Kridha:

They say time heals all wounds.

But some wounds don't bleed

They rot.

Quietly, deeply. Until all that's left smelling something once human.

She was twenty-three when the world cracked open beneath her feet.

A stranger's hands. The sound of fabric tearing. A scream was swallowed by the dark.

Then silence.

And after silence, fingerprints on her wrists disguised as gold bangles. A wedding dress that felt like skin peeling off in reverse. She stood in front of the mirror and watched herself die. Then smiled when they told her to.

She never loved him.

She never could.

But she said "I do" anyway.

Because no one listens to the girl who says no.

Vardaan:

He was a child when a car crash took his everything away.

The flames of the burning car. Screams he can't place. A woman's voice calling his name — he thinks it was his mother.

He doesn't remember her face.

He remembers waking up in the cold.

He remembers learning to kill before he learnt how to speak again.

He remembers nothing else.

Now he serves the man who owns her.

Ans yet, somehow, in the space between a glance and a heartbeat he started to remember something.

Not his past.

Not his family.

Her.

The way her voice trembles when she lies.

The way she never asks for help– but still bleeds for it anyway.

He isn't allowed to feel anything for her.

She belongs to someone else.

But even monsters crave light, sometimes.

And broken things? They recognize each other.