The Silent Seduction

15. MAHIRA

Morning arrived with the slow, creeping light of dawn. But despite the new day, the remnants of my nightmare clung to me like a second skin, refusing to be shed.

I had showered, dressed in a deep emerald-green blouse with a fitted black skirt, and styled my hair into a sleek ponytail. But none of it mattered.

My reflection in the mirror still looked haunted, eyes shadowed with thoughts that wouldn’t dissipate.

The touch of Arjun’s hand at my waist the previous evening had lingered longer than I cared to admit. The firmness of his grip, the way he had steadied me as if I was something fragile—something worth protecting.

I had felt a strange mix of emotions then, something stirring deep within me, something I hadn’t allowed myself to feel in a very long time.

But that moment was gone, overtaken by the vivid nightmare that had wrenched me from sleep in the early hours of the morning.

The images had been too real—so real that I could still feel the cold, biting rain against my skin, still hear the anguished cries of the man whose life had slipped away before my eyes.

I didn’t know who he was at first, but when the scene had shifted to the hospital, and I saw Arjun as a boy, holding onto his mother, I knew. The dying man was his father.

My thoughts were abruptly interrupted by a knock on the office door. I straightened, brushing away the last vestiges of the nightmare, and called out for the person to enter.

Arjun walked in, dressed in a crisp black shirt, and a black coat over it, that clung to his broad shoulders, the top button of his shirt undone, giving him a slightly disheveled but deliberate look.

His hair was damp, slicked back, as if he had just come from a shower, and the fresh scent of his cologne filled the room. There was something different about him today—something more intense, more brooding.

He paused at the doorway, his eyes locking onto mine, and I felt a jolt of something raw and unfiltered pass between us. It was as if he could see right through me, see the turmoil that roiled just beneath the surface.

But then his expression shifted, becoming carefully neutral, though the tension in his jaw betrayed his calm facade.

“Mahira,” he said, his voice low and controlled, “I need to speak with you.”

“Come in,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “What’s going on?”

He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with a soft click. The sound felt ominous, as if sealing us both into this moment, where neither of us could escape the unspoken words that hung heavily in the air.

“I couldn’t sleep last night,” Arjun began, his gaze unwavering as he moved closer to my desk. “And when I finally did, I was haunted by… memories.”

His words sent a shiver down my spine. Memories. Was he referring to the same memories I had seen in my nightmare? The thought made my heart pound, fear and curiosity warring within me.

“I had a nightmare too,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. “About a man dying… in the rain. And then… I saw you, as a boy, at a hospital.”

Arjun’s eyes darkened, the intensity in them growing as he processed my words. He didn’t speak right away, but I could see the turmoil brewing behind his calm exterior.

When he finally did speak, his voice was rough, like he was struggling to keep his emotions in check.

“You shouldn’t have seen that,” he said, his tone laced with something I couldn’t quite place—anger, regret, fear? “That’s not something anyone else should have to witness.”