You're My Unique Gift

Caught Between The World

KOMAL'S POV:

"What is he planning?" It was my first thought as soon as the chopper blades whined down to silence.

The thrumming vibration was replaced by a humid Miami breeze that sent tendrils of hair swirling on my face. I stepped out. The metallic clang echoed into the vast night as my boots clicked on the polished steel helipad.

"Miami? But why?" I groaned, rubbing a hand over my face. Rajeev trailed close behind, his hand hovering near his weapon but lips sealed so tightly, I was convinced someone had stitched them from inside.

Before me, bathed in the cool moonlight cast by a crescent moon, loomed the Billionaire Bunker – a mortifying reminder of Vihaan's wealth, power, and reach.

Its sharp, geometric lines seemed to tear at the sky, each glass panel reflecting the city lights in a fractured kaleidoscope. Palm trees, silhouetted against the silvered water of Biscayne Bay, stood like petrified sentinels guarding the sumptuous fortress.

"With a snap, I shape your world or shatter it." His words echoed in my head.

He wasn't lying!

A palpable tension crackled in the air, thick enough to taste. I could almost hear the anticipation humming with a low bass note thrumming in my chest.

"Where is your boss?" I threw the words at Rajeev, anticipating a reaction— a flinch, a hint of unease. To my raging frustration, he stood there like an unyielding rock with a face like an impenetrable mask. The audacity of his composure sent a prickling heat up my cheeks.

Rajeev intrigued me, a mystery waiting to be unraveled. But the urgency of the situation forced me to put that curiosity on hold. I needed answers, and I needed them fast. The silence stretched, daring me to break it again.

"So," I pressed, trying to keep my tone steady, "are you going to make this easy, or do we have to do it the hard way? I'm a journalist if you don't know!"

His eyes flickered. A beat passed.

"You won't find him easily," he finally spoke. A chilling smirk played on Rajeev's lips.

"He wants you to understand," he drawled, his voice laced with amusement. "What it means to suffer truly. Journalist or not, you're dumb if you can't even get it."

"What do you mean?" I stopped dead in my tracks, fists clenched to the side and jaw so tight, I could cut diamonds if I'd try.

He yawned. The casual gesture felt like a slap in the face. "He's making you taste your own medicine," he said, boredom evident in his eyes. "Making you feel the fear, the helplessness you inflicted on him."

"What? Still don't get it?" He raised an eyebrow. The dismissal in his eyes was urging me to strangle him.

Seemingly, the Vihaan's arrogance was so contagious it had affected everyone stepped in his radar.

Sala, Corona Virus! I gritted my teeth waiting for him to explain.

The anticipation, dread, and fear were exhausting. I didn't have it in me to bear it any longer. I was tired and my brain had stopped working for the way I had used it in overthinking and making up scenarios throughout the day.

"Vihaan is making you feel the emotions he has been through when you left him!" Rajeev deadpaned as if he was making a kid understand that the earth was round.

The air whooshed from my lungs. My entire day, a blur of frantic calls, unsettling emptiness, and blind obedience, flashed before me. Now, with Rajeev's words, it all clicked into place, a cruel mosaic of my own making.