His love, His possession

4

The next morning, the streets of Mumbai were their usual madness people rushing, cars honking, chai vendors yelling. Somewhere in this chaos, Meera took her first step toward survival.

She clutched Aanya’s tiny hand, her heart racing, as they followed Ishita through the crowded lanes leading to the studio. The closer they got, the louder Meera’s heartbeat grew. This wasn’t just work. This was her fight.

“You sure about this?” Ishita asked, glancing at Meera’s belly. "Junior artists don’t get VIP treatment, you know. It’s long hours, low pay, and a lot of standing around."

Meera inhaled sharply. “I’m sure.”

Ishita smirked. “Damn. Look at you. A royal queen, now ready to be a film extra. Life’s got some sense of humor.”

Meera smiled weakly. If only Ishita knew just how cruel life’s humor really was.

They reached the studio gates. A massive iron gate separating dreams from reality. Ishita flashed a quick smile at the guard, who let them in without a word. Inside, the energy was electric lights, cameras, actors rehearsing dialogues, assistants running around with clipboards.

It was a world Meera had never imagined stepping into.

“Alright,” Ishita clapped her hands. “Time to meet the junior director. He’s the one who picks extras for the day.”

They walked through a maze of sets and dressing rooms before finally stopping near a man arguing over a clipboard.

“Manoj sir!” Ishita called.

Manoj short, bald, and permanently stressed turned with an annoyed sigh. “What now, Ishita? I have three scenes to shoot and no junior artists left!”

“That’s why I brought you one.” Ishita nudged Meera forward.

Manoj’s eyes ran over Meera quickly. Then they stopped at her belly. The full month’s pregnancy was impossible to ignore.

“No way.” He shook his head. “Not happening.”

Meera stiffened. “Why not?”

“Madam, you’re about to pop any second!” he scoffed. “I don’t need a delivery scene in the middle of my shoot.”

“I can work,” Meera insisted. "I need to."

Manoj folded his arms. “And what do I do if you faint? Or worse what if your water breaks on set?”

Ishita jumped in. “Come on, sir! Just a small role! She doesn’t have to do much. Just stand in the background or something.”

Meera held her breath as Manoj weighed his options. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he groaned.

“Fine. But only because I need people.” He pointed at Meera. “One day’s work. Don’t expect more.”

Meera nodded, relief flooding her veins. It wasn’t much, but it was a start.

She had no idea how dangerously close her past was creeping in.

Just Outside the Studio.

A black SUV pulled up near the entrance. The driver got out, opened the back door, and Raghav Rathore stepped out.

Sleek. Sharp. Predatory.

He didn’t belong to this world of spotlights and scripts, yet here he was walking right into it, a storm brewing in his chest.

In his hand, a photograph.

Meera.

The same Meera who was standing just behind him, inside the gates.

He scanned the bustling crowd, his fingers tightening around the picture. So close.

So damn close.

One step forward, and he would have seen her.

One turn from Meera, and she would have seen him.

The universe held its breath.

But fate had other plans.

A studio assistant bumped into Raghav, breaking his focus. He cursed under his breath. By the time he looked back up, Meera was gone.

Meera, who was standing just feet away, completely unaware…

That the monster she had run from was finally in her city.

Inside the studio, Meera adjusted Aanya’s dupatta, trying to keep her close. The chaos around her felt overwhelming cameras flashing, actors rehearsing, makeup artists fixing faces that already looked perfect. But all Meera cared about was making it through the day.

Ishita squeezed her shoulder. “Relax. You’re just standing in the background for a court scene. No dialogues, no pressure.”

Meera nodded, swallowing hard. No pressure.

If only her pounding heart agreed.

Nearby, Raghav Rathore stood just outside the studio gates, scanning the area. His sharp eyes took in the bustling crowd, searching, hunting. His fingers gripped Meera’s photograph tightly.

She’s here.

He could feel it.

But Mumbai was a maze, and Meera was just another face in this sea of struggling dreamers.

His phone buzzed.

It was his sister.

“The goons were fools to not check properly,” she snapped. “If they were wrong about Meera, they could be wrong about the girl too.”

Raghav leaned against the SUV, smirking. His sister was ruthless, more than him. He liked that about her.

“I’ll find them, sister,” he said lazily. “Give me time.”

“We don’t have time, Raghav!” she hissed. “If the baby survives, do you realize what that means? It’s the end of everything we built! Our power, our control ”

Raghav chuckled. “You always think too much.”

Devika’s voice turned cold. “I spoke to another astrologer.”

That got his attention.

Raghav tensed. “And?”

There was silence on the other end before Devika whispered, “The baby will destroy you.”

Raghav let out a slow exhale, running a hand through his hair. “You and your damn astrologers. First, one tells us that the girl is a curse. Now this baby?”

“Mock all you want,” Devika said sharply. “But I told you you should have checked their dead bodies yourself.”

His smirk faded. A nagging feeling crept into his mind.

Maybe his sister was right.

Maybe the past wasn’t buried yet.

He turned his gaze back to the studio gates, his gut telling him his answers were inside.

