A Room with No Curtains

The guest room was small, but clean.

A single bed with gray sheets, a wooden desk pushed under the window, and a tall cupboard stood against the wall. There were no decorations, no photographs, not even curtains to hide the view of the concrete jungle beyond. The window let in the dull golden light of sunset, casting long shadows across the white walls.

Anika stood inside the room, holding her bag to her chest, unsure whether to sit or not. It felt… sterile. Like a hotel room no one ever stayed in.

From the kitchen, she heard the sound of running water and the faint hiss of a kettle.

She hadn’t eaten anything since a banana on the bus.

Her stomach rumbled.

She set her bag down slowly and stepped out into the hallway. Rayan was at the sink, back to her, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The muscles in his forearms flexed as he rinsed a steel mug.

He heard her before she spoke.

“There’s rice in the rice cooker,” he said flatly. “Dal’s on the stove. Aasha told me you’re vegetarian.”

Anika blinked. “You… cooked for me?”

“I reheated. Don’t romanticize it.”

She wasn’t sure if that was meant as sarcasm or a warning. Maybe both.

He poured water into a second mug and placed it on the counter near her. Then he turned and left without another word, disappearing into a room at the end of the hall — the one with a black door and a heavy lock.

Anika took a cautious step toward the kitchen. The space was surprisingly neat. Everything in its place. Shiny knives hanging in perfect order. No magnets on the fridge, no clutter on the counters. Just silence, and the faint hum of the refrigerator.

She served herself a small portion of rice and dal. It was plain but warm, and after a few bites, she realized how hungry she truly was.

As she sat at the edge of the kitchen stool, she tried to recall what Aasha had said about her brother.

“He’s a ghost, Ani. Genius level IQ, but no social skills. Doesn’t smile. Doesn’t date. He works in tech, but there’s more to him than that. Just… be careful. He’s not dangerous, but he’s not normal either.”

She hadn’t taken it seriously then.

But now, in this silent house with its clean edges and locked doors, she wasn’t so sure.

After cleaning up, Anika retreated to her room. She unpacked her few belongings — mostly textbooks, a pair of cotton kurtas, and a notebook filled with sketches and handwritten formulas. She placed a photo of her and Aadesh on the desk, the only familiar face in this unfamiliar place.

Then she sat cross-legged on the bed, staring at the door.

No sound came from the hallway. Not even a creak.

He hadn’t asked her anything. Not why she ran away. Not what she planned next. Not what she feared.

Most men from her village would’ve interrogated her by now. Assumed she was helpless. Offered unwanted advice or worse — thinly veiled threats.

But Rayan?

He’d looked at her like she was a puzzle.

Not something to protect.

Something to observe.

Late that night, she woke to the sound of faint tapping — rapid keystrokes, coming from behind the black door.

She sat up in bed, heart pounding.

Rayan was still awake.

Working.

Or doing something else.

She got up, padded silently to the door, and pressed her ear to the wall.

Through the thin partition, she could hear the soft whirr of computers. And maybe — maybe — the low pulse of electronic music.

But no voices.

No calls.

No sleep.

Just him. Alone in the dark, typing like a machine.

Anika returned to bed and stared at the ceiling.

Something about him didn’t make sense.

And yet, she didn’t feel unsafe.

She felt… watched.

Not in the cruel, controlling way she’d known in her village.

But as if she’d stepped into someone else’s chessboard.

And whether she liked it or not… she was now a piece on it.

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