Ravan's eyes fluttered open, revealing the unfamiliar room bathed in a sterile, fluorescent light. Confusion weighed heavily on him, and he gingerly tried to sit up, his body aching as though it had borne a heavy burden. Unsteadily, he rose, his every movement reminding him of the inexplicable unconsciousness that had overtaken him.
Ravan slowly moved toward the center of the room, still dazed and disoriented. The harsh glow from the overhead lights didn't help his throbbing head. As he stumbled, he clung to nearby furniture for support, desperate to find some semblance of stability.
Unsure of where he was, the unfamiliar surroundings did nothing to calm his unease. He couldn't help but raise his voice, shouting the name "Rathore" in hope of a response. To his dismay, the only reply was the eerie silence that filled the room.
Growing increasingly frustrated and panicked, he bellowed, "Where is this bloody general? Where the hell is this bloody general?" , getting an echo of his own voice.
As his eyes scanned the room, he couldn't ignore the state of his clothes, which were tattered and uncomfortable. His shirt clung to his body, restricting his movement, and Ravan tore it away, revealing a muscular and glistening physique that had yet to heal from the torment it had endured.
But just as he discarded the remains of his shirt, the bedroom door swung open, revealing Maria, the unexpected savior who had been nursing him back to health.
Her gaze met Ravan's bare-chested form, and she couldn't help but blush ever so slightly. The sight brought a subtle akwardness to the sterile atmosphere of the room, though her irritation was never far behind.
However, Maria was not one to mince words. With a no-nonsense attitude, she reprimanded him, "Why the hell are you shouting? And why the hell are you half-naked? Just put something on. You're not here for a fashion show."
Ravan, still struggling to grasp the situation and the unfamiliar environment, took offense. He responded with a sense of arrogance, "You are just a servant, lady. How dare you talk to your king this way?" His eyes narrowed, and he took a threatening step toward Maria, raising his hand in her direction.
Maria, who had witnessed much more than she'd expected during Ravan's recovery, was unimpressed. Without hesitation, she moved with the precision of someone who had survived her own share of struggles. She caught his raised hand, twisting his wrist and flipping him over. Swiftly, she slammed him to the floor, effectively pinning him.
Her face had turned red, not from embarrassment this time, but from anger. She delivered a stern rebuke, "Be grateful that I'm offering shelter to a fugitive who brutally killed two people in the forest. I've suffered enough. Just shut up, listen, and recover. Once you're well, get out."
Ravan, still bewildered by his new surroundings, couldn't accept the sudden shift in his circumstances. He shouted back, "Who the hell is Ryan? I am Ravan!"
To Maria, this was nothing but a strange name game, and she had had her fill of surprises. She responded firmly, "No, you're not Ryan. You're a substitute for whatever you used to be. Now stop with the nonsense."
Just as their exchange reached a tense standoff, an unexpected and ominous knock resounded from the door, casting a dark shadow over the room.