once my feet were strong enough to carry me, I would leave.

I didn’t know where I would go or how I would survive…

But at least I’d be safe and my baby will be safe.

For now, I had no choice but to remain here.

I closed my eyes and prayed silently, something I hadn’t done in so long.

My lips barely moved as I whispered to my God,

I never asked you for anything before. But please… please give my baby a chance at life.

Give us both a chance at peace. Just this once… let me protect this child. Let us live.

A lone tear slipped down my cheek as I clutched the quilt tighter around me.

Sleep began to pull at me, heavy and relentless.

My eyelids grew heavier with every passing second, my body begging for rest after the nightmare I’d endured.

But I resisted.

What if I fell asleep and he… changed?

What if this kindness was just a mask, and the moment I was vulnerable, he hurt me too?

The fear gnawed at me, sharp and raw.

So, I fought against the drowsiness, forcing my eyes to stay open.

Every time my lids fluttered shut, I snapped them open again, my heart pounding in terror.

I wanted to believe Abhimaan was different.

I hoped he was different.

But hope was a fragile thing, and tonight, I couldn’t afford to break it.

So, I lay there in the dim glow of the bedside lamp, clutching my secret and my baby close to my heart…

waiting, watching, and praying for dawn to come.

.・゜゜・

_________________________________________________________

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