Читать книгу The Dowry Bride - Shobhan Bantwal - Страница 12

Shaking with terror all over again, Megha huddled in the bathroom. Someone was at the front door. Oh God, oh God! They had found her. How had they located her so quickly?

Holding the door partly open, she strained her ears to listen to the two male voices in the foyer. Kiran’s was a bit clearer than that of the other man. It was neither Suresh’s nor Appaji’s voice. The police? Kiran’s father or uncle? By this time the entire family would have rallied to Amma’s side and started their own search.

She closed her eyes in defeat. Her time had run out after all.

The sound of the front door shutting with a slight squeak reached her. Kiran must have let the person in! She listened to the approaching footsteps. Her life was about to end. All that running was for nothing. She should not have come here. Stupid, stupid decision!

She shut the bathroom door quickly and turned the lock. Unfortunately, there was no window in this bathroom to even contemplate an escape. Despite the thud-thud of her heartbeat in her ears, Megha clearly heard a set of steps approaching—but only one set. Was the policeman or whoever the man was, waiting in the drawing room then?

A knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Megha.”

She didn’t answer. Think, think…. Looking around for something heavy to wedge against the door, she realized there was nothing, so she pitched all her weight against it. Maybe she could plead for her life with Kiran one more time. But if a policeman was here, what could Kiran do? Promise the man a bribe…perhaps? Weren’t the police always looking for rewards?

None of those options seemed viable, so she pressed harder against the door.

“Megha, are you okay?” When she remained silent, Kiran rapped harder. “Megha, answer me!”

The silence on Megha’s part continued.

“I know you heard the doorbell, and I know you’re scared. I want you to know it was only my downstairs neighbor.”

Neighbor? Likely story! As if she was going to fall for that. “What did the…uh, neighbor want?” she managed, her voice barely coming out as a murmur.

“He heard our footsteps and voices on the landing earlier.”

“Is that so unusual?” Her heartbeat continued its frantic beat.

She heard Kiran hesitate on the other side of the door. “Yes, it is. Because it’s so late at night and my lights are still on, he wondered if there was some emergency and whether I needed help.”

“What did you tell him?” Even now Megha wasn’t sure Kiran was being entirely honest. If this was his way of getting her to open the door and come out so the police could cart her away, she was wise to him. If he thought she was that naïve, he was not as bright as she’d imagined.

“I told him it was an office problem and someone on my staff delivered an emergency report.”

“I don’t believe you, Kiran. I know there’s a policeman in your drawing room.” She might as well be direct in her accusations. Even if she was helpless, at least he wouldn’t mistake her for a fool. She’d never tolerate being labeled dimwitted.

“Damn it, Megha! There is no policeman.”

“Then prove it!”

“Quit acting like a brat, will you?” He sounded thoroughly annoyed. “You’ll just have to trust me.”

Standing there in the bathroom, Megha speculated. If he wasn’t telling the truth, he’d have been nice and persuasive instead of angry, now wouldn’t he, at least in the interests of gaining her trust? She gingerly unlocked the door and opened it a crack. “Kiran, if you’re lying to me, I swear I’ll get even with you.”

“Fair enough.”

“I won’t forgive you for pretending to be my friend and then turning me in.”

Kiran nodded gravely. “I understand. Now come out and see for yourself.”

Very slowly, she opened the door all the way and stepped out. “I’ll tolerate open hostility any day, but I will not put up with back-stabbing, Kiran.” She pointed a finger in his face and glared at him for a moment. “I detest two-timers.”

Kiran stood aside and motioned her to go out and look for herself. After making sure the flat was empty save for the two of them, Megha returned to the alcove outside the bathroom where Kiran still stood, with his arms folded across his chest. “Satisfied?” he asked. He didn’t seem so irritated anymore.

She nodded grudgingly. “I’m sorry I didn’t trust you.” He hadn’t been lying after all. She felt foolish and didn’t know whether to laugh or cry from relief. She couldn’t blame him for being cross with her. She had behaved like an ungrateful little brat.

To her surprise, Kiran chuckled, his eyes glinting with amusement. “Suspicious young lady, aren’t you?” When she shot him a quelling look, his chuckle turned to a hearty laugh. “Can’t blame you, I suppose. If I were in your place, I wouldn’t trust anyone either.”

“Glad to hear that.”

