NIGHT TIME

It was a dark, dark night in Mumbai. The kind of night where the city noises, the honking of cars, the distant music, all seemed to have been swallowed by a thick, heavy silence. In a large, expensive apartment in a tall building, only one small lamp was burning in the living room. It cast long, dancing shadows on the walls, like ghosts watching the scene unfold.

In the middle of the room, on a large, expensive sofa, sat a young woman named Priya. She was shivering, even though the night was warm. Her beautiful silk saree, the one her husband loved to see her in, was crumpled. Her big, kohl-rimmed eyes were filled with tears. The tears were not falling loudly; they were silent, betraying a deep, chilling fear. She was crying without a sound, her small shoulders shaking. Her gaze was fixed on the man standing near the door.

This man was her husband, Rohan. He had just come home. His white shirt had a few small, dark red spots on it. He was looking at Priya, and he was smiling. It was not a warm, loving smile. It was a smile that did not reach his eyes. His eyes were dark, intense, and full of a strange, possessive light.

"Please..." Priya's voice was a whisper, so soft you could barely hear it. She wrapped her arms around herself, trying to become smaller. "Please... don't come near me."

Rohan's smile widened. He took one slow, deliberate step forward. The sound of his shoe on the marble floor echoed in the quiet room. "Why, Priya?" he asked, his voice smooth like honey, but with a dangerous edge. "Why are you so much scared of me? Hmm? I love you, na. I love you more than anything in this world."

He took another step. Priya flinched, pressing herself deeper into the sofa cushions. Her mind was screaming, remembering the phone call she had made just a few hours ago. She had tried to run away. She had called an old family friend, Rahul, for help. He was a good man, a simple boy from her colony. He had agreed to pick her up from the market. But Rohan knew. Rohan always knew everything.

"Where were you going, my love?" Rohan asked, his head tilting. He stopped in front of her, looking down at her trembling form. "Without telling your husband? Without my permission? This is not how good wives behave, Priya."

"I... I was just..." Priya couldn't form the words. Her throat was tight with fear.

Rohan knelt down in front of her. He was so close now. She could smell his cologne, mixed with a faint, metallic smell that made her stomach turn. He reached out a hand to touch her cheek. Priya squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the slap, the pain.

But it never came.

Instead, his touch was gentle. His fingers, surprisingly soft, wiped away a tear from her cheek. "Shhh, my jaan," he whispered, using the term of endearment that once made her heart flutter. Now, it made her blood run cold. "Don't cry. Please don't cry. You know I can't bear to see your tears. Even in my dreams, I can never, ever hurt you. You are my life."

He leaned closer, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I just took care of a small problem, that's all. A little pest that was trying to come between us."

Priya's eyes flew open. She knew. She knew with a terrifying certainty. "Rahul?" she breathed out, her voice trembling. "What did you do to Rahul?"

Rohan's smile didn't fade. It was still there, fixed and chilling. "That boy? The one who thought he could help you run away from me?" He chuckled, a low, dark sound. "He won't trouble you anymore, Priya. He won't trouble any girl ever again. I made sure of it. I told him, 'You touched what is mine. That was your biggest and last mistake.'"

A cold horror washed over Priya. She felt dizzy. She thought she might be sick. "You... you killed him?" The words were a choked sob.