Fires of Desires

Thu, 11 Dec 2025 14:22:36 +0000

The night air was thick with dust and fear as a young girl in a bridal red lehenga ran desperately along the Mathura highway. Her hands trembled uncontrollably, almost as if the blood had drained from them. She looked no more than nineteen. Her eyes, swollen and red from endless crying, searched the darkness behind her. Her breath came in ragged bursts as panic consumed her.

She ran faster, stumbling over loose gravel, her anklets clinking with every step. Just then, as fate would have it, she darted straight into the path of an oncoming car.

The driver slammed the brakes. The tires screeched against the asphalt, sending sparks into the night air. The car came to a sudden stop, inches away from the girl.

The door swung open and a young man stepped out. He was around twenty-six—handsome in a reckless way. His eyes were bloodshot, heavy with alcohol, but sharp with an instinct that cut through the haze.

The girl, without hesitation, rushed toward him, falling at his feet.

“Please... please save me!” she sobbed, clutching at his arm. “They’re after me... those people… they’ll kill me!”

Her eyes darted wildly toward the shadows creeping closer from behind. She froze. Terror took hold.

She turned toward the sound—figures emerging from the darkness, fast approaching.

Without thinking, she flung herself behind the man, clutching at his back and shutting her eyes tight, whispering prayers through trembling lips.

The men reached them and snarled.

“Give her to us!” one barked. “We don’t care about you! We want the girl!”

“I don’t want to go with you!” she cried, struggling.

“Shut up!” another spat. “Who cares if you want or not? We’ll take her by force if we have to!”

One of them lunged forward, grabbing at her wrist.

In a flash, the young man twisted his body, blocking the attacker’s hand. A fierce fight broke out. Fists flew, knees slammed, and dust rose with every impact. The man struck hard, but one of the thugs swung a wooden stick and hit him on the side of his head.

“Ahhh!” he groaned, pain shooting through his skull.

For a brief second, he staggered and turned back, only to see the thug’s cruel smile. The stick had cut deep.

His strength began to fade. His knees buckled. He fell, his head spinning, eyes clouded with darkness.

The girl, panic flashing across her face, rushed to him. She knelt beside him and gently cradled his head in her lap.

His eyes, glazed with pain, wandered over her face—her red lips quivering, her swollen eyes lined with dark kohl, her nose adorned with a small, sparkling pin, and her henna-stained hands heavy with bangles that jingled softly as they trembled.

“Please... wake up…” she whispered, tears spilling like pearls down her cheeks and falling onto his face.

But he drifted further into unconsciousness.

Desperate, she shook him gently. “Please, don’t close your eyes! Please wake up!”

One tear slid down her cheek and landed on his skin.

Without warning, he suddenly grabbed her wrist—his grip strong despite his fading consciousness and...