He gestured toward the bathroom, looking even more amused. “Now that you’re somewhat convinced that I’m not a two-timing back-stabber, you may want to go ahead and wash up.”

With her head held high despite feeling embarrassed about acting so churlish, she swept into the bathroom and shut the door with a decisive click. Well, he could laugh all he wanted! She wasn’t ready to trust him completely yet.

A nice long shower was exactly what Megha indulged in. Accustomed to a more austere lifestyle, she had never used a shower before and it took her a couple of minutes to figure out how it worked. Once she got it started, the spray of warm water felt like heaven. Hot water without having to heat it on a wood fire in a big brass cauldron? How wonderful was that! And then not to have to scoop it out of a bucket with a mug and pour it over one’s head? That was pure luxury.

Putting every other thought aside for now, she lifted her face, closed her eyes and delighted in the water raining over her and flowing down her body.

The soap was deliciously fragrant. The sheer lavishness of the modern tile-and-marble bathroom made Megha feel weepy again. So foolish—to cry over a simple bathing routine—but her nerves were frayed and the tears came easily. After a while she washed the cut on her foot, which stung from the soapsuds and continued to bleed a little. Her scratches and bruises burned under the hot water.

But otherwise the shower was marvelously soothing. Even better was getting that awful grime and stench off herself. She used large quantities of Kiran’s shampoo to wash her hair and spent a long time in the bathroom trying to speculate and strategize. But for the life of her she couldn’t think of a plan of action. Right now, all she wanted to do was lie down somewhere and sleep. It was as if her mind had shut down completely. Having made it this far, to a state of relative safety, a strange kind of numbness seemed to have set in.

While Megha was in the bathroom, Kiran heated a mug of milk in the microwave oven and stirred some Ovaltine into it. After hunting around in the kitchen cabinets he found a packet of chocolate cream biscuits and put a few of those on a plate.

He then made a cup of instant coffee for himself, pulled out a chair at the dining table, and sat down to think.

What was he going to do with Megha? This late at night there was nowhere she could go. He could probably afford to keep her with him for one night, maybe two, but after that? His mind drew a complete blank. She might have a few uncles and aunts and cousins somewhere, but relatives and friends could not be told of her whereabouts. Hotels were not particularly safe for a lone young woman, and anyway the police would be sure to look for her in every hotel within a twenty-mile radius.

His own Mumbai flat was large enough and completely furnished in anticipation of his impending move. But though he had mentioned the idea to her, he now realized Megha was too young and inexperienced to live alone in a big city. Her petrified reaction earlier to the imaginary policeman in his living room had shown him that.

All Kiran knew for sure was that she was in danger and had to be protected. But if she remained so close to him, under his roof, the threat to his sanity was equally troubling. He was a man infatuated, with all the needs and instincts of a healthy male. At the moment, with her in the next room, naked and bathing, his nerves were already tied in knots.

However, where else but in his home could she remain safe? He was the only one who really cared about her, and he was also the least likely to be suspected of harboring her. The police and his family would target all of Megha’s family and friends, but nobody would think of asking him regarding her whereabouts. That more or less clinched the matter. She would have to stay with him indefinitely. He’d have to keep his baser needs and his emotions under strict control. Perhaps in a day or two they could review her situation and come up with some practical answers. There had to be some way to resolve this.

When Megha came out of the bathroom he noticed the edge of the T-shirt fell all the way down to mid-thigh level on her, but despite its looseness it didn’t hide her feminine shape. The absence of a brassiere was obvious from the way her breasts strained against the soft cotton of the shirt. It took all of Kiran’s self-control to tear his eyes away from that particular spot. A wave of longing to feel her crushed against his own hard chest washed over him for a second before he ordered himself to stop behaving like a hormone-crazed juvenile.

The shirt’s sleeves covered her elbows, and the shorts hung well below her knees. Her face had a clean pink glow. Her hair fell in damp waves over her shoulders and down her back. The enormous dark eyes were less red now. She smelled of his soap and shampoo, and something else…essentially female. She smelled sweet.

Looking like an incredibly beautiful teenager, she seemed so unspoiled and innocent. And, with that sense, an all-male desire to defend and protect once again replaced the need to touch and possess her.

The bright red dot on her forehead had been washed away, too. The mangalsutra was tucked inside the shirt. For some reason it gave him deep satisfaction to see her dressed in his clothes and the dot gone. That dot had meant she was still married to Suresh. Kiran wanted Megha to belong to himself. He’d make sure that would happen soon. Knowing what the divorce laws were like, it could be at least two or three years in the future, but Kiran considered himself a patient man.

