under the wraps

Familiar Faces, Foreign Souls

"Basically, every psychopath was a normal person until they stop feeling"

The thought lingered in Vera's mind as she opened the door—slowly, hesitantly.

The person standing in front of her smiled.

"What are you doing here, Prachi?"

The words left Vera's mouth before she could decide whether they were the right way to begin a conversation. Her tone was neutral, but her body was not. One hand remained on the door, ready to close it if needed.

"Actually..." Prachi began, brushing a loose strand of hair behind her ear, "Rudra was worried about you. And I was scared too. I was alone, and you know how everyone is busy these days. I didn't know where else to go, so I thought maybe if we hang out for a while, it might ease the mood... at least until we can get our hands on Mansi."

She smiled softly, revealing a perfect line of white teeth. Despite the exhaustion from the recent chain of events, she still looked beautiful. She always did. Effortlessly.

"Okay. Come inside."

Vera replied after a brief pause, as though weighing each possible outcome in her head. She didn't mind Prachi's company—at least, that's what she told herself.

She stepped aside and let her enter, then closed the door behind her, her eyes scanning the corridor through the peephole to make sure no one had followed. Only after the lock clicked did she relax—slightly.

Vera pointed toward the couch, motioning Prachi to sit, and walked into the kitchen herself. As she placed a pan on the gas stove, her voice carried out.

"Tea or coffee?"

"Black coffee," Prachi replied from the living room.

Vera returned with two mugs and placed one in front of Prachi. For a few moments, silence filled the space—thick, uncomfortable, loaded with words that neither of them seemed eager to say. Finally, Vera broke it.

"I'm sorry, Prachi."

Her voice was low. Her eyes were fixed on the coffee cup in her hands. Her fingers traced its rim absentmindedly, moving from the handle to the smooth circular edge, as if grounding herself.

Prachi looked at her but said nothing, then shifted her gaze back to her own cup.

"I should have told you this earlier," Vera continued. "I don't know why it took me so long to apologize. Maybe I was trying to gather courage. Rudra told me everything—that none of it was your fault."

She paused, exhaled, and finally looked up at Prachi.

"No, Vera. It's okay," Prachi replied calmly, offering a small smile, one meant to keep the conversation light. "Anyone in your place would've done the same. You just reacted to the situation."

"Still," Vera insisted, "I should've at least listened to you. Rudra told me everything—how you were forced into all of that, how his grandfather controlled things. You were my best friend back then. More than Rudra, I was angry at you because I never expected something like that from you. I wasn't in my right mind."

"It's okay, Vera. Really," Prachi said gently. "You don't have to apologize again and again. So... Rudra told you everything?"

Vera nodded.

"He did."

"And your father?" Prachi asked after a moment. "Did you forgive him too?"

She continued before Vera could respond fully. "I just hope he isn't giving you any more trouble."

"He isn't," Vera said quietly. "And yes... I forgave everyone. My heart feels lighter now. More than anyone else, I think I hurt myself the most. I was wounded by my childhood trauma and my insecurities more than by anyone else. If I had made it clear from the very first day in school that I didn't belong to that rich section of society, maybe none of that drama would've happened."

She stared at the floor, a faint smile forming.

"The problem was me. I could've handled things better. I became selfish and refused to accept my flaws. If I had listened to you all, maybe... we could've had better memories."

For a moment, she seemed lost in an alternate reality—one where things had turned out differently.

"Can you pass me my coffee?"

Prachi asked, lifting her eyebrows toward the cup placed slightly out of her reach, closer to Vera.

Vera nodded and picked up the mug. As she extended it toward Prachi, Prachi stretched her hand to take it. Their hands collided lightly.

The cup tilted.

Hot coffee spilled onto Prachi's hand.

She hissed and shook her hand instinctively, trying to flick the burning drops away.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry, Prachi. I didn't mean to—"

Vera jumped up immediately, rushing into the room. Within seconds, she returned with a towel and began wiping Prachi's hand.

"It's okay. I can do it myself," Prachi said, trying to pull her hand back.

"No, please—let me," Vera insisted, worry evident in her voice. "Let me check if it's burned."

"It's fine. I'm okay," Prachi said again, attempting to withdraw.

But Vera was focused now. Her eyes scanned Prachi's hand carefully.

Then she froze.

Her gaze stopped at Prachi's pinky finger.

The nail wasn't whole.

It was half-grown—as if the old nail had been torn away from the nail bed and a new one was growing in its place. Vera hadn't noticed earlier because a fake nail had been glued over it.

The fake nail now lay on the floor.

Vera's heartbeat stuttered.

The room dissolved into silence.

She could hear the ticking of the wall clock. The low hum of the air conditioner. Her own breath lodged painfully in her throat. Chills ran down her spine, goosebumps erupting across her arms.

Her eyes slowly lifted.

Prachi was staring back at her with the same intensity.

But there was something different now—something Vera had never seen before.

A psychotic calm.

Prachi smiled.

Not the gentle smile from before.

Something darker.

She pulled her hand away and crossed her legs, settling comfortably into the couch. She picked up her coffee and took a slow sip, as if nothing had happened.

Vera remained frozen.

"You were right, Vera," Prachi said casually. "If you had handled things more calmly—if you had forgiven me and Rudra back then—we could've made better memories."

She paused, her smile widening.

"Me and Rudra."

Her eyes never left Vera.

"And I would've killed you back then itself," she added lightly. "Because you see... I hate good people. Especially those who forgive people like me—people who deserve punishment."

The clock kept ticking.

Vera finally understood.