Inside the Set

Meera adjusted her dupatta, shifting her weight uncomfortably as the director yelled instructions. The court scene was about to start, and she was positioned among the fake spectators.

Aanya sat near Ishita, her tiny fingers gripping Meera’s dress.

"Ready?" Ishita whispered.

Meera nodded, even though her entire body felt like a shaking leaf.

She took her place. The lights dimmed slightly, the cameras started rolling, and for the first time in her life, Meera found herself in a world that was scripted, controlled, predictable.

She liked that.

It made her forget.

Forget that just outside, Raghav Rathore was closing in.

Forget that somewhere in the city, the shadows of her past were waiting.

Forget that fate had never been kind to her, and it never would be.

Meera stepped out of the studio, adjusting her dupatta as the evening air cooled her skin. Aanya held her hand tightly, her small fingers clenching onto Meera’s like a lifeline.

Ishita followed, her usual bubbly chatter filling the air. “You did great today! Soon, you’ll have dialogues, and then who knows? Maybe you’ll be the lead actress in some big film.”

Meera smiled weakly. The thought of a future still felt foreign to her.

Just as she was about to reply, her body tensed.

A presence.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

It was him.

Raghav Rathore stood barely a few feet away, his broad back turned to her. His sharp profile was illuminated by the streetlights, his posture commanding, powerful.

Meera froze.

Her breathing stopped.

The world around her blurred, her ears ringing with fear.

It had been months, but she still knew the way he stood, the way he carried himself like a king in his own world.

She took a slow step back, gripping Aanya’s hand tighter.

Another step.

Then Raghav’s phone rang.

He turned sharply, his boots scraping against the pavement.

Meera held her breath.

But he didn’t look at her.

Didn’t even notice.

He frowned at the phone screen, then hurried away toward his car.

Meera exhaled, her hands trembling.

They had been this close.

The Police Station

Raghav entered the dimly lit police station, the air thick with the smell of sweat, stale tea, and cheap ink. A tired-looking inspector sat behind an old wooden desk, flipping through case files.

As soon as he saw Raghav, he straightened.

“You got here fast,” the inspector said, looking him up and down.

Raghav smirked. Of course, he did.

“You said it was urgent,” he replied smoothly, taking a seat.

The inspector nodded and gestured toward a stack of papers. “A pregnant woman and an eight-year-old girl. They were found after a brutal accident. No one has come to claim their bodies.”

Raghav raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. “And you think I’m their family?”

The inspector squinted at the photograph in his hands, then at Raghav. “We received a tip that a man fitting your description was looking for a missing pregnant woman and a young girl. We assumed ”

Raghav sighed dramatically. Then, out of nowhere, he burst into fake sobs.

It was bad. Really bad.

Loud, exaggerated, painfully forced.

He even threw his head back, clutching his chest like some Bollywood villain mourning his long-lost love.

“OH GOD! WHY? WHY THEM?” he wailed. The officer shifted uncomfortably.

A constable in the corner whispered, “Is he… laughing?”

The inspector shot him a warning glare.

But Raghav wasn’t laughing not outwardly, at least.

Inside, he was celebrating.

They were dead.

Meera and the girl were finally gone.

The inspector hesitated. “So… you confirm they’re your family?”

Raghav wiped his dry eyes. “Yes. They were my responsibility.”

His lips twitched.

This was too easy.

Raghav sat back, exhaling as if the weight of the world had just crashed down on him. In reality, his mind was buzzing with excitement.

So, it was over. That unborn devilish girl is dead, Meera and Aanya were gone.

No more hiding. No more worrying. No more threats to his legacy.

The inspector gave him a sympathetic nod. “I understand this must be difficult for you, Mr. Rathore. But we need you to officially identify the bodies.”

Raghav’s fingers twitched.

He hadn’t planned on actually seeing the bodies.

That was a problem.

His mind raced. If he saw them and laughed that they're actually pregnant Meera and Aanya, the inspector would get suspicious.

Raghav forced another shaky breath. “I… I can’t. It’ll break me. Can’t you handle the final rites?”

The inspector hesitated. “I understand, sir, but it’s protocol.”

Think, Raghav. Think.

Then an idea.

“I need a moment,” he whispered dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “This is too much. I need to pray.”

Without waiting for permission, he turned and walked toward the temple across the street. Not to pray, of course.

But to buy time.

Meanwhile, in the heart of Mumbai, Meera sat on a small cot in Ishita’s tiny one-room home in the chawl.

The room was barely big enough for a bed and a small kitchen space. The paint was peeling, the fan creaked as it spun, and outside, the noise of the city never stopped.

But for the first time in months Meera felt safe.

Ishita walked in, holding two steel plates of dal and rice. “Eat,” she said, placing one in front of Meera and the other in front of Aanya. “You need to keep your strength up.”

Meera smiled weakly. “Thank you.”

Ishita sat beside her, watching her with curious eyes. “You know, you never really told me the full story. Why was someone like you a royal woman from Dhanpur running for her life?”

Meera stiffened.

She couldn’t tell Ishita everything.

Not yet.

She forced a small smile. “It’s a long story.”