He’d wait as long as he needed to. Megha was worth waiting for.

Megha stood awkwardly in the kitchen, embarrassed at wearing Kiran’s clothes. She hadn’t exposed her legs in years. She felt naked. When she saw that Kiran wasn’t laughing at the odd picture she made, she took a step forward, feeling more confident. Encouraged by the kindness in his expression instead of the ridicule she’d expected, she moved closer to the dining table.

“Feeling better?” Kiran asked.

She nodded. Eyeing the steaming milk in the mug, she smiled at him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to put you to so much trouble.”

“No trouble at all.” He rose and pulled out a chair for her—one of four matching chairs surrounding a round, smoked-glass dining table. “Come, sit down and drink some Ovaltine.”

She sat down with some hesitation and studied the table. It felt strange to be waited on by someone, especially a man.

“Eat some biscuits,” Kiran encouraged. “Unfortunately, mine is a bachelor’s home. I don’t have anything more substantial than this.”

“Ovaltine is fine. It smells wonderful.” She gratefully picked up the mug with both hands, hoping to savor the aroma and the heat from the cup seeping into her palms. Instead she winced and put the cup down with a thud, the scalding liquid sloshing over the rim.

“Too hot, Megha?” Kiran half rose from his chair.

“It’s my hands. I bruised them earlier.”

“Did you fall down?” His eyes traveled to her arms and chin, probably wondering about the scratches, too.

She nodded reluctantly. “I was running in the dark—it was hard to see where I was going. And then…I had to climb over a rough-surfaced stone wall.”

“Why?”

“Some disgusting drunkard was chasing me.” She avoided meeting Kiran’s eyes. Her story was beginning to sound like something out of the movies. Such bizarre things didn’t happen in real life.

“Did he hurt you?” Kiran sounded angry, as he’d sounded earlier.

“I’d rather not talk about it.” Suddenly she felt very exposed, talking about a near molestation to a man she didn’t know all that well.

“Can you at least tell me if you’re all right? You don’t need a doctor?” He was still scowling.

“Uh…no. I’m okay, thank you.”

“You’ve been through hell tonight, haven’t you?” Kiran’s expression softened. “Here, hold this around the cup,” he said, handing her a cotton napkin. Then with a sponge he carefully cleaned up the spilt Ovaltine.

She did as he suggested and it felt better, the warmth from the mug comforting. She realized she was ravenous as she sipped the Ovaltine. It tasted delicious.

Kiran drank his own coffee and pushed the plate before her. “Eat.”

She gratefully accepted some biscuits.

Feeling refreshed after a few swallows of the nourishing liquid and the food, Megha took stock of her surroundings. Earlier she had been too distressed to notice the flat. This was her first real glimpse of Kiran’s home. It was not a very large place, but still spacious and airy compared to both the cramped homes she had lived in.

The contemporary domed light fixture above the dining area was made of etched glass. The sofa and chairs in the drawing room were covered with tan damask and accented with forest green pillows. Curtains in the same shade of green covered the window directly behind the sofa. There was a hand-woven area rug in shades of tan, white and green. Two matching brass floor lamps sat next to a pair of end tables on either side of the sofa. A large bronze sculpture of the god Ganesh rested on an oblong table against one wall that had no other furniture. The Ganesh looked like an antique. On the wall above the sculpture hung a set of four miniature Rajasthani paintings mounted on ivory silk mats in intricate gold frames.

Kiran’s flat had the look of understated elegance. So this was how rich bachelors lived. He worked for some corporation at the moment, and had family wealth, as well. His father was the sole owner of a flourishing petroleum and chemical products distribution business. Megha could see the discerning taste of his mother, Kamala Rao, in the décor around his home.

“Nice place you have here,” she said, turning to Kiran. Talking about the flat gave her mind something else besides her misery to think about. It also helped to alleviate the awkwardness of sitting there in his dining room, dressed in his clothes and drinking his Ovaltine.

“Thanks. Not very spacious, but it’s a place to call home.”

“Pretty impressive kitchen, too,” she added, noting the tall, gleaming wood cabinets, the modern appliances, including a microwave oven, and the cream granite countertops.

