Shivani's fingers trembled as she dialed the landline number of her grandfather's ancestral home in the village. Her breath caught with each ring, her heart desperate for even a sliver of hope. Five times she called, and each time, silence greeted her. On the sixth attempt, finally, a servant answered.
"Namaste," Shivani said urgently, "Can I speak to Rudra Pratap ji or my uncle?"
The servant paused. "Everyone has gone to Delhi for the wedding… your cousin's wedding. It's happening at Hotel Royal Grand."
Her pulse quickened. That hotel was barely two kilometers from her home.
Without a second thought, she rushed out into the streets. Her hair was disheveled, her clothes slightly torn from her earlier struggles, but none of it mattered now. Every step was driven by hope — a desperate need to see her grandfather, to seek justice, or at least recognition.
But at the hotel gates, the polished staff looked at her with suspicion.
"Excuse me, madam, you can't enter like this," one of the men said, stepping in front of her.
"I just need to see my grandfather," she pleaded. "Please… just one minute."
Her words fell on deaf ears. Two more guards approached, crossing their arms firmly. Undeterred, she tried to reason again.
But then — a moment of distraction.
She saw her chance and darted inside.
Music blared from the banquet hall. The atmosphere was festive, filled with laughter and joy. But Shivani's eyes scanned the crowd with urgency. And then — she saw him. Rudra Pratap ji, her grandfather, in his white sherwani, standing beside her uncle, beaming at the newlyweds.
"Dadaji!" she cried out.
The music faltered. Conversations paused. A hundred heads turned.
Rudra Pratap ji turned slowly toward the voice. His smile vanished. His face turned pale, then hardened into cold fury.
"What are you doing here?" he hissed, marching toward her.
"Dadaji… I—" she began, but he cut her off with a roar.
"Don't you dare call me that! You've shamed this family enough!"
Each word struck her like a slap. She stood frozen, her eyes brimming with tears.
"But I needed to tell you the truth," she whispered through trembling lips. "Papa… he's in the hospital. He needs—"
Just then, a heavy-set man in a designer suit walked over. Narottam Singh, the mayor of Delhi and father of the groom.
"Who is this girl? Why is she calling you her grandfather?" he asked Rudra Pratap, frowning.
"I don't know who she is," Rudra Pratap said coldly. "She's a stranger to me."
Narottam's eyes narrowed. "Are you here to steal something?" he barked at Shivani. "Security!"
Shivani looked around helplessly. No one defended her. Her uncles and aunts stood in silence, their faces devoid of sympathy.
As the guards approached, she dropped to her knees and clutched Rudra Pratap's feet.
"Please, Dadaji… just listen to me once… please…"
But he stood unmoved. As if her presence was nothing but filth beneath his shoes.
The guards dragged her away.
The sky outside was already turning stormy. The moment they threw her out, the rain began to pour. Cold and merciless. Shivani collapsed just outside the hotel gates, sobbing into the wet pavement.
Ten minutes passed like an eternity. Her cries melted into the rain. And then… something shifted in her. She stood, drenched and broken, yet determined.
Her phone rang.
She answered without looking. "Hello?"
"Is this Shivani?" a calm male voice asked.
"Yes," she said, her voice raw.
"This is Jeet Singh. I'm a student of Abhay Sir. I was hoping to speak with him."
Through choked sobs, Shivani explained everything — the accident, the urgency of the operation, the cruel rejection by her family.
There was silence for a beat.
Then Jeet's voice softened. "Please don't cry. I will help. I'll arrange the money."
"But there's one problem…"
"What problem?" she asked.
"I have twelve lakhs ready. But for the rest… you'll need to come to my house."
Without hesitation, Shivani said, "Please send me the address."
Jeet promised to send the money to the hospital and texted her the location.
Still drenched from the rain, Shivani found her way to Jeet's house. At the gate, two tall African men stood guard. One of them greeted her and led her inside.
But just as she crossed the threshold, everything went dark.
A shadow crept up behind her. A hand clamped over her mouth, pressing a cloth soaked in a strange, strong-smelling liquid. Shivani struggled, but within seconds, her world spun and went black.
The man caught her as she collapsed, then carried her gently into a dimly lit room filled with cameras.
He placed her on the bed and disappeared into a side room, where monitors displayed her unconscious form.
Sometime later, Shivani began to stir.
Her head throbbed. Her arms refused to move.
She realized — her hands and legs were tied. A blindfold covered her eyes.
Panic surged through her chest. She tried to scream, but her voice barely escaped her lips.
And then, in the deafening silence…
Footsteps.
Slow. Intentional. Approaching her from the shadows.
---
Questions linger:
Who was that man hiding in the shadows? Why did he set a trap for Shivani?
And can Shivani find the strength to escape this nightmare — and expose the truth to the world?
A Special Note from the Author:
I extend my heartfelt thanks to every reader who has taken the time to read this story. Your love and support are the true strength behind my writing.
A very special thank you to Mr. Paul, who comments and supports my story with such sincerity. It is readers like you who keep stories alive and give voice to the characters.
If Shivani's journey has touched your heart, please leave a like and a comment. Your support means the world to meand also it gives life to this story."
🙏