Ishita shrugged. “I like long stories.”

Before Meera could answer, a loud thud came from outside.

Meera’s stomach twisted.

Aanya grabbed her arm.

Someone was outside.

Listening.

Meera held her breath.

Back at the temple, Raghav stood in front of an idol, pretending to be deep in prayer. But in reality, he was watching the street behind him through the temple’s reflection in the glass.

That’s when he saw him.

Samar.

The same man who had helped Meera escape.

Raghav’s lips curled into a smirk. What a coincidence.

Samar was leaning against his bike, scrolling through his phone.

Raghav adjusted his kurta and walked toward him with a casual, charming smile. The kind that hid daggers.

“Samar, right?”

Samar looked up, immediately recognizing him. His jaw tensed.

Raghav extended a hand. “Raghav Rathore.”

Samar didn’t take it. “I know who you are.”

Raghav laughed, unfazed. “You don’t like me much, do you?”

Samar’s silence was answer enough.

Raghav leaned in slightly, voice dropping. “That means you know things I might not like.”

Samar met his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe.”

Raghav chuckled. “Then I should probably buy you a drink.”

Samar smirked. “Or maybe I should just leave.”

Raghav’s smile didn’t fade. “Go ahead. But something tells me our paths will cross again.”

Samar watched him for a second before turning and walking away.

Raghav’s smirk widened.

Ishita’s Home

The sound outside had stopped, but Meera’s heart was still hammering.

Ishita looked at her curiously. “Why do you look like you just saw a ghost?”

Meera shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

Ishita scoffed. “Yeah, right. You’re a pregnant woman hiding in a chawl. ‘Nothing’ doesn’t exist for you.”

Aanya tugged at Meera’s dupatta. “Mumma, are we safe here?”

Meera forced a smile and nodded. “Yes, beta.”

But deep down, she wasn’t sure.

Ishita sighed and plopped onto the bed beside her. “Listen, I don’t know what mess you were in before, but you can’t live like this forever. You need to work. Earn.”

Meera hesitated. “But ”

“No buts.” Ishita pointed a finger at her. “I already spoke to the junior director. He’ll give you side roles. Background work. It’s not much, but it’s enough to survive.”

Meera swallowed hard. She didn’t want to depend on Ishita forever.

She needed to stand on her own feet for Aanya, for her unborn child.

After a long pause, she exhaled and said, “Okay. I’ll do it.”

Ishita grinned. “Good girl.”

Next day,

Dhanpur,

The fire crackled, its golden flames reaching high into the air as Raghav sat cross-legged in front of the hawan kund, draped in a pristine white kurta. The perfect grieving husband.

Except he wasn’t grieving. Not even a little.

“Meeraaaaa!” he wailed, dramatically lifting his hands toward the sky. His voice echoed through the grand courtyard of the palace, where priests chanted mantras, and relatives wiped their fake tears.

“Gone too soon,” he muttered, shaking his head. Then, suddenly, he sniffled loudly and looked at Devika.

“I should’ve been a better husband,” he whispered, lips trembling. A perfect mix of Bollywood and daily soap opera acting.

Devika, his sister, pressed a tissue to her lips, pretending to sob. But her eyes oh, they sparkled with satisfaction.

“She was weak, Raghav,” Devika said, voice laced with sugar-coated venom. “And you? You were too kind.”

Raghav almost laughed. Too kind? Him?

He wiped an imaginary tear. “Yes… I loved her too much.”

The priest threw some ghee into the fire, the flames roaring higher.

Devika turned to the guests, hands joined in respect. “It is a tragedy that the Rathore bloodline suffered this loss. But we must trust fate.”

As if on cue, the grand wooden doors of the palace creaked open.

The astrologer walked in.

The room fell silent.

Raghav smirked. This guy again.

The astrologer the one who never spoke lies walked toward them with slow, deliberate steps. His robe billowed slightly as he stopped right before the fire.

Raghav’s smirk deepened. Let’s see what nonsense he’ll spout today.

Meanwhile, in Mumbai

Samar sat on the hood of his jeep, a cigarette hanging loosely between his fingers.

The Mumbai air was thick, a mixture of sea breeze and diesel fumes, but Samar didn’t mind. He had seen worse.

Across from him, the police officer shifted nervously, tucking a thick wad of freshly counted notes into his pocket.

“You sure this will work?” the officer asked, adjusting his belt.

Samar took a slow drag of his cigarette. “It already has.”

The officer looked around, as if someone would jump out and arrest him for the bribe.

Samar exhaled, watching the smoke curl in the night air.

“I gave you money to do one job,” he said lazily. “Tell Raghav his wife and kid are dead.” He flicked his cigarette. “And you did it beautifully.

The officer gulped. “And what if he finds out?”

Samar gave a crooked grin. “Then you’ll need more than just my money to save yourself.”

The officer paled.

Samar patted his shoulder, amused. “Relax. Rathore’s too busy celebrating his ‘grief’ to suspect anything.”

He turned, walking back toward his jeep.

Behind him, the city of Mumbai continued moving, completely unaware that a game of life and death was unfolding in its streets.