Kiran chuckled. “Fully equipped kitchen, but I never cook. My parents invite me to eat with them at least twice a week. The rest of the days I eat out or reheat something that my mother insists on packing for me.”

“No servants?” she asked, surprised. Wealthy people always had servants. Megha knew Kiran’s parents had several. Even Amma and Appaji had a servant.

“I have one man who comes in on Sundays to clean the flat and wash my clothes and linens.” He grinned sheepishly. “I’m a typical spoiled Indian male. I don’t know how to cook or clean.”

She glanced at him curiously. “I’m surprised you live alone when your parents own such a huge house.” The Raos owned a mansion with several bedrooms.

He shrugged and took a sip of his coffee. “What can I say? I like my independence.”

“Maybe if Suresh had felt that way I wouldn’t be in this situation today,” Megha said thoughtfully. She wondered if Suresh would ever be really independent of his mother, in or out of her house.

“Suresh is entirely too attached to Amma,” said Kiran, confirming Megha’s thoughts.

After another awkward silence Megha inclined her head towards the drawing room. “You did a fine job of decorating this place.”

“I don’t know how to do that either—my mother did that. She’s very artistic, as you know.”

“I know.” And she was also part of the clique that planned her murder. His mother was tight with Amma, and Megha had seen them huddled together gossiping often enough.

As if reading her mind, Kiran quickly added, “I know what you’re thinking. My mother was part of the conspiracy. I’m not trying to defend her, Megha, but I distinctly heard her trying to talk Amma out of it.”

“And she didn’t think to warn me? She was going to sit back and watch me die an agonizing death?” The bitter resentment was hard to keep out of her voice.

Kiran folded his arms over the table and leaned forward so Megha could see clearly into his deep-set brown eyes and note the thickness of the lashes. His dark brows were pulled close together, forming a small ridge in between. “Like I said, what she did was wrong. She probably thought there would be a divorce. If she knew it was anything this dreadful, I’m sure she would have tried to protect you.” He must have noticed her lingering skepticism, because he said with more conviction, “Believe me, Megha, she’s not a monster. She’s a good mother to me and a loving wife to Papa. She wouldn’t stand by and see you get killed—or anybody get killed.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Megha recalled the occasions when she had visited the Raos with the rest of the family, and how Kamala had been quite cordial to her. She was not nasty like Devayani, their younger aunt, and certainly nothing like Amma. But Megha preferred to reserve her judgement about Kamala. Maybe Kamala Rao wasn’t a bad sort, but Megha still considered her one of the conspirators. At present the entire Ramnath clan and the Raos remained suspect in her mind.

“You know as well as I that once Amma gets something into her thick head nobody can talk her out of it,” Kiran reminded her.

“God, don’t I know that!” Megha rolled her eyes.

“Besides, my mother is very old-fashioned. She’d never oppose something her husband’s respected elder sister was planning, barring murder, of course.”

Megha nodded, agreeing that stringent traditions did indeed prevent a woman from standing up to her older sister-in-law or betraying her confidence. Swallowing the last of the Ovaltine, she rose from her chair. “Would you mind if I wash my clothes in your washing machine, Kiran?” She had noticed what appeared to be a washer and dryer outside the bathroom, another luxury she’d never had.

“You can wash your clothes tomorrow, Megha. You need to get some sleep now.”

“What!” Tomorrow would be too late. And sleep? In his flat? What was he talking about? Suddenly, panic set in again. She needed to get out of here as quickly as possible. Daylight was only a few hours away and she had to disappear before then.

Time was running out.

“No, I have to wash them now. And can I…uh…borrow some money from you?” Oh dear, it was so awkward asking for money, even if it was a small loan. “I need to get on the earliest possible bus to Hubli. I’ll return the money as soon as I get there.”

Kiran’s brows snapped back together once again. “You can’t go out there alone!”

“I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do. You’ll stay here.”

“I can’t! I’m a married woman.”

“I will not let you out of here until I know you’re safe.”

“You can’t dictate to me, Kiran. Technically, you’re my cousin-in-law. And since Suresh and you grew up together almost like brothers, you’re more or less my brother-in-law.” What was he thinking? It was a ridiculous idea, even more absurd than her appearing on his doorstep, begging for help. All she’d intended to do was borrow some money and request him to drive her to the bus stop. She’d definitely not envisioned any of this. Even the shower and the food and clothes he’d offered her were unexpected and utterly generous.

She looked at herself dressed in his clothes and frowned. What was happening here? Things were spinning out of control. She needed to focus on what to do next and not sit here drinking warm milk and admiring Kiran’s flat, much less wear Kiran’s clothes. And allow him to bully her in the bargain.

He came around the table to stand beside her, his face still drawn in a serious scowl. “Technically, you would have been dead by now, too. I’m not letting you out of my sight, Megha. If Amma can find you and punish you, she will. She wants her precious son to be viewed as a grieving widower, not a divorced man. She’ll come to Hubli and drag you home so she can finish you off. Is that what you want?” His eyes searched her face for a second, looking for a reaction. Perhaps satisfied with the alarm flashing in her eyes, he said, “I didn’t think so.”

He was right. She was the one who’d come to him looking for help, and not the other way around, so she didn’t have a right to get defensive with him. She was stuck in Kiran’s home then, at least for a day. But after that?

Evidently interpreting her silence as submission, Kiran motioned her to follow and led her to his bedroom. When he noticed the uncertain expression on her face he laughed, surprising her once again by shifting from grim annoyance to wry amusement in an instant. “Don’t worry, Megha, I plan to sleep on the sofa. You can use my room.”

“I’ve imposed on you enough, Kiran,” she protested. “I can’t throw you out of your bedroom, too. I’ll take the sofa.”

He nudged her inside. “Don’t argue.”

Kiran peeled back the bedspread and instructed Megha to lie down. She obeyed reluctantly, looking small and helpless against the stark white sheets in his large bed. Her face looked flushed. He knew it was from the embarrassment of lying down before a man other than her husband and also from baring her legs. He noticed she had beautiful limbs, long and slim and shapely. Several angry red scratches were evident in places. There would be scabs forming soon. He hoped they wouldn’t leave behind scars, marring the beauty of that smooth, creamy skin.

Then his eyes came to settle on her feet. Her right sole appeared raw and bloody. He lifted the foot in his hand to examine it. “Oh no, Megha, there’s a cut here.”

Megha’s gaze dropped. “I know my feet look disgusting. I must have stepped on broken glass or something on my way here. I had no time to put on my chappals,” she said, referring to the slip-on footwear commonly worn in India.

He turned on his heel. “Stay right there. I’ll get some bandages.”

She put up a hand to stop him. “Kiran, I think I might have left trails of blood all over your flat. My foot has been bleeding for some time now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

She looked contrite. “I may have ruined your beautiful carpet, too.”

“I’ll clean the floor and carpet later. Your foot needs attention first.” He hastened out of the room.

Within a minute he was back with a white, rectangular plastic box tucked under his arm. In his hands he carried a glass of water and two white tablets. Putting them in Megha’s hand, he handed her the water. When she lifted a questioning brow, he said, “Pain relievers—they’ll help to remove the soreness from your muscles. You fell down and hurt yourself, didn’t you? And all that running—you’re going to be sore by morning.”

Nodding, she swallowed the pills and set the glass on the nightstand. Meanwhile he flipped the plastic box open and pulled out a tube of antiseptic ointment, a bottle of alcohol, and a variety of bandages and gauze. He sat on the edge of the bed, lifted the offending foot and placed it in his lap. What a dainty little foot, he thought, noticing her toes curl. No fancy nail polish or pampering with pedicures and lotions here. Although the skin was rough from all the abuse her feet had suffered, the toes and arches were nicely shaped, and the nails neatly cut.

Megha kept her eyes averted. She was probably embarrassed about her foot resting on his thigh. Such close contact between the two of them was strange, he had to admit. And disturbing. Right now, his thigh was tingling, sending out a few sparks from her closeness.

He thought of something as he examined the seriousness of the wound. “Have you ever had a tetanus injection?” He hoped to God she’d had a dose of tetanus sometime within the last few years. If not, he’d have to drag her to his doctor friend’s clinic right away. Tetanus infections could become fatal.

To his relief, she said, “I accidentally cut myself with a kitchen knife two years ago and our family doctor gave me an injection.” She held up an index finger to show him her scar.

“At least tetanus can be ruled out then.” Suppressing his male reactions, he quickly soaked cotton balls with alcohol and swabbed the wound. She winced a couple of times.

He glanced at her. “Sorry, I know it stings like hell.”

“That’s okay.” She observed in silence as he worked on her wound. Her expression didn’t reveal much.

Kiran fell into deep thought, wondering what was going through Megha’s mind. She had run for miles in the dark, probably fallen several times, then climbed over a wall, and managed to find her way here. Good heavens. He’d probably never know the depths of the horrors she had lived through during the night.

He inwardly fumed at the atrocities she had suffered. As if running from certain death wasn’t bad enough, she had to fight off a drunken brute on the streets in the middle of the night. She was a brave girl. It took guts to do what she had done. Well, at least she was here now, in one piece and relatively safe. From now on he would protect her. If he’d had any doubts earlier about what to do with her, they had vanished now.

As he attended to her, he knew exactly what he had to do. He’d keep her here, where he could keep a close eye on her.

He liberally applied the ointment on her sole and put an adhesive bandage over the cut. Then he wound a strip of gauze around the injured area and secured the bandage. Satisfied that everything was in order, he pressed her foot, giving it a gentle massage and making sure the dressing wasn’t too tight. Then he swabbed her legs, arms and hands with alcohol before smoothing a light film of ointment over them, all the while admiring the satiny texture of her skin. “There, that should make it better,” he said, spreading a little of the salve on her scratched chin and withdrawing his hand before he was tempted to caress her face or do something entirely inappropriate.

Megha refused to look him in the eye. He could tell she was discomfited by his closeness, perhaps even a little puzzled by what she considered extreme coddling on his part. In the kind of background she was used to men didn’t do things like this for women. But he wanted to do it for her—take care of her, heal her and ease her pain. There was something about Megha that touched the very depths of his heart and soul.

But then, what was that other, guarded look in her eyes? “Megha, what’s the matter? You’re not scared of me, are you?” She shook her head. “Don’t worry, I would never dream of taking advantage of you.”

This time she met his eyes. “I’m not scared, Kiran—I’m touched by your compassion. Suresh would never have done this for me. Even when I had a miscarriage, he didn’t bother—” Her eyes widened, as if realizing she had inadvertently said something she hadn’t meant to.

“You had a miscarriage?”

She nodded with obvious reluctance.

“When?”

“I…uh…a few days ago. In fact, it happened the day you and I ran into each other by the riverbank—very late that same night.”

He digested the information for a minute. He clearly remembered that evening, every tiny detail. She had looked sad and tired and disheartened, but he’d had no idea she was expecting.

She sent him a soulful plea. “Promise you won’t say anything to anyone? Only my parents know about it. Amma would kill me if she found out.” The irony of her own words hit her instantly. “What am I saying? Amma was about to kill me even without knowing about the miscarriage.”

Kiran grunted in sympathy. His loathing for Suresh went up another notch. “I’m sorry about the miscarriage, Megha. That baby probably wasn’t meant to be,” he consoled her.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she agreed, the faraway look in her eyes telling him she was recalling that night.

“Get some sleep now.” He returned the first aid items to the box. “We’ll talk tomorrow.”

“But tomorrow—”

“I’m going to take a day off from work and we’ll plan a course of action together.” He waited for her to settle back on the bed and pull the covers over herself.

As he started to walk away she called, “Kiran.”

He turned around. “Yes?”

“Thank you for taking me in.”

“No problem.”

“I thought you’d turn me over to them, but you’ve been…very kind.”

“I would never turn you over to them, Megha.”

She was quiet for a moment before she said, “I’m such a coward, aren’t I, Kiran?”

“Why would you think that?”

“I panicked and ran away from an impossible situation instead of dealing with it.”

“Anyone would have panicked in your place. It’s human instinct to be frightened of death, Megha. Even soldiers trained in combat often run from certain death.”

“A brave woman would have stayed and fought back. She would have known how to protect herself,” she argued. “She would have at least gone to the police.”

He shook his head at her. “Megha Ramnath, you are braver than anyone I know. Do you have any idea how many thousands of young women don’t have the guts to run away from a situation like yours? You, on the other hand, recognized that there was no way to save yourself from two evil and determined individuals, so you escaped to save yourself. That’s courage.”

“But what’s the use of trying to escape? I’m sure they’ll find me sooner or later.”

“No, they won’t,” he said with quiet assurance. “We’ll make sure that they don’t. We’ll talk about it in the morning. Now try to rest.”

“Okay.” She sounded like a worn-out and frightened little girl.

Somehow Kiran didn’t think she believed him.