𝐏𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐛𝐡 ~ Eternal Plumes And Fiery Crests

"Ye mera cell," he stated, a fact woven into the very air, He brought the knife to my neck, the metal cold and impersonal.

My breath caught, a silent gasp that betrayed the storm within-a maelstrom of fear, yes, but also something else.

It wasn't a threat, not really, but a test-a question asked without words.

Something that fluttered like a bird with wings of glass, fragile and beautiful and terrifying. It was the thrill of the unknown, the allure of the dance with danger.

"or room bhi mera hai." He spoke as the blade traced a path along my skin, I knew that this was a moment of definition. In the sharp edge of that knife, I found the line between who I had been and who I was becoming.

"Mera jab man karega jaise man krega me tab aaunga, knock kare bina," he continued, his voice a low growl that seemed to echo off the stone and steel that surrounded us. It was a declaration of his will, a law unto itself that admitted no argument.

With his message delivered, Kabir placed the knife in my palm, the metal a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin.

"Rakhlo, kaam aayega," he said, a hint of something unreadable in his tone. Then, with a nonchalant yawn, he turned on his heel and departed, leaving me in the wake of his presence.