Life was good for Arun. At twenty-nine, he had a steady job as a mechanic and a small but comfortable rented apartment – a single room with a kitchen and a washroom. The horrors of his past, the chilling encounters with the Spirit of Pain, had faded to a distant, almost forgotten nightmare.
One morning, as Arun headed to work, his landlady stopped him with a perplexed expression. "Arun," she began, her voice hushed, "were you wandering around last night? I saw someone near the building, pacing like...well, like a ghost."
Arun stared at her, a wave of icy fear creeping down his spine. "I was asleep, ma'am," he stammered, forcing a smile. "You must have mistaken me for someone else."
"But I saw you clearly," the landlady insisted, her brow furrowed. "Though, let's not dwell on it. You'll be at my son's wedding tomorrow, won't you?"
"Of course, ma'am," Arun replied, eager to escape the unsettling conversation. "Have a good day. I'm running late for work."
He rushed off, the landlady's words echoing in his mind. Was it just a case of mistaken identity? Or had something sinister resurfaced? He tried to shake off the unease, focusing on the day's tasks. The familiar rhythm of his work – the metallic clang of tools, the smell of oil and grease, the satisfied hum of a repaired engine – provided a temporary distraction.
Later, back in his small apartment, he cooked a simple meal, the aroma of spices filling the air, and settled down to watch a football match, a can of beer in hand. By 10 pm, he was asleep, seeking solace in the oblivion of sleep.
But sleep offered no escape.
At the stroke of midnight, a sharp knock rattled his door, followed by a boisterous voice: "Hurry up, Arun! Come out!"
He stumbled out of bed, heart pounding. Standing in the dimly lit hallway were his friends, Karim and Neha, grinning mischievously, a birthday cake clutched in Karim's hands.
"Happy birthday, buddy!" Karim boomed.
Relief washed over Arun, followed by a surge of warmth.
He'd completely forgotten about his birthday. They crowded into his small apartment, the air filled with laughter and the sweet smell of cake.
An hour later, Karim leaned in, whispering conspiratorially, "I have to leave, bro. But Neha can stay. Talk to her, tell her how you feel."
He winked, then turned to Neha. "Maya's not feeling well," he explained, feigning concern. "I need to get back home."
"Oh no!" Neha exclaimed. "Should I come with you?"
"No, no, you stay," Karim insisted, shooting another wink at Arun. "You can leave early morning."
"Yes, Neha, stay," Arun echoed, his heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and nervousness.
Karim left, leaving Arun and Neha alone in the quiet apartment.
"So..." Neha began, a playful smile on her lips. "What should we do now?"
"We could watch a movie," Arun suggested, trying to sound casual. "Or, if you're tired, you can sleep in my bed."
"I am sleepy," Neha admitted. "But where will you sleep?"
"Don't worry, I'll take the sofa," Arun replied. "I often sleep there when I watch late-night matches."
"Okay, if you say so," Neha agreed, a hint of amusement in her voice.
As Neha settled into his bed, Arun switched on the TV, opting for a horror movie, hoping it would mask the nervous tension crackling between them. He glanced at Neha; she seemed to be asleep.
"Neha?" he whispered. "Are you asleep?"
"Hmm," she murmured.
He took a deep breath. "Do you remember what you said in prison?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. "That I should focus on my life, change my life, and then you might consider my proposal?"
"Yeah, I remember," Neha replied sleepily.
"So...what do you think now?" Arun asked, his heart pounding in his chest. "Will you go out with me?"
Neha stirred. "Arun," she said, her voice soft but firm, "I'm thirty-nine. You're much younger. There's a ten-year age gap. And back then, I only said that because you were a kid, and I thought it was the only way to get through to you."
"I know," Arun persisted, "but I still have feelings for you. You're still the most beautiful woman I know."
"Oh, hush," Neha said, a faint blush creeping onto her cheeks. "Soon I'll have wrinkles, and then I'll be ugly."
"You'll still be beautiful," Arun insisted. "Can we at least give it a try? Just date for a month and see if we're right for each other?"
"It's not like trying out different foods and choosing your favorite," Neha protested, a hint of worry in her voice. "And you don't know my family. They're very strict about these things."
But Arun couldn't hold back any longer. He leaned in, silencing her with a kiss, his lips gently pressing against hers. He poured all his emotions into the kiss – his longing, his hope, his love. In that moment, the world outside his small apartment ceased to exist,leaving only Neha, her warmth, her scent, the feel of her lips against his. The only thing that mattered was the woman . in his arms.
Neha, caught off guard, froze for a heartbeat before she pushed him away, her chest rising and falling with the rush of emotions. "Arun," she whispered, her voice shaky, "what are you doing?"
But Arun, driven by something deeper than logic, leaned forward again, his breath warm against her skin. This time, Neha couldn't resist. Her lips met his, urgent, needy, as though this kiss was everything she'd been holding back. Her hands tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, and within seconds, they were wrapped in each other's arms, the kiss growing more frantic, more desperate.
For ten minutes, the world outside didn't exist. They were lost in each other, in a tangled mess of emotion and desire. Neha pulled back, breathless, and tugged Arun under the blanket with her, her fingers trembling as they slipped beneath his shirt, tracing the contours of his skin.
Her hand brushed his back, and she felt the ridge of a scar beneath her fingertips. She paused, her breath catching in her throat. "What is this, Arun? How did you get hurt? You should have told me... I would have treated you," she whispered, her voice filled with concern.
Arun's eyes softened as he reached up to silence her with a single finger pressed to her lips. He kissed her gently, then pulled her top over her head with an ease that belied the storm of emotions churning inside him.
But Neha stopped him, her gaze flickering to the wound on his back. "Wait," she said, her voice steady despite the rush of feelings threatening to overwhelm her. "Let me treat your wound first."
Arun, still lost in the haze of their intimacy, reluctantly pulled away. As he stood, the soft glow of the room illuminated his toned abs, his muscles defined and rippling under his skin. Neha couldn't help but stare for a moment, a soft gasp escaping her lips.
"You have a good body, Arun," she murmured, a small smile tugging at her lips. "Now, lie down on the bed. Let me take care of you."
He complied, stretching out on the bed as Neha carefully applied medicine to the scars on his back. Her touch was gentle, soothing, as she traced the lines of his injuries. Her brow furrowed in concern. "How did you get these scars?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Arun winced slightly, his face contorting with the memory of the pain. "I don't know, Neha," he said, his voice heavy with an unshakable sorrow. "I don't even remember how I got them. But something's been... strange lately. Yesterday, the landlady said I was walking like a ghost—while I was asleep. I checked the CCTV, and she was right. I think... I think the spirit has returned."
The air in the room grew heavier, the warmth of their connection slowly giving way to a chill that neither of them could ignore. The tension between them, once filled with tenderness, now seemed laced with a creeping dread.
Neha froze, her hands stilling on his back as the weight of his words settled over them. "What do you mean... the spirit?" she asked, her voice trembling